#i almost made her last name storm but bolt sounded so much better

[thatsalotoftoons]

little hc for cole and jay’s moms. before they married their husbands, their names were Lilly Steel and Lisbeth Bolt

[buckybarnesdiaries]

longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car

© mine.

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Bucky is kidnapped by Hydra to reactivate the Winter Soldier.

word count: 2.924 words. it worth it, i promise!!!

warnings/tags: none. angst as hell mostly. but it has a happy ending.

author notes: i don't speak russian, but i haven't used google translate either, so no worries. none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

join the tag list NEW!!! here.

No. It couldn't be possible. It had to be part of a terrible nightmare. Bucky couldn't have been kidnapped by Hydra again.

You didn't know what to expect in the ship flying to the secret location of the organization. For Stark, it didn't take more than a couple of minutes to track the arm down, since Shuri put a small monitor on it when the soldier stayed in Wakanda. She never told it, wanting to use it in some kind of circumstance like the one you all were going through now. And you couldn't be more grateful, but it didn't help to make you feel better.

You were sitting close to the back hatch. Back rested against the metallic wall and legs curled to your chest. Nothing inside your head more than the hallucination of a pair of blue eyes staring at you. Blaming yourself was something you couldn't avoid. You should have been with him, by his side, protecting him as many times you promised him. But in fact, you just failed him. You failed his trust, his love. You let them take him. Only God knew which torture Hydra was putting him under, while you were there, lamenting.

You didn't even notice Steve's presence squatting next to you until he placed a hand on your shoulder. Then, you raised your face towards him. He was suffering too. In the end, Bucky was his long-life friend, his big brother. He lost him once and felt like he was going to lose him twice. Although this time was different. You were carrying the dispositive that could put to sleep back the winter soldier, but, at what cost?

“Buck got you now. Everything is gonn—”. He spoke in plural, referring to your last night's talk.

“How could you be so calm, Steve? How do you do it?” You whispered through your trembling lips, about to break in crying.

“Because he needs us focused, not distracted”.

He was wise. Captain America was wiser than anyone in that ship. He curled the left corner of his lips up, trying to make you feel good, trying to transmit you the encouragement you needed to not give up. And he did, more or less. You had to fight harder than ever. For Bucky, and only for Bucky. That's why you didn't hesitate on jumping out from the ship when it landed on the cold hard ground, as the freezing weather hit you on the face.

Following the plan, you ran quietly to the back door hidden under a huge layer of snow. Shaking part of it with the palm of your hand, you placed the device with technology from Wakanda on the locker. Not later than fifteen seconds, it deciphered the code to open the hatch. Once in position, the Avengers followed you downstairs. The passage was empty and silent. The only sound that broke it was a couple of rats running away from your presence. You all had studied the plans of the building, mostly underground, remembering exactly where you had to go.

The coast was clear, that was the reason why you all were so confused. You were expecting to find more than a dozen of agents, but when T'Challa enunciated through your earwigs that he only located two heat spots, you couldn't believe it. How only one man kidnapped the most fearless assassin up to now? Tortuous and bitter screams dragged you back to reality, causing your brain to react to make your legs run faster than ever in your whole damn life. You knew by heart that voice beneath all the pain.

Your skin bristled when your gaze landed on that chair of horrors, connected to an enormous power source. Bucky was sitting there against his want.

“... добросердечный… возвращение на родину… один…”

“STOP IT”. Steve yelled.

Huge mistake. You were aware of it when —yes— that man stopped reciting the Russian words to re-activate the Winter Soldier, but only enough time to push a red button near to him and close the heavy door in front of you. Everything happened in the blink of an eye. At the moment you glimpsed Steve’s shield sliding above the floor, straight to the inside of the room where Bucky was being tortured, you followed the same way. Never in your life, you were this fast. Like a lightning bolt, you snaked yourself under the small distance between the door and the ground before being closed. Now, it was you, that man and the soldier.

“You’re late…” He mocked with an awful American accent, under James crying out loud in pain. “грузовой ваг—”.

Your left hand moved quickly to unholster your gun and shoot him. One… Two… Three… Four bullets right to his head. The man fell dead before he couldn’t complete the command. You didn’t lose time, running to the controls to try to turn that machine off. But it was impossible. Even if you knew Tony could do it, there wasn’t signal inside those large and wide walls made of steel reinforced. You were in one of those abandoned soviet bunkers, that could save you from Armageddon. You were inhaling and exhaling so fast that your lungs never got really full, trying to focus, trying to shut every single noise around up. Trying to think of a plan b. But it was your heart who pushed you to act and not your brain. Grabbing Steve’s shield, you aimed for the energy source before tossing it like a damn frisbee.

That thing blew up, turning off any kind of light and dispositive around, as the sparks and the cables decorated your surroundings. Just like the fire that started to burn down a pile of boxes with different documents of Hydra. But that wasn't why you were impatient. Catching the shield when it came back to you, your legs moved immediately to Bucky, still stirring on his seat for a few seconds else. Then, he simply stopped shaking. Her eyes were wide opened. Reddened, in tears. His chest rose and fell violently. His heart was racing. And you could see the trauma taking control over his body in holy silence.

You didn't doubt removing the protection from his mouth along the restraints keeping him on the chair. Your fingers trembled like never before, not having any more time to lose. Probably, the Avengers would be trying to open the door when the emergency red lights illuminated the bunker, producing a loud alarm sound to indicate that something was going wrong inside the facilities.

“C'mon, Buck… C'mon, we have to leave”. You told him, trying to help him to stand up.

But as soon as your hand was about to land on his arm of vibranium, the five cold digits got closed around your throat. Soon, the lack of air for you was more than evident. He got up on his own, not needing you to do it. The ocean blue in his eyes turned into a dark storm. There wasn't any gesture on his face, more than his jaw clenching, pressing his teeth together. That wasn't Bucky —your Bucky—, but the unstable trained assassin Hydra turned him in. You could barely gulp saliva, gripping his metallic wrist with both of your hands to try to stop him from murdering you.

He couldn't. He couldn't kill you. His strength was suffocating you with no mercy, though.

For a moment, you felt too weak to fight, seeing everything around you getting blurred and darker. Blacking out. But there was something inside you, a sweet tone of voice calling your name. A male voice. Your eyelids rolled down bit by bit, wanting to concentrate on that honeyed sound being closer and closer.

“любить”.

The sore whisper left your lips. Love. The first time Bucky told you about love came to your mind. He told you about his family. George, Winnifred, Rebecca. He told you how much he desired to have a family of his own. To be loved.

“новый”.

Your almost dead fingers traced the form of his new arm made in Wakanda when you felt him lifting you from the floor, being suspended on air.

“сороковых годов”.

Trying to keep a firm tone of voice as much as the pressure let you, the Russian words were spat to the confused soldier, who wasn't understanding what you were doing. The forties changed his life. He was sent to war and, lately, captured by HYDRA. It was something he'd never forget, part of his DNA.

“заката”.

You didn't know what the hell your subconscious was doing either till that precise instant. You were reprogramming him. You were using his own memories to reset his wiped brain from them. Dusk. The first night he spent in Wakanda, Bucky was terrified. But you stayed with him. You comforted him by saying that everything was going to be okay, that his life would be different. That he was safe. That he was at home.

“лето”.

His last night of summer in that kingdom, Bucky took you to his favorite place between the woods, wanting to show you the fireflies fluttering in the middle of the gloom. He used to walk there whenever he woke up from a nightmare. Those small insects used to make him feel better for some reason he didn't comprehend. Until he saw their light reflecting on your amazed orbs. Bucky knew then he was in love with you. Besides his long-life friend, the only person who never judged him, who never ran away from him. The same person that now was dying under his fingers.

“шесть”

Six years took him to be Bucky, after his last war, after the last effort, after the last jump. He was a new man. You made him a new man. A good one. You guided him through the right way. You helped him to get used to the twenty-one century. You accompanied him to therapy and stayed in the waiting room every single session until he finished.

“заткнуться”.

The soldier ordered you to shut up, earning quite the opposite when you knew it was sorting some kind of effect on him, as soon as you felt some relief by the grip loosening around your throat and your tiptoes touching the ground. Little by little, you opened your eyes again, gluing them on the blue ones fixed on you.

“боец”.

He wasn't a super soldier, he was a fighter. He spent the last six years of his life fighting for it, fighting for ruling his existence, fighting for being pardoned for crimes he didn't want to commit, fighting for your love. Bucky furrowed swallowing, allowing you to place your feet on the floor.

“Бруклин”.

And when he demonstrated to the world that he was no longer the Winter Soldier, but James Bucky Barnes, he moved to his birthplace. Brooklyn. You and he rented an apartment together when you both learned that you couldn't live apart. That you were made for each other.

“Отец…”

A tear ran down your cheek, slowly moving your left hand to his free one. A shiver toured his backbone when he felt your warm touch holding his hand and, even if his cold fingers were still around your throat, the soldier bowed his head to follow the connection between the two of you. His flesh hand landed on your stomach, pressing it under yours, trying to transmit to him the news about your pregnancy status. Bucky was going to be a father. You were going to build a family as he always wished.

“Свобода”.

As the sob escaped your soul, his hand made of vibranium released your neck. Freedom was what he got after all those years.

Bucky was free.

His hold was the only thing that kept you on your feet, pining to the cold hard ground, as well as you trying to fill your lungs with the heavy air around you because of the dense smoke coming from the flames burning down that damn place. You watched Bucky picking the shield close to you, probably believing it could be easier to kill you with it than with his own hands. Your arms automatically wrapped your abdomen, as if you could protect your unborn child from that horror, crying James' name to remember you.

“James… James…”

You weren't able to stop whining, feeling a heavy sorrow under your chest, covering your vitals organs. The noisy sound from the bunker was suddenly turned into a constant beep, beep, beep that caused you to frown yet keeping your eyes closed. You called him once and again until a warm hand laced his fingers with you. Peace invaded you eventually, after a fond squeeze around your skin followed by a pair of rough lips pressed on your forehead. You let yourself go, not finding any strength inside your heart to continue awake.

The next time you opened your eyes, you needed a moment to adjust your gaze to the sunlight. Purring feeling more comfortable than before, you rolled on your stomach, sinking your nose into the large pillow. Bucky's scent was like a punch of reality. Your eyes snapped open as your pulse increased, starting to panic. Sitting up, your orbs moved quickly all around the room you recognized instantly. It was your dorm in the Compound, the one you used to share with your boyfriend —and the father of your child. It was empty. No trace of James anywhere. You tossed away the oxygen mask and the sheets covering your stiff anatomy, getting up from the bed. Another huge mistake.

Everything spun around you, feeling strong dizziness hitting your head, having to sit down for a second. But as soon as you felt recovered, you stood up again walking straight to the main door to step out. The hallway was deserted, hearing some voices coming from the meeting room. You followed them slowly, finding balance with your palm against the walls. Sam was the first one noticing your presence, coming faster to help you.

“James… James…” You mumbled, not really sure about when you started to sob again, whilst your muscles got tense with every syllable.

“He's okay, he's okay, take it easy, girl”. He tried to calm you as Steve reached you to bring you to the closest chair.

“We don't know what you did… but even if that man introduced the commands again… you turned it off”. Natasha spoke this time.

“I re— I repro— reprogramed him”.

The confusion was more than evident between the Avengers present in the room. But no one of them had the need to ask how. The spy taught you Russian in your free time, you weren't a fluent speaker, but it was enough to have a chat. Even so, you weren't going to say the words you used. You weren't going to make Bucky go through another wipe. If they worked, you'd make sure that he'd hear them when the occasion required it.

“I wan— wanna see him… please”. You cried covering your face with both hands, desolated after the hell of the situation you had to live.

“He's resting”. Steve informed you, squatting close and placing a hand on your right thigh to gently caress it. “And you should do the same. For your baby”.

“There's no way you're gonna stop me from seeing him”. You replied, raising your head and looking at him through your eyelids. Silently pleading.

He snorted, convinced that you wouldn't change your mind. Nodding two times with his head, he stood up and offered you a hand to hold it and help you to walk. Steve guided you through upstairs, following your pace step by step —he could have carried you onto his arms, but he wasn't sure if he could hurt you accidentally. You were too weak, barely breathing properly because of all the smoke you swollen inside the bunker. Although you started to feel somewhat erratic and excited as you were coming to Bucky's old dorm.

Steve opened the door for you, letting you walk inside before closing it behind your back. Your boyfriend was peacefully sleeping under the sheets. There were some scars on his face, already healed but yet seeming painful. The only explanation you found to be there was that Bucky used the shield to open the door and take you out of the bunker. A theory that made more sense when you noticed that he hadn't his prosthesis and his shoulder was covered by a thin black microfiber.

You headed to the bed, tucking in to wrap his warm and heavy body between your arms. At the moment he felt you, he embraced you as better as he could, not opening his eyes but shedding a tear. His lips started to tremble as you pecked them, previous to hiding his face into your neck.

“I'm so sorry…” Bucky sobbed, causing your whole anatomy to shudder because of the sorrow in his voice.

“We're gonna be okay, my love… You, me, our baby… Our family”.

His crying increased after those two words, caressing his back slowly to comfort him somehow. You knew that this recovery would be hard and painful, being conscious of how close he had been to end with your life. He didn't want to do it, nobody could deny it. You were everything he had, everything he always wished for deep inside his soul and heart. And the acknowledgment of having a baby with you only provoked him to feel guiltier.

But as you said so, everything was going to be okay.

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[ray-ray-writings]

Actually Pretty Funny-Technoblade

Hello! This is a platonic!brother!Technoblade x fem!reader and a hinted Niki x fem!reader. I made the reader female since the request was the reader coming out to Techno as a lesbian. I hope that you enjoy!

Not in the dreamsmp but also isn’t real life. This is a Sleepy Bois inc fic where Techno, Wilbur, Tommy, and reader are all siblings with Phil being their father. 

Warnings: Mentions of skipping meals

Like this and want more? Check out my masterlist here!

Y/N opens up to her big brother as to why she has been avoiding her other brother and his friend.

Y/N’s POV

I let out a sigh as I flopped face first down on my bed. For the past few days, I’ve been spending a lot of time in my room after school. Why? Well thanks for asking, ambiguous voice. My brother Wilbur has been bringing his friend Niki for the past week and a half. The two had been assigned to work on a project together and they found it easier to work at our house because of the close proximity to the school. So the two would spend hours sitting at the kitchen table working on their project, talking and laughing at the jokes they made with one another and I couldn’t be around it.  But not for the reason that most would think….

Many would think that I couldn’t be around the two because I didn’t like Niki. But it’s really quite the opposite. I like Niki. I mean, really like Niki… Really really like Niki… I have a giant crush on Niki. That’s why I can’t be around the two. I either get so jealous that it makes me feel sick or I make a complete fool of myself because I can’t handle Niki smiling at me. I haven’t told anyone this. Not even my brothers. No one knows how I feel and I would like to keep it that way. I love my brothers and I know they’re very supportive of the LGBTQ+ community, but I can’t help but fear that they’ll tease me or look at me differently and I don’t want anything to change. 

So I decided to just hide myself away from all of it. If I don’t acknowledge my feelings, do they really exist? If I hide away in my room, nothing can get out and no one can find me out. I shouldn’t have to do this much longer, the project should be done soon, maybe even tonight. Maybe tonight will be the last time Niki and Wilbur will sit at the kitchen table laughing over how dumb their teacher is. I sure hope so. 

I was interrupted from my self-pity party by a knock on my door. Letting out another sigh, I rolled onto my back and sat up, “Yeah?” The door swung open and I was greeted by the sight of my blonde haired brother. “What?” I questioned with a raised eyebrow. Tommy almost never knocks before coming in so I was a bit surprised. “Dadza is letting us get pizza to celebrate Wilbur and Niki finishing their project. What kind do you want?” Tommy asked, pushing hair out of his eyes. 

My eyes widened slightly at the question. I was right, tonight was the last night that she would be over. But the way that he phrased the question left me with one of my own, “Is Niki staying for dinner?” Tommy rolled his eyes at my question. “Of course she is, idiot. It wouldn’t be a celebration of them finishing without her. Now what do you want?” He pressed. “Oh… Umm..” I stuttered. This had never happened before. Niki never stayed for dinner. Of course Phil made sure she knew she was always welcome, but she didn’t accept the offer. She would always say she had to get home to Ranboo and make sure he hadn’t burned down the house. This always allowed me to fly under my family’s radar. I would go to my room and come down for dinner, claiming that I had a lot of homework and didn’t want to get distracted. Everytime they all bought it. Now what am I supposed to do?

“Umm. Actually, I’m not that hungry right now so I’ll just skip out. Thanks though Tommy.” I smoothly lied to my little brother. At least I thought I was smooth, but Tommy remained in my doorway with a cocked eyebrow and hands now on his hips. “You’re not hungry… For pizza? One of your all time favorites? Yeah I don’t believe you…. Are you skipping meals again? Do I need to go get Techno?” Tommy questioned. My heart began pounding. “No!” I blurted, standing up. I cleared my throat before responding once more, a lot calmer now. “No. No you don’t need to get Techno. I’m not skipping meals. I’m just not hungry.” For a moment, Tommy actually seemed to believe me. But then out of no where, my stomach let out a really loud growl. 

Tommy and I stared at each other for a long while. I silently begged him to not do what I knew he was about to do. If Techno came in here, I knew I would have to spill everything. For some reason I couldn’t lie to my pink headed brother. He always knew how to get me to tell him what he needed to hear. “Tommy,” I whispered, “Please don’t-” “TECHNO!” He screamed, cutting me off. Tommy bolted out of my room and down the hallway toward Techno’s room. I heard Tommy begin to pound on Techno’s door as he yelled his name. In a panic, I rushed forward and slammed my door shut. I then rushed back to my bed and crawled under the blankets, bringing them up to cover my face. 

Tommy’s screams stopped and it was silent. The calm before the storm. A rhythmic knock sounded against my door once more. I didn’t answer, hoping that maybe they would just go away if I didn’t respond… I knew better than that though. After a few moments of silence, I heard the door creak on it’s hinges letting me know it had been opened. It’s moments like this where I silently curse Phil for not letting me have a lock on my door. There was a small click as the door was shut once more. Footsteps echoed through my room and when they stopped, a pressure dipped my bed down as that same person sat next to me. 

The tension in my room was extremely thick as we waited for the other to speak first. I was surprised by the blanket being pulled off of my face. My eyes quickly adjusted as I stared at my brother’s stoic expression, “Hello Technoblade” I greeted softly, looking away from his eyes. “Hello Y/N… Would you like to explain to me why Tommy nearly busted down my door to tell me that you're skipping meals again.” I rolled my eyes and adjusted myself so that I was now sitting up and resting against the headboard, “Because he’s a snitch that can’t keep his mouth shut” I huffed, looking everywhere but my brother. Techno let out a sigh and moved so that he was now sitting criss-cross on my bed. I felt a hand underneath my chin and my head was slowly moved so that I had no choice but to look at Techno. “You want to try again?” He prodded softly. 

I took a deep breath before letting it out and swallowing harshly, “I can’t be around her.” I admitted softly. Techno’s face morphed into confusion, “Niki? Why? Has she been mean to you? That’s really surprising to hear, she’s usually a total sweetheart! I’ll talk to her and let her know-” “No” I cut him off. “No, it’s not that at all… I can’t be around her for another reason…” I trailed off. Techno was still confused, “You’re going to help me out Y/N. What other reason?” I took another deep breath before finally answering, “I like her. I really like her Techno. I’m either sick with jealousy at what her and Wilbur have or I fumble and embarrass myself in front of her… Techno… I’m a lesbian.” I admitted, closing my eyes tightly, not wanting to see his reaction. 

He was silent for a while. I was about to speak again but was cut off by arms being wrapped around my shoulders. Techno pulled me into a tight hug, pressing me close to his chest. On instinct, my arms wrapped around him, my hands clutching the back of his shirt. All the emotions I had been bottling up for the past week and a half came crashing down. Tears began slipping out of my eyes as small sobs choked their way out of my mouth. Techno simply held me closer and began rocking back and forth, smoothing my hair down with one hand and the other rubbing up and down my back in comfort. 

After a few minutes, my tears and sobs came to a stop. Techno tilted his head down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head. “Thank you for telling me,” He murmured against my hair. I sniffed and let out a hum, “Yeah… I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.” Techno pulled back and gave me a stern look, “Don’t apologize okay? You weren’t ready to tell me and that’s okay. No one is entitled to information that you’re not ready to tell.” I processed his words and nodded, “You’re right,” I croaked, my throat raw from sobbing. Techno let out a laugh in triumph, “Always am kiddo. I always am.” 

The two of us sat in comfortable silence for just a moment before Techno spoke again, “I just want to let you know that this changes nothing. You’re still my little sister that I love very much. Just now, instead of beating up your boyfriends, I’ll have to have civil conversations with your girlfriends.” His words caused me to giggle. The thought of Techno gearing up to fight the first boy I bring home only to open the door and find a woman. I giggled more as I pictured him quickly hiding his weapons and ushering the girl to the table and questioning them. “You know Techno, you’re actually pretty funny.” I giggled, shaking my head. A huge smile graced Techno’s face as he fist pumped in the air. “A lesbian refering to me as ‘actually pretty funny’? I’ve won life. Poggers!” I couldn’t help the laughter then burst from my lips at the sight of my pink headed brother fist pumping to me telling him he’s funny. Techno joined in on my laughter, causing me to laugh harder. 

After our laughter died down, Techno stood up and offered me his hand. “Come on. Let’s go get some pizza.” Without even stopping to think, I took his hand and let him lead me downstairs to the kitchen. “There you two are!” Dadza greeted with a warm smile. Everyone was seated at the kitchen table, pizza boxes spread out in front of them. I didn’t realize that enough time had passed to where they were able to order and get the pizza. “Y/N your pizza is right there and Techno yours in next to hers.” aid, pointing to the two empty spots. Techno was quick to sit down and begin eating. 

I took my seat next to Techno and Niki across from me. “Hey Y/N!” Niki greeted with a bright smile. “Hey Niki,” I greeted her back with a shy smile. “I felt like I haven’t seen you much this past week! How have you been?” She questioned, setting down her slice of pizza. “I’ve been good. How about you?” I asked back. “I’ve been good too! Hanging out with your brother has been fun, but it would have been better if I was able to see your face every once in a while.” Her words caused my face to flush a deep red. “Maybe we could hang out, just you and me sometime?” She offered, getting a little shy now. I glanced around at the table and found three shocked faces and one smirking. I cleared my throat and nodded enthusiastically, “I would love that, Niki.” I claimed with a smile. Niki smiled sweetly back at me before going back to eating her pizza causing me to also go back to my pizza. 

There was a silence that fell over the table as the four guys stared at us. “What’s the matter?” I asked in general to the four. Wilbur, Tommy, and Phil seemed to shake out of their surprise and all murmured “nothing” before all going back to munching on their pizza and having a casual conversation. I let out a breath of relief. I knew that I would have to address what just happened after dinner, but for now I was off the hook. I allowed myself to look over to my oldest brother, who was shoving his pizza in his mouth. When his eyes met mine, he gave me a bright smile and a sly wink causing me to giggle and smile back at him. Perhaps it’s a good thing I can’t lie to my pink headed brother sometimes… Sometimes. 

There you go! I really hope that you enjoy! If you did, please be sure to leave a like!

[embrassemoi]

𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L    Content: swearing, angst, no proofreading, filler? A/N: i hope your week has been great so far xx

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | ao3 】

Chapter 35 ✷ Picture’s Up

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

James couldn't recall a time where he felt so drained.

He didn’t even think there was a word to encapsulate just how drained he really felt. Every day, there was a wariness that sunk and immersed itself so deeply within his bones that made it feel like he could hardly breathe.

Day by day, it felt like a part of his sanity was cracking.

Enervated, drowsy, exhausted, knackered, dead on his own two feet… he could go on.

Prefect duties were as dreadful as Remus had said they were and James regretted every time he ever made fun of him for it. It was miserable and karma never hit him harder. Monitoring detentions and rounds were tedious, the tests he had to grade were mind-numbingly boring; all forcing him to lose the little sleep he had.

And then there were the loads of Quidditch practices that once were fun, a way for him to exert his remarkable supply of energy, only became a bit of a nuisance with the overwhelming activities he was forced to juggle.

Working around Moony’s moon cycle...

And then there was the fucking Black family.

The mere mention of their names sent James into a spiral. He’d rather submerge himself into the Black lake and let the giant squid ink all over him than deal with them. But there he was.

He debated for a while, whether or not to tell Black about Regulus but refrained. He was far too stubborn to listen and could make matters worse.

James sighed, leaning into the couch in the common room, running his fingers through his hair.

“Potter.” The ring of Lily’s voice sounded through his ears. James turned around to look at her, feeling his heart accelerate.

“Evans,” he greeted.

“We have rounds in a bit. Don’t be late.”

James simply nodded, not having enough energy to put on a front.

And of course Lily noticed. She noticed his frazzled appearance and lack of energy. There was hardly any banter between them and Lily would’ve thought it was a miracle that his annoying self had vanished, replaced with timorous energy. But if anything, it was disquieting.

She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing out, “Hey, you alright?”

He gave a little audible sound in response. “Yeah. I’ll be there. I just need to make a few arrangements quickly. Meet you by the... Prefects’ bathroom?”

Lily considered him.

“... See you.”

James made his way out of the common room, slipping out the Marauder’s Map. He’d been tracking Regulus’ movements for the past few days now and the only person he went to was Y/N for any substantial amount of time.

He truly had no one else and it ruled out any potential bullying.

Walburga and Orion… Their treatment towards him shocked James. Golden boy Regulus, who would’ve thought?

But even with the Marauder’s Map, it was impossible to keep track of him. He never stayed in one spot long enough to catch, aside from the dungeons and Slytherin common room.

Everything regarding Regulus’ situation forced James to think strenuously. If he were to accidentally say too much of what Whiskers had told him, not only would Regulus close himself off to him, but to her too, leaving them with no clue of his well-being.

And it forced him to worry about Whiskers. She didn’t know what she's getting herself into… What if Walburga and Orion caught word of their friendship?

James shuddered, pushing away the thought. He didn’t want to think about what would happen to either of them.

He continued to watch Regulus’ name travel across the map before ascertaining he was close. He tapped on the map, muttering out ‘Mischief managed’ whilst bolting down the hallways. Each twist and turn exhilarated a nervous adrenaline thumping through his veins as he rehearsed a little speech inside his head.

Before Regulus had time to process what was happening, James had already yanked him back, disappearing into one of the secret passageways.

“What the — Potter?!” He squawked. Pushing him away, James saw the pure panic washed over his features through the shadows.

“I know we don’t have much time,” James rushed, “But hear me out.”

He made no attempt to move but looked around for other students.

“You’ll always have a home with me,” James said easily as if it was the most obvious answer. “With Bla — Sirius — living with me, you’re more than welcome to as well. I understand your situation and —”

“No,” Regulus leered, “I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” James challenged before easing up. “My family and I are more than willing to protect you, like how we’ve been doing for Sirius.”

And then it stayed silent for a while and he finally let himself take in his appearance.

“Regulus, what happened to you?”

Regulus’ head hung. “All I wanted was to have long hair.”

And then it clicked for James, but he was running out of things to say that were convincing and felt a familiar panic return.

“You miss him, right?” He tried. “I know he misses you. If maybe —”

But when Regulus’ mood suddenly changed, James knew instantly that he had miscalculated.

“Miss me?” Regulus laughed bitterly. “He doesn’t miss me and he has never considered me his brother. You, Lupin, Pettigrew — you’re his brothers.”

He could see the misty tears welding up in Regulus’ eyes and didn’t make a move to stop him when he stormed out from the passageway.

Once Regulus was free from James, he sprinted, blinking multiple times to prevent tears from seeping out. An ache burned inside his chest as he found himself diving into his bed, pulling the curtains shut.

Those unforgettable questions that plagued his mind for a year now played heavily in his mind, like his own personal film.

What made someone good or bad? What did he believe in? Was he strong enough to break from his mould or did he want to? And most importantly, what was he willing to do?

Blood purity…

Regulus closed his eyes. He wished life was a dress rehearsal and there were times to make mistakes and have do-overs without permanent repercussions. To get time to practice and refine life until he explored every avenue. Unfortunately, life had no room for anything but the final performance. Every stumble, every mishap or memory slip was presented to a live audience day by day.

Reopening his eyes, he had his answer.

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A few weeks went by and September was coming to a close. October came with beautiful colours and a chilly breeze.

It felt like every day, Y/N added another reason to be disgruntled and hateful onto her list. It had been a month since she’d last seen her mother and she refrained from sending any letters; waiting patiently to see if she would make the first move.

Nothing.

It was safe to say that it put her into a bad mood that morning.

The walk to Defence Against the Dark Arts with Lily was a quiet one and slightly uncomfortable. However, the uncomfortable bit was more on Lily’s end rather than Y/N who was too wrapped in her anger-induced thoughts.

These days, their lessons were almost exclusively in the Duelling room, filled with practical lessons. Especially today, she was beyond thankful for; eager to have an outlet.

But Professor Elway was unusually keen on inviting her to the Duelling sessions. She was almost as difficult as dodging Slughorn’s Slugclub invites. Luckily, Y/N liked Elway and duelling was electrifying. Even potion making, no matter how much she enjoyed it, was lengthy and mundane.

Mentioning their professor, she wasn’t there that morning when they arrived outside the Duelling room. The students lounged outside the door, taking out their books and wand while they waited.

Remus found himself drifting to her as they quietly chatted away.

“Like your sweater,” she said. In the background, she could hear Marlene and James yelling, “It’s a jumper!”

Remus smiled. “This old thing?” Pointing to the sweater that she knitted. They both giggled a bit; Remus leaned slightly against her, eyes lingering a beat.

“Sorry, I’m late!” Elway called out to them in a dreamy voice. “Everyone, follow me!”

Puzzled, the class looked at each other as they followed their professor away from the dungeons. While they walked, rude and unbearable, Peeves the Poltergeist floated upside down. Once he spotted Remus, he immediately drifted up to him, opening his mouth, no doubt about to hurl all sorts of names or songs at him.

Remus hardly looked at him, already taking out his wand and said lazily, “Waddiwasi!” at Peeves.

A wad of gum shot out from nowhere and landed directly on Peeves before he whirled back from Remus, spewing curses at him.

“Nice one! Ought to teach me that later!” “Almost feel bad for the bloke!” Both James and Peter said at the same time.

Elway had led them outside to a desolate area, free from a canopy of branches and leaves.

“Now, my pupils!” She sang. “You might be wondering, ‘what are we doing out here?’ Lucky for you, we’re going to be practicing a few spells and learning how to fight using other means during duels.”

Like most of the class, Emmeline was ​skeptical as she raised her hand. “I thought we weren’t supposed to use physical means during duels?”

“Precisely,” said Elway, walking back and forth in front of the class. “Couldn't have said it better myself. But you know who won’t give a damn?”

There was a long pause for effect.

“Your enemies.” She clapped her hands together. “Now, can anyone give us some ideas? How about… Miss L/N?”

Blinking a few times, she hesitated, not expecting to be called on. “Er — you can… take them from the legs?”

“Wonderful idea! I’m thrilled you said that! Does anyone else want to add on?”

Remus raised his hand, answering politely. “Using your arms — stretching them.”

Professor Elway nodded away happily. “Wonderful answer! Take five points! Like Remus said, stretching your arms out or boarding your shoulders, spacing out your legs can widen your defence range! Why don’t we try?”

She called Remus up first and Y/N could tell he was slightly nervous. He doubled down, making himself seem smaller by hunching over and made sure not to accidentally hurt their professor.

A couple of Hufflepuffs, Slytherins and then James, Marlene and Lily all tried; mimicking Elway as she let them knock her over.

“Most importantly,” Elway said, dusting off her robes free from leaves and dirt. She panted a bit, tired from being knocked down multiple times. “Never let the enemy strike first. You all did fantastically!

“Obviously, in any professional setting, you’ll be disqualified if you ever tried to physically attack your opponent. But you can still play dirty in a duel!

“The charm Obscuro has been helpful on several occasions. It blindfolds your opponent. Please repeat after me: Ob-SKOO-roh!”

“Obscuro!”

“Excellent!” Elway gave a little applause, filled with glee. “Another spell that I love is the Confundus charm. Y/N! May you please explain to us the purpose of the Confundus charm?”

“She’s calling on you an awful lot,” Lily muttered.

She nodded a bit. “It confuses your oppent. The varying degree depends on how much magic is put into the initial casting.”

“Perfect! Five points to Gryffindor. If you will tell me about Incendio.”

As she spoke, there was almost a switch that went off in Elway that made her incessantly happy that almost unnerved her.

“Beautiful! Now if you may, help demonstrate the spell?”

“I don’t want to hurt —”

“Trust me, you won’t.”

Then, Y/N felt a deep lurch of fear as everyone retreated against the trees, giving her a clear view of Professor Elway opposed to her, waiting to block her spell.

She took a deep breath in, pushing up the sleeves of her robes, she held her wand.

Professor Elway had a protective spell around her. “One, two, three — now!”

“Incendio!” Only meek sparks shot out of her wand. A few students snickered while her friends were seen trying to drown them out by clapping.

“That was amazing!” Peter called out.

“I wouldn’t be able to do that on the first go!” Marlene shouted.

“That was good! Try again! One, two, three — go!”

“Incendio!” Nothing noteworthy happened. It was embarrassing.

“It’s alright, try again!” Elway said, not letting her go yet. “Think about something that’s motivating!”

Y/N closed her eyes, inhaling deeply and pondered. What was motivating to her? Surely, the want to continue with magic after school was motivating. Or perhaps proving someone wrong?

Proving someone wrong…

She had a lot to prove to her mother.

Instead of her being motivated, a flicker of annoyance and anger flooded her instead. Sensing the change, Elway beamed, her wand held high.

“One —”

Her mother always prioritized everyone and everything above her —

“Two —”

Was never there when it mattered —

“Three —”

There was never much affection. The constant want to please, the low self-esteem made her feel worthless, unloveable, always wanting to run when she got too close — she caused it —

“Now!”

“Incendio!” She bellowed.

A loud crack rippled through the air and caused her to stumble back. A large blast of orange and red flames shot out from her wand. Scorching heat flooded out, causing all the students to jump back as Elway shot waves of water, extinguishing the flames at once. As angry as she had been, glee and pure enjoyment replaced that quickly.

Once the bell rang, the students gathered up their belongings, leaving for their next class. But Elway took a moment, calling out her name, asking that she stay back for a few moments.

James and Lily staggered behind, offering to wait as they talked quietly under one of the willow trees.

They were so civil these days…

“I would’ve offered you a cup of tea,” Elway spoke as she approached her. Her foot tapped against the ground, her eyes far-away, thinking thoughtfully with a sly smirk. “Has anyone told you that you would make for an excellent, excellent duellist?”

Her eyebrows raised and shook her head.

That only prompted her teacher to smirk, in a satisfied sort of way. “You’re exceptionally strong for someone with no experience.”

There was a smug tone to Elway’s voice and she couldn’t quite place what she was getting at.

“Did you know that any professional duellist would kill for your wand? Or even the slight edge you have against them with your talent?”

“Erm… no?” Y/N said. She wondered if Elway needed glasses because surely, she wasn’t referring to herself. “Professor… are you sure you’re talking to the right student?”

She laughed so hard that she had to clutch her stomach tightly. She ignored her question. “My dear, do you have any ideas of what you want to be when you’re older?”

“Not really.”

“I have a proposition for you,” she beamed, flicking her long blonde, almost silver hair out of the way. “Let me take you under my wing, make you into a proper duellist.”

Y/N blinked. She didn’t know what to say and stood there with her mouth gaped.

“Yes, you heard that correctly.” Professor Elway teased. “I’d love to mentor you.”

She sputtered, positively confused and flustered. “I’m not at the top of the class, I struggle with Charms, I’ve never had a huge interest in it — I don’t know the first thing about duelling!”

“That’s what I’m here for, no? And your skill is exceptional and I know a duellist when I see one. You’ve shown the last few lessons that you’re capable of casting very strong spells.

“And do you know what separates a duellist from the masses? Energy, emotions and power. What changed when I told you to think about something motivating? A powerful Duellist may only be out of sheer power and brunt force, but a well-rounded Duellist listens to every part of their body. Their wand, their heart, the emotions that cause them to fight.”

“But —”

Elway flicked her wrist, mildly interested in her excuses. “Anyway, off to your next lesson. Take some time to think about it,” she smiled, clearly not going to take no for an answer. “I’ll be waiting for when you finally agree.”

Both Lily and James took her arms, hooking it with theirs and walked to Potions. They were staring at her, lost for words at Professor Elway’s proposition.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

“Yes, Pettigrew.” McGonagall scolded rather harshly. “The essay is due on Monday.”

Peter averted his gaze, grumbling out a thank you before exiting her office. “Dunno why she’s so strict with me.”

“She wants the best for you,” James tried to encourage as they all headed back to their common room.

Y/N couldn’t care less as she thought about later that night. No matter how hard she tried, Slughorn wouldn’t take no for an answer and she was almost forced to make an appearance at the Slugclub.

Lily was so excited, running through their dorm as she got ready.

Marlene sulked a bit, folding her arms across her chest. She was quiet enough for Lily not to hear, but Y/N heard her clear as day. “That’s not fair. I want to be invited. I want to feel special too.”

“You’re more than special,” Dorcas cut in, rubbing a hand up and down her shoulder. “You’re a star, baby.”

Y/N ignored them, fiddling with a small tube of eyeliner, watching Lily excitedly going through her closest.

Luckily, not only would Lily be there, but Remus, most likely Regulus — however, she doubted they would be able to interact — and funnily enough, James was invited too.

Inside the actual party was decent, a lot better than she expected. There were still the uptight students who thought they were above others, or the Purebloods that judged her when she walked into the room, but it was bearable.

Y/N chuckled as she watched Remus throwback drink after drink, sneakily stealing a few alcoholic beverages meant for the adults. His movements were so discreet that nobody ever suspected him.

She covered her smile behind her glass.

“Hi. It’s been awhile.”

Y/N turned around, and there, Aldrich McLaggen stood wearing a little smile. He trimmed his blond hair to sweep nicely and his cheekbones hallowed out.

“It has. And congratulations, I heard you’re on the Quidditch team.”

“Yes! Chaser - taking over Bell’s position.”

“So… How are you?”

If it was even possible, Aldrich’s smile grew wide. “I’ll be a lot better if I saw your smile tonight?”

She didn’t smile; unimpressed and decided to sip on her drink.

“Yeah,” Aldrich began again, “Didn’t think that would work.”

“A pretty big miss.” She grumbled.

“But I’m getting to know how to impress you in the future.”

Y/N turned to side-eye him. “Hmm? How?”

“How about -” And out of nowhere, he reached behind her ear and pulled out a red rose, handing it to her. Much like a Muggle magician.

She felt a coy smile tug at her lips and forced it down, but failed. “Nice one.”

“Everyone! Please come down and sit!” Slughorn announced, calling to all the students.

He beamed, flashing his teeth. “Don’t hide away again. I’d love to see you again.”

She tilted her head at him, tilting her glass before making her way to find her spot at the table.

The girl beside her had frizzy light brown hair and large glasses that looked like they were from an animated children’s television program. She was draped in a colourful shawl.

“Hi, I’m Y/N.”

But the other young witch smiled brightly, although never quite meeting her eyes as she outstretched her hand. “Sybill Trelawney.”

She shook Sybill’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

But then Y/N took a good look at her and realized, “We’re in the same charms class, right?”

Sybill nodded her head, fingers tapping rapidly on the table. “For two years now. I sit a row behind you. And by the way, you're very pretty.”

She was taken back, a genuine smile spreading over her lips. “Thank you, you look lovely too! I adore your glasses.”

A light blush spread across Sybill’s face, her hand brushing against her glasses. Her eyes peered up for a second before averting her gaze. Y/N couldn’t help but smile, already enjoying Sybill’s presence.

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【 Next Chapter 】

© gotkindabored 2021. Do not repost or modify

[weirdthinkingdragon]

Welcome To The Family (5/???)

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / here

Had no idea how to connect with Aizawa. Hopefully, this works. Sorry about my hyperfixation on this. 

Warnings- some swearing

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

I get ready for yet another day of babysitting Eri. Thinking back on the festival yesterday, the uncomfortable feeling between the two men is something I’d rather not experience again if possible. They’re together as well, so why did Hizashi put me between them? I could have sat on the other side of him if he wanted me beside him so bad. Don’t think Aizawa was too happy about it either with the narrow look he gave me, now that I think about it. It’s best to try to avoid those situations in the future.

While in my mind, I didn’t notice my friend in front of me and bumped into them. Ryo doesn’t look too good. They have bigger eyebags than I’ve ever seen and are frowning with their arms crossed. “Glad to catch you. I stayed up all night waiting for you.”

“Ryo, whatever it is, you could have just texted or called me.”

They frown deeper. “I’ve been trying to stay happy for you, I really have. I and a few of the others really miss you hanging out with us. We’ll even blast your favorite song the whole day and night. Just… Please join us for a whole day once again.”

I knew what they were getting at. Damn it, guilt is really starting to rise in me. I desperately want to hang out with them, but that stupid dinner I’m pretty much forced to go to this Sunday… Ugh, why couldn’t they wait until next Sunday!? “I’m sorry, Ryo, but they want me to babysit the kids again this Sunday. I told them I’m not available next Sunday though! We can hang out then!”

Their frown goes deeper than ever seen by me. “Come on, Y/N! We haven’t had a day to hang out properly in like, what? Months? Every time you return you’re too tired to join us. Those damn kids can go ONE. DAY. without you taking care of them. Don’t you think you’ve done enough for them yet!? The only day we had was Sunday, but for the last few you’ve been stuck with them AGAIN. For how much you take care of them, the adults shouldn’t even HAVE them!”

I nearly snapped at them for the last thing they said. They seem angry though, so I try to not let it get to me too much, or it could end badly for both of us.

It’s easy to tell they all care for each other, and taking one of them away from their little family would be greatly unethical. What also holds me back is remembering Ryo doesn’t know the story of the kids, or that the adults are heroes and teachers. Man, I wish I could tell them. Surprised they haven’t made the connection themselves yet of at least figuring out they’re teachers. “Their jobs are highly demanding. Trust me, they’d much rather be with their kids if they could. I’ve seen how they act towards them.”

“That doesn’t mean shit. For all you know, it could just be a front!”

I shake my head. “Don’t think so. Pretty sure one of them would be incredibly bad at acting.”

They glare at me. “Whatever you think.” They then storm off, leaving more guilt to eat away at me. Ugh, I feel like crying out of frustration.

The mold-quirked male comes up to me when Ryo leaves. “Sorry about them. They’re kinda in a bad spot with the police right now. They got a little too drunk and spat at an officer yesterday.”

“Again? I thought they learned their lesson last time from me scolding them.”

“Sadly, no. I think they’re losing control since their impulse control is gone.”

Now I’m more annoyed than guilt-ridden. Ryo is a few years older than me. They shouldn’t be such a child about it and need my help when they decide to drink too much. “Thanks for informing me, uh… sorry, I don’t think you ever told me your name.”

His eyes widened in realization. “Oh! Right! Just call me by my first name, Tadao.”

First name basis off the bat is a little weird, but he says it, so sure. “Right! Tadao, Can you keep an eye on them for me still? I’m still rather busy as you might have noticed.”

He nods. “I can do that. Just do me a favor, and try to take it easy for yourself one of these days. You seem a little worn out yourself recently.”

I shrug. “It’s more of what’s happened lately, and what’s on my mind I think.”

He seems unsure about my answer if anything about his dark brown eyes is to go by. He just nods again though and goes to follow Ryo.

I push what just happened to the back of my mind and head towards their home again. After the Ferris Wheel yesterday, Hizashi gave me a key and told me to use it to enter their house from now on since they might be too busy to answer the door. They haven’t had trouble answering the door before, but I’ve learned by now to not question Hizashi’s sporadic way of mind. It doesn’t ease the discomfort that I feel like I’m intruding by randomly entering their house though.

I unlock the door and enter to see a rather concerned Eri hugging the new stuffed animal with the dog and the bunny. “Hey, Eri. What’s wrong?”

It looks like she’s torn from being happy to see me, to having great worry. “Dad’s sick.”

Aizawa’s sick? He was just fine yesterday. I think she calls Aizawa “dad” and Hizashi “daddy” if I’ve noticed correctly. Sometimes it’s really confusing having same-sex parents and trying to know which they’re referring to. “Is Aizawa okay?” I ask, just to be sure it’s the right one.

She nods.

Hitoshi comes into the living room. “He’ll be fine. It was a quirked villain from the ambush yesterday. It’s not contagious, but he’s not allowed to go to the school for twenty-four hours. The principal said he’d have the other teachers kick him out if he enters the school. Even Recovery Girl and no one wants to deal with her wrath.”

“Recovery… Girl?”

He looks like he wants to slap himself. “Right. Uh… She’s the healer after our fights basically.”

“The name makes sense then.”

He nods. “In his shape, he can’t take care of Eri though, so we didn’t tell you to not come.”

“Sounds good,” I smirk, though internally I’m cringing at the thought of being alone with the quiet man. “So, you guys want me to check in on him a few times today as well I’m guessing?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “If you wouldn’t mind, that is. It’s obviously not something you’re hired for.”

I shrug. “It should be fine. I don’t think he’ll be very demanding of me doing things for him if I know him well enough by now.”

Hitoshi smirks in reply to me. “He’s too stubborn to even take cough medicine.”

“I didn’t expect anything different.” Seems rather childish though for a full-grown man. Not like I’d ever say that to his face though.

Hizashi comes out of what must be their bedroom and sees me. “Heya, little lovesong! Did these two fill ya in already?”

Love… song? What’s with the sudden nickname? He always seems to call people “listeners” or whatever, so maybe it’s just a more friendly type of thing?

He also makes his arms go outstretched and looks at me expectantly. He wants me to hug him? Again, this is really sudden.

Screw it, it won’t hurt anything, right? It’s just a hug. I hug him.

He squeezes a little too tightly and wouldn’t let me go for an almost awkward amount of time, even when I try to pull away.

I pat his back to try to get him to let go. “That’s long enough I think. You might want to go before you and Hitoshi are late for school.”

He lets go. “Right! C’mon, little Hypno-man!”

“Little? I’m almost as tall as you.”

“But you’re not yet!” He shouts as he bolts out the door. Hitoshi quickly goes after him. It just leaves a silence between Eri and me. I shake my head at their antics and look at Eri. “Do you think they even left him a glass of water or something before taking off?”

“Daddy gave him water before. A long time ago.”

A long time ago probably means a few hours at most. I sigh. Better check on him then. I go towards the door of their bedroom and knock on it. He doesn’t answer. Oh well, he must not need anything that badly. No, I’m not just trying to stay away from him as much as possible.

I go to walk away, but Eri gently grabs my hand and leads me back to the bedroom door.

“Why do you keep staying away from dad?” she asks.

“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to play dumb. She doesn’t need to know about adult things yet, such as not everyone will like someone. That should be their job to teach her. “Toshi and daddy notice you avoid him. He’s not mean though!”

Do I really have to tell her? Her questioning eyes are begging me to answer.

“It’s just… I don’t think your dad likes me very much. There will always be people who don’t like a person for one reason or another. I don’t know why your dad doesn’t like me, but I respect his decision and want to let him keep his space.”

“But dad doesn’t hate you!” She huffs.

That's a surprise to me. “Unless he tells me otherwise, I’m going to keep believing he does. And honestly, your dad kinda scares me.”

She looks away. “He can be kinda mean sometimes,” she looks back at me. “But he really cares for people!”

A part of me doubts it, but another part can kind of see it, especially with how he acts with Eri and Hitoshi.

I decided to try changing the topic. “I’ll check him in a bit. He probably doesn’t want to be bothered right now. Let’s go play with your stuffed animals for now.” I try to walk away again.

Yet again, she grabs my hand and drags me to the door. She opens it without knocking and makes me enter as well. I noticed the rather large bed before anything. It couldn’t have been a king. Definitely something bigger than that. It has a light red and black blanket covering the whole bed, including the paler-than-usual man under it. His eyes are open and looking at us, but surprisingly, he’s not glaring. I thought he would be from an interrupted entry…

I notice the empty glass on the nightstand next to him. “I’ll get you more water.” I then grab the glass and go to the kitchen. Eri stayed in the bedroom. While filling the glass, one of the cats rubs their head against my leg. The white eyebrows make me know who it is instantly. “Hey, Oreo! Why don’t you come to help your dad?” I ask him and shut off the sink after the glass is nearly full.

I pick him up with my free arm and carry them back into the bedroom. He immediately jumps out of my arms and goes onto the bed. Aizawa almost seems to grow a weak smile at the sight of the cat. I set the glass down back on the nightstand.

“Thanks.” He rasps, catching my surprise. I really wasn’t expecting him to thank me for it. He didn’t strike me as the type. He drinks some of it.

It’s quiet between us, and I want to do nothing but leave him be before the awkwardness gets worse. Plus, he needs all the rest he can get to heal faster. Or is the quirk he was struck with a time-based thing regardless?

Eri suddenly gets up from sitting on the floor and tugs me so she could whisper in my ear. “Talk to him!”

“I don’t think he…” I lock eyes with Aizawa who is surprisingly still not asleep and sigh. I have no idea what to talk to him about. What do you talk about to someone who has hardly ever said a word to you?

I then remember the explosive kid and nearly being hit. It’s worth a shot bringing him up I guess. “Had a close call with one of your students yesterday. Don’t know his name, but he nearly blew up my face if Midoriya wasn’t there.”

Despite his state, his eyes widen a sufficient amount.

“Toshi isn’t happy with him.” Eri pipes up with her arms crossed.

“No harm was done though, right? At least he didn’t hit me,” I shiver remembering his expression. “I’d rather not be in the line of his wrath again though. It’s terrifying to the point I almost feel bad for anything he goes against.”

“Bakugou.” He’s able to hiss it with annoyance. Okay, glad he doesn’t seem annoyed with me the same way he is with that kid.

Bakugou? Isn’t that one of the kids Midoriya told me causes the most problems in his class? “So he must be one of the kids you like to call “problem children”. Midoriya told me you call him that as well. Don’t know how he’s one, but I know if you call him that, you have a really good reason, so I’m not going to comment on it.”

“You seem rather… connected with Midoriya.” He says “connected” like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

“Oh yeah! He’s a good kid. He comes around frequently with Togata,” His eyes narrow and my fond mention of Togata. He better not be getting the wrong idea, I don’t see either of them that way for obvious reasons. “It’s so great they’re able to wear dresses so comfortably. Well, Midoriya is still a bit uncomfortable, but we’ve been working on his self-esteem with Togata. I also still have to thank him for saving me from the Bakugou kid. I don’t think that could be fixed with him though from the feral energy he gives off.”

“Still have to-” he coughs. “Work on that then. He won’t be able to get anywhere if he keeps nearly injuring innocents.”

I smile at him. “I wish you the most luck with him then. You’re definitely going to need it.”

He replies with a slight nod and closes his eyes. Oreo climbs onto Aizawa’s chest and starts purring. He brings one of his arms out of the covers and pets Oreo. The cat’s purring gets louder in appreciation.

Eri lights up. “I’ll go get Mochi and Sundae!” She bolts out of the room. No! Come ba- and she’s gone.

For one stupid reason or another, I feel like confiding with him right now.

“You know, I hate to admit it, but I’m rather envious of you,” He quirks an eye open to look at me. “You have such a lovely family and a significant other that greatly cares about you. I can only hope to have a relationship like you and Hizashi in the future. It’s going to be so strange when I leave your family.”

His other eye opens to fully look at me. His eyes flash some sort of emotion I can’t read. Maybe I overstepped a boundary or said too much about myself? Shit…

“Uh… Sorry about that, Aizawa. That’s probably something stupid to go off about or to bother you with...”

“Shouta.”

“Huh?” I question, just to be sure I was correct in hearing him.

“Shouta. It’s-” he coughs again. “illogical for me to be the only one not called by my first name,” He looks at Oreo, then back at me. “You’re a part of our family. Even Oreo likes you. Sometimes not even I can pick him up.”

“A part of?... No, you’re thinking too much into it. I’m just a sitter that likes taking care of Hitoshi and Eri.”

He slightly shakes his head. “Same thing with Hitoshi. He’s never let anyone but us call him his first name. You’re different.”

I’m having a hard time accepting I’m special in any way. They must just be slightly delusional or something from having multiple bad sitters before. “I’m sure if you got a sitter similar to me, he’d have done the same thing with them.”

“Doubtful. For one, you’re the first that’s not us to not fear Hitoshi for his-” he coughs yet again. “quirk.”

Maybe I should make him stop talking so he can rest before more damage can possibly be done to his throat.

“I found Mochi!” Eri yells from somewhere outside of the room. She enters the bedroom, waddling like she did before with Mochi in her arms. He’s nearly being dragged on the floor, but only seems uninterested in helping her move. She seems to be having a slightly easier time than before carrying him. Not sure if he’s lost some weight, or if she’s gotten stronger. Maybe even both.

I laugh and go over to her to help her carry him. He’s still rather heavy. Heavy enough to cause a rather large dip in the bed when we place him on it. We place him down by Shouta’s feet. He doesn’t even move. Just flops onto his belly where he’s placed. I go over back by Shouta’s side, since that’s closer to the exit of the bedroom. I still feel like I’m intruding in their bedroom.

She immediately takes off again out of the room.

“Eri! I don’t think-” I’m interrupted by Shouta gently grabbing my hand. His hand is rather rough- probably calloused- and rather clammy. Most likely from him being ill. Uh… This is weird.

“It’s fine. The cats are a good distraction,” He lets it go before I can try to pull away. “That’s another thing. Even Eri bonded with you rather quickly. I’ve never seen her so happy to see someone besides us or Midoriya and Togata.”

I shrug. “It’s the previous sitters’ faults for not caring for her. She’s beyond adorable, and I honestly had the thought if something were to happen to her, I’d kill everyone in the room, then myself on my first day.”

He exhales his breath, almost like a chuckle. “Zashi says the same about you.”

I have no idea what to say to that. Oh! He must mean Hizashi would do the same thing for Eri, his mind is just mixed up on his words from his illness. Sounds a lot more logical than someone admitting they really like an adult they just met back then.

Eri comes in with the last and final cat, Sundae. He seems a little more uninterested in being in here than the other two. At least until Eri places him on the bed, and he sees the other two. He jumps onto Shouta’s stomach and tries to push Oreo off to take his spot on Shouta’s chest.

I can’t help but laugh. “You need a little help there?”

He grows the tiniest smile again. “No.” He pulls out his other arm from under the blanket and uses it to pet the other cat as well. That seems to do the trick as he stops trying to push Oreo off.

He coughs yet again. I feel rather bad he has to deal with it. “Would you like some tea maybe? It’s not cough medicine, but it might help your cough a bit more than the water is.”

He turns his head back towards us. His eyes again showing that unreadable emotion. “That's another thing. You’re caring. You’ve respected us the most. You didn’t even try pushing me to tolerate your presence, just accepted it.” Okay, that’s enough talking from you, you need to rest more. I swear, if he’s the type that suddenly has the urge to clean the house when sick… I’d do absolutely nothing. I obviously can’t do much against a man with years of grueling training, even when he’s sick. Might have Eri help me scold him though.

“I’ll get the tea. And do us both a favor, stop talking for now. It’s honestly great hearing you talk more for once, but now is really not the best time.”

“No promises.”

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

The rest of the day was rather uneventful, other than checking up on him a few other times. With how frequently he talked, I started to wonder if he and Hizashi somehow swapped minds. He must be one of those odd people who seem to be more talkative when sick, as clearly found out.

Leaving their house, my body freezes at the familiar feeling of being watched. For a moment, I wonder about going back into their house and asking them to bring me to my home. No, I can’t do that to them. They've already had a long day.

… At least, that’s how I felt at first. But the farther I walked, the more I wished I did. Fuck, the feeling won’t. Leave. Taking out my phone, Hitoshi is the first one to come up in my contacts.

“Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you around here. Heading home, huh?” Asked a familiar voice behind me. That feeling was still around, but just knowing Tadao was with me helped. I turn to face him. His hair was… Glowing green? It made him look like a glowstick, and made me wonder how I’ve never seen his hair do this before. Never met him in the dark though.

He laughs at my expression. “Mold isn’t the only thing my body can absorb. It can also do the same with fungus. Found out years ago I can make my hair glow from the bioluminescent fungus. Cool, huh?”

I smile at him. “Definitely! But you know I now have to call you glowstick, right?”

He groans. “Man, was really hoping to escape that, but I guess it’s deserved, huh?”

“It really is your fault if you don’t naturally have it.”

Because of his glowing hair, it was easy to tell he rolls his eyes. “Anyway, wanna walk with me back to the apartments? Just got off of work myself today.”

“Well, it would make sense, wouldn’t it?”

“Yep.”

We start walking.

“How’s Ryo holding up?”

He sighs. “Not well. Really starting to question their mental state. They told me this morning they don’t even want to talk to you for a few days.”

My face quickly becomes a frown. “Seriously? They’re going to act like this now?”

He shrugs. “Try not to let it get to you. We both know they can be overdramatic at times.”

I sigh. “I hate that you’re right.”

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

Tag list-

@angelicblackwolf 

here ya go. hopefully it works!

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 25)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 6423 Warnings: mention of injuries, fluff

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: Feedback is always appreciated!

HEY NEIGHBOR PART 24 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Time stands still like the eerie calm of the earth before a storm and in less than the blink of an eye things move all at once. The clouds break open with the downpour of your tears, a tornado sends you in a dizzying frenzy to change your clothes, hellish winds are unleashed that blow you across town so quickly you nearly forgot to take your phone with you as you scrambled out of the Uber that raced you to the hospital.

Sam’s call was brief. Bucky was brought into the emergency room by ambulance, fading in and out of consciousness from a car accident. Sam nearly went into shock himself seeing his friend littered in cuts and scrapes. You didn’t have time to ask much else, barely even changing out of your pajamas. You swapped thin bottoms for leggings, quickly grabbed your bra and threw a hoodie over it all, not thinking about how your hair looked or bothering to pick out the crust that just began to take root in the corner of your eyes. You grabbed a bag tossing in your keys and wallet and clutched your phone in hand to run downstairs.

The fluorescent lights are blinding as you enter the hospital, searching for Sam through the chaos of chatter and noise. The beep beep beep of machinery all around you, coughing, crying, moaning wails from people that want help or attention or just a place to sleep off their drunkenness. The ER was a maze you knew every route of but your mind pushed the knowledge out needing more space to panic.

Where is Bucky? Where is Sam?

You remembered the nurses’ station, sprinting towards it and happy to see a familiar face that does not recognize you right away. You didn’t expect Stacie to; you looked quite different when you were not put together in professional clothes and on the verge of bursting into tears and throwing up at the same time.

Together you quickly found Sam, unable to hold back the dam when you saw him and asked about Bucky.

“He went up into surgery.”

“Surgery!?” you cried out. “Is he going to be okay? Sam what happened?”

He let out a long and heavy sigh. The harsh lights above were unkind, showing the depths of the circles under his eyes.

“His leg is broken and he has some internal bleeding but we stabilized him and…”

You knew how hard Sam works, how everyone in this hospital works, getting an up close experience from your time there so you hated to be this person, frantic and begging for answers that he didn’t have.

“Doctor Palmer is an excellent surgeon. I’m gonna call her assistant now to let them know I’m sending you up.”

You nodded, biting your lip and roughly wiping away fresh tears. Sam pulled you into his chest and you felt your knees buckle. Bucky had to make it through surgery, he had to! A heavy sob wracked through you as you thought of the worst. Sam squeezed tighter, wishing he could stay with you upstairs through the surgery. Hell, he’d scrub in himself if they’d let him just so he could say he’s done everything to help his friend through this.

“I’ll be up when I can,” he promised, walking you towards the elevator.

You forced a worried smile. “Thanks Sam. Do you know… did anyone call his parents?”

Sam clenched his jaw as he thought about it. “It was pretty crazy in there, I’m not sure. I could fi–” He was interrupted by someone calling his name and you knew you had taken too much of his time already.

Your stomach dropped as the elevator went up, bringing you to an unfamiliar floor with unfamiliar faces that made you feel like an unwelcome stranger in someone’s home. You let the staff know you were here for James but a by-the-books nurse wasn’t keen on giving you information. Without thinking straight you had stupidly answered no when they asked if you were family, and when you asked if Bucky’s family was called she wouldn’t tell you.

You exhaled a deep, calming sigh, not wanting to yell at the person that was just doing their job, but as you sink into the uncomfortable chair you can’t help but silently cry to yourself. This woman doesn’t know how badly you need to know if Bucky’s okay. She doesn’t know that you spent the last few months ignoring him and wishing you could take it all back. She doesn’t know how much you miss him, how you love him. Even though he broke your heart you couldn’t help yourself from gluing the pieces back together and you needed to tell him, maybe you couldn’t tell him the truth but Bucky needed to at least know that you didn’t hate him.

The clock ticks away slowly and no one has come to speak with you. You stare at Winifred’s profile. She hasn’t updated her status since late in the afternoon. Does she know? Did anyone call them?

You decide they need to know, they need to be here just in case. A wave of nausea rolls over you at the thought and suddenly you become dizzy in your seat. You’re hot, sweating in the hoodie and yet you push on. Shaky fingers google his parent’s names and hometown in the hopes they are listed. You find a number, hesitant to call at this late of an hour. Rebecca was a few hours behind, and you debated messaging them in hopes of a fast reply. Should you do that? Should you be doing this at all?

Fuck.

If you had some answers you could at least feel a little better about all of this. You messaged Rebecca on Instagram telling them what happened and leaving your number. Your cheeks burn like lava as you rest your palm against them, dialing the number that google provided which may or may not be correct.

The phone rings and rings, and with each unanswered ring your stomach twists a little tighter. Relief comes but only slightly by way of Winnie’s bubbly voice prompting you to leave a message. Your voice shakes as you do, letting out a strangled cry as you leave them the limited details you knew about Bucky. Are they sleeping?

It doesn’t take long before your screen lights up with a number you don’t recognize and you were relieved to hear Winnie’s voice. Someone did call her and George, and they were on their way to the hospital.

“Rebecca sent me your number. I’m so happy you’re there. We’ll see you soon sweetheart,” she said, with sobs in her voice.

After hanging up you saw a message from Rebecca repeating what you already knew. They asked if it was okay to call you and you were thankful for the distraction. Together you tried to comfort each other, worrying about Bucky making it through surgery, about their parents driving with little sleep and so much on their minds.

“They’re here,” you said spotting George first from down the hallway, “I’ll call you back.”

It had been at least a half hour since their call and getting up from the chair was slow, your body ached from sitting for too long but you didn’t care. George and Winnie wrapped you in their arms, tears flowing as you embraced. The tears poured a little harder as you gripped them tightly, realizing how nice it was to see them again but wishing desperately it was under different circumstances.

George withdrew first, going up to the desk to let them know he was there. Winnie cupped your face softly, her hands were cold but it felt good against the heat of your skin. The corners of her mouth turned up into a smile that released more tears down her reddened cheeks, her eyes already swollen and full of spidery veins.

Together you waited. Talking, pacing, crying, waiting, waiting, waiting until a short woman in green scrubs called out for the Barnes family. The three of you jump up and you feel immediately sick, holding on to Winnie’s arm as you try to read the expression of the woman before she said anything.

“Mr. and Mrs. Barnes my name is Doctor Palmer, I was the surgeon who worked on your son James.”

Winnie held your hand a little tighter, squeezing as every second went by until Dr. Palmer said he was stable and in recovery.

“He came in with blunt force trauma from a crash. He fractured two ribs and there was some internal bleeding from his spleen which we were able to repair with arterial embolization. However, James had a severe compound fracture of the tibia. We debrided the area and secured the bone with plates and screws. James is in the post op recovery room and he’s awake but not fully lucid.”

A collective sigh of relief filled the waiting room, with mixed tears of happiness flowing freely again. The doctor said a nurse would come by to bring you in to see him shortly and you couldn’t wait. You didn’t know what you would say to Bucky or if he would even be alert enough to hear you but you knew it was time to let him know that the past is in the past and you want to move forward.

A beat fills the room, steady like a metronome to keep the rhythm but the sound is unfamiliar. Too soft for the drums, not high enough for strings. Quick, simple. Piano? No. The sound isn’t broad enough. Keyboard? Yes. Electric, synthy. But it still sounds wrong.

Bucky tries to open his eyes but his lids are too heavy, bolted down by invisible chains. He sees the light of the sun through them. He tries to lift his arm to shut the blinds but even they are too sluggish to move, heavy like they were coated in cement.

He feels the scratch of a rough blanket against his skin, vague thoughts cross his tired mind wondering the whereabouts of his comforter. His toes are cold, feeling like tiny icicles are hanging off them. His right foot drags against the mattress. Was it always this uncomfortable? It’s his left foot that isn’t covered, a sock that probably came off in the night.

In a state of half sleep Bucky tries to wiggle the icicles off and suddenly his whole body feels like it’s been set ablaze. The beat quickens. A terrible pain fires through every nerve. There’s a sharp sensation in his hand when he tries to move it making him wince. His left side has a dull stabbing ache that increases as he takes a deep breath. Bucky feels sore all over like he was just hit by a–

And then he remembers.

His breaths are shallow, the tempo moving rapidly like the hook of an EDM song about to drop the beat as Bucky replayed the scene like a movie. He left the premier’s after party in an Uber never expecting the violent jolt of an SUV t-boning the car into a traffic pole. Everything after was a blur. There were flashing lights, noise, a steady bright light, an angel with the face of Y/N.

Bucky’s eyes fly open in state panic as he looks around wildly at his surroundings. His leg is in a cast, elevated by a sling. Needles in his arm, tubes around his nose, wires everywhere. He felt like a mess, he could only imagine he looked even worse but then all of his worries fade away when he sees Y/N, the angel at his side.

You’re asleep on the chair, elbow propped up on the wooden arm with your head leaning against your palm. It’s not comfortable at all but you didn’t complain, it wasn’t important. It was nearly five in the morning when Bucky was moved to a room. The walls were a dreadful sage green that looked more like dirty money in the dim light of dawn. The room was small but the lack of a second bed for the time being made things seem a little larger.

George went off in search of a third chair for the room as you and Winnie pulled yours up close to Bucky, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Sam came up to visit after his shift ended, introducing himself to Bucky’s parents. The tackling hug Winnie gave him was unexpected by his sleep deprived body but he accepted it all the same, giving her a reassuring hug that everything would be okay. Before he left you whispered a thank you in Sam’s ear, for treating Bucky and giving you a call. You promised to keep him updated as told him to get some rest, he certainly deserved it.

Bucky slept peacefully as you watched over him, your head falling forward and jolting you awake every time you had begun to fall asleep. Winnie had already fallen asleep but you were fighting against your body’s needs. You stared longingly at Bucky, wanting to be awake in case he woke up. George put a gentle hand on your shoulder, nodding with silent permission that it was okay to shut your eyes. A large black cup of coffee aided him in keeping watch and so you blinked slowly, your lids growing heavier with every languid motion until they remained shut for the next few hours. It wasn’t until the sound of rapid beeps that you were alerted into consciousness again.

Your head whipped up quickly with concern at the sound that slowly began to steady, finding Bucky awake with an ever so slight tug of a smile on his lips that grew once you locked eyes. It had been far too long since you looked at Bucky, truly looked at him without anger and heartache clouding your vision.

The scrapes and bruises that littered his face did not hinder any part of his handsomeness. His lips were dull and slightly chapped and yet it didn’t stop you from wanting to press yours against them. You lifted your eyes towards his, feeling blessed to be able to stare at the most beautiful shade of blue once more. They glistened with unshed tears as Bucky gazed back at you.

Your own tears came instantly, falling down the curves of your smile as you leaned over him. Your name fell softly from his lips and hesitantly you lifted your hand, wanting to reach out and caress his face. You pulled it back, dropping your head for a moment, squeezing tears out of your tightly shut eyes. Bucky was a blur when you opened them again but he was there, he was alive and you were more than thankful.

“Hey neighbor,” you sniffled. “It’s good to see you.”

No longer caring if you should or shouldn’t touch his face, you wanted to. Your thumb gently grazed the delicate skin of his cheek, early stubble scratching lightly as you brushed against it.

Bucky leaned into your touch, feeling him smile against your palm. “It’s good to see you too.” His voice was strained, still dry from surgery.

You took Bucky’s hand in your own, careful of the IV sticking out. He asked what happened, knowing he was in an accident but unsure of the details afterwards. It was obvious his leg was broken but you told him the specifics– the emergency surgery to fix his break and stop his internal bleeding, how Sam had treated him when he came into the ER. He smiled at that.

“You broke a few ribs too.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raised in acknowledgment. “So that’s why it hurts to breathe.”

Your lips pulled tightly across your face, wishing you could take the pain away from him. The tension released when you felt Bucky squeezing your hand as if he heard your thoughts, offering you comfort when he was the one that really needed it.

“Oh, your parents are here,” you remembered, though you looked around, unsure of where they went. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think to contact Claire.” The shock of Bucky’s accident made you forget to text all your friends until the early morning.

His face twists with confusion. “Claire?” Did you really not know? “Claire and I have been broken up for months.”

Your lips move without sound as you try to process what he said. You didn’t know what to say, wondering if Bucky hid his breakup as you had yours. Now you didn’t feel as guilty holding on to the feelings in your heart. You’re about to blurt out the words, to tell Bucky what you couldn’t say back to Peter but the sound of Winnie calling his name stopped you and you turned to see her running up to his bed.

“James, you’re awake. We were so worried,” she cried in his ear, contorting herself around machines while being mindful of Bucky’s injuries.

George walked in with a cup of coffee for you and you thanked him, getting up so he could get closer to Bucky. The warm brew felt good going down even though it wasn’t the best, forgetting to warn them about the cafeteria’s lack of quality. Good thing you weren’t relying on this to keep you awake, not since Bucky shocked every cell of your body into full alertness with his news. Though you were happy to learn he broke up with Claire it still didn’t mean what you wanted it to and you were thankful you hadn’t scared him off with an “I love you.”

Pulling out your phone you saw a text from Wanda, featuring a block of caps locked screaming with question marks and sad emojis. You typed back an update about Bucky, looking over at him with his parents and back down again to the message that was still in the process of sending. It took a few minutes before the message decided not to go through at all.

You excused yourself, letting everyone know you were going to update all your friends about how Bucky was doing. George commented on the terrible service in the room so at least it wasn’t just your phone. You probably could have stood on a chair trying to force better service somehow in different parts of the room but you also wanted to give Bucky and his parents an opportunity for privacy.

“I’ll be right back,” you said with a smile, passing a woman coming in with flowers for the person who had been brought into the other side of the room early in the morning. Your gaze lingered back at Bucky one final time before leaving.

George shared a look with Winnie and staring at her son she said, “Y/N was here all night you know...”

With your phone in hand you follow it like it’s a map with five full bars leading you to treasure. It only took walking around the whole floor to find a good spot on the opposite side of the building near a window for your text to go through. In between sips of coffee you recorded a message for everyone on the group chat, it was so much easier than typing it out and you were still very tired.

You decided to finish your coffee there, giving Bucky and his parents more time as you stared out the window at what looked like a bright and beautiful morning. A slew of notifications came on your phone as half the people responded. Clint was probably still sleeping but Natasha replied asking if Bucky needs anything. Though Peggy was in England she asked if there was anything she could do. Steve wondered if he wanted visitors and asked you to pass along his get well wishes. You typed back that you would find out, promising to keep in touch as the day went on.

When your cup was empty you tossed it into a nearby garbage can and headed back, not expecting to hear your name being called.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

You turned to see Elena, concern etched on her face as she held onto your shoulder. Embarrassment washed over you as you remembered how you looked, feeling even worse when you realized that earlier in the week Elena was technically your boss.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m okay. A friend of mine came in last night, car accident. I’ve…” you took a moment to yawn, covering your mouth, “Excuse me, I’ve been here all night.” You slapped your face lightly to wake up, now wishing the coffee had been stronger. “He’s going to be okay though,” you finished.

“He? Is this Bucky?” she wondered, and you were surprised she recalled his name since the wedding was months ago. You sighed, nodding slowly as your lips pulled into a soft smile. “I hope everything works out.”

Elena hugged you before she turned around to see a patient, reminding you she was here if you needed her. It was really nice to know she was there for you, Elena had become more than a mentor in the time you’ve worked for her.

Heading back in the room you couldn’t help the smile that graced your face when you saw Bucky. The few minutes apart you spent were more than you ever wanted to do again. George moved down a seat so you could sit closer to Bucky, letting him know everyone was asking about him, wondering if he wanted visitors.

Bucky sought your hand again, smiling as your soft touch helped to ease the discomfort he was feeling. It would be nice to see friends but he was more than happy you were here with him. It wasn’t long before a nurse came in to check vitals and Bucky was relieved since he definitely could use more pain medication.

Winnie asked you to join her to get food since no one had really eaten and even though you didn’t want to leave Bucky you weren’t going to say no to his mother. Besides, you needed to steer Winnie away from the cafeteria and the nurse seemed thankful to have less people in the room.

Bucky felt settled after a dose of painkillers, easing the radiating aches from all over his body. George poured a cup of water, handed it to him and set aside the pink plastic pitcher.

“How’re you feeling James?” he asked, forcing a smile when all he wanted to do was cry looking at the state of his son, from the deep purple bruises on his temple to the scrapes that marred his skin.

Bucky gulped down the water, quenching the arid condition of his mouth. “M’okay, a little better I guess.”

“Your head feels okay?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, no one said I hit it or– ”

“Are you sure about that?”

George leaned in closer, as Bucky squinted in confusion. His smile dropped and his eyes grew stern as he organized his thoughts into a more appropriate lecture despite the disappointing anger that bubbled beneath his skin.

“I really wonder James, because see Y/N, a great girl who clearly loves and cares about you and you let her go.” Bucky tried to interrupt, to fill in all the details he hadn’t told him in the past but George wouldn’t let him. “No son, there has to be something wrong with you if you can’t see it.”

“Dad, it’s… it’s complicated,” Bucky let out with a sorrowful sigh.

“James, real love is complicated. It’s wild and passionate as much as it is frustrating, but when you find someone that loves you as much as you love them it makes overcoming obstacles worthwhile. Love isn’t easy but it is easy loving someone that makes you feel alive, that makes life worth living and when you find that someone you don’t let them go. Don’t let her go, James.”

Bucky sits with the weight of his father’s words heavy on his chest. It had already been hard to breathe and now things felt worse. He doesn’t know the full story, how a stupid mistake ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

He wants to make it right, to tell you everything not that it would change anything. Bucky assumed that since you spent all night waiting by his side that you at least don’t hate him anymore like you used to, so maybe your friendship can be salvaged. Still, it’s going to hurt him to see you in Peter’s arms but Bucky would rather have you back in his life because not having you there at all is far worse.

You come walking in with his mom, smiling and laughing and it’s such a beautiful sight. The smile on his face can’t help but grow. Bucky watches as his father wraps an arm around his mom, pressing a kiss to her temple. She smiles looking up at him, pulling out sandwiches from a deli you had come from.

“Ohh and someone wants to say hello,” Winnie said, pulling out her phone, trying her best to connect to Rebecca on FaceTime despite the shitty signal. The connection is spotty and Bucky ends up having a regular phone conversation with them. They were definitely happy to hear he was doing better.

After the call Bucky asked about his phone and his mom found the bag of his personal belongings in the closet. She grimaced at the lack of clothes, realizing whatever he came in with was most likely cut off him in the ER, thoughts of the whole ordeal bringing tears to her eyes. Underneath his shoes were his wallet and phone which she handed him, surprised to see the screen had not cracked.

Bucky attempted to turn it on but it was dead. Normally you carry a charger with you but in the rush to leave your apartment that was the last thing on your mind. Your own battery had just passed half its life but you didn’t really care. There was nothing else you needed to focus on today besides Bucky.

His parents stay into the afternoon, getting a chance to speak with the doctor and meeting Natasha, Clint and Steve who arranged their visit together. They left shortly after since the room had gotten crowded between everyone and visitors for the person in the other bed. You and Winnie hugged, squeezing tight for a lingering moment, fighting the urge to cry again out of exhaustion and relief for the night you went through together. George gave an equally strong hug, one that Bucky watched from his bed, overhearing his parents making sure you had both their numbers.

You looked just as tired as they did and Bucky knows you should probably go home. He wonders if you’ll leave when your friends do but when the time comes and Natasha is shrugging on her jacket you make no move to do the same, only getting up to hug them goodbye.

Alone again, Bucky finds comfort in the silence between you, as the speaker for the TV lays beside him filling the background with noise. He watches as you set up the cards he received on the windowsill, making sure Clint’s it’s going tibia okay card is angled so Bucky can see it and smile.

When dinner arrives he frowns at cold peas and carrots, eats the bland chicken and enjoys the soup more than he thought. Bucky urged you to eat something more than the bags of chips and nuts you had been snacking on since the sandwich you split between breakfast and lunch. You insisted you were fine but he forced you to eat his salad, assuring you he was not in the mood to have it.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Bucky groaned through an exhale, his eyes squeezed shut as hissed an unconvincing “yes” through his teeth.

“I need more pain meds and…” he shifted as much as he could trying to ease his discomfort.

“And what? Bucky, whatever it is I can get the nurse in.”

“I… it’s embarrassing,” he admitted.

You smiled softly, leaning close to remind him, “Whatever it is can’t be more embarrassing than the time I nearly shit myself in front of you. Remember? All my trips running to the bathroom hoping I could make it on time?”

Crinkles formed around his eyes as Bucky smiled, chuckling before he realized how much it hurt to do so, at the memory of your food poisoning and the weekend he spent helping you recover. And now here you were by his side, doing the same.

“It’s uh, my…” He looked away, blushing beet red as he squeaked out, “...my catheter. It’s not great.”

An array of expressions crossed your face. “Yeah… I can imagine.” When you finally locked eyes with Bucky again you couldn’t help but smile awkwardly, offering to go get him a nurse.

It took a few minutes to return as you looked for the nurse, coming back with a surprise, Wanda and Sam. Wanda held back tears as she carefully hugged him and Sam couldn’t help but go into doctor mode and ask how Bucky was doing.

“I’m good. Alive thanks to you.”

Sam grinned. “I can’t take all the credit, but you are lucky. Very lucky.”

The nurse lumbered in, tired from a long shift but his demeanor changed upon seeing Sam, the two of them knowing each other well. Riley had praised Sam’s skills having formerly worked beside him in the ER for a while.

“Riley, this is my boy so please, whatever he needs make sure he’s taken care of, alright?” Sam turned to Bucky, “You good? Do you need a sponge bath?”

Bucky sighed, “No Sam, I don’t need a sponge bath.” He blushed with embarrassment, rolling his eyes at his friend’s teasing. “I would really like to pee on my own though.”

“Riley, call the stream team!” Sam shouted a little too loud.

Bucky instantly regretted his admission, pinching the tender bridge of his nose as he shook his head. “It’s nice they let you out for some fresh air Sam, that padded room must get pretty boring.”

Sam wore a toothy smile, happy to see his friend was still in good enough spirits to rib him back. He and Wanda stayed long enough for the shift change and though Sam didn’t personally know the next nurse he introduced himself and wanted to make sure Bucky was taken care of.

Once again you made no move to leave when Sam and Wanda did, getting up only to stretch. Your bones creaked like old wood, stretching out stiff muscles until you felt the slightest bit of relief. The chairs provided were not the most uncomfortable but after almost a day they definitely took a toll.

Bucky notices the way your eyes grow tired, how every action has slowed. You’ve been in the hospital nearly as long as he has and he doesn’t envy you, even with his injuries.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, stirring you alert. “It’s late, you should go home.” Your head shook before you spoke, opening your mouth to protest but he cut you off. “I’m good, I promise. You’ve been here all day and night, go get some sleep in a real bed.”

It would look stupid if you argued at this point, as you tried to fight back a yawn. Bucky asked you for a favor before you left, to grab his keys and bring some clothes and his phone charger tomorrow. “Only if you don’t mind.” Of course you would.

“Oh and one more thing,” he said, his eyes pleading up at you. “Call me when you get home. I need to know you got back safely.”

You nodded, smiling softly, before entering the number from his bedside phone into yours. Leaning down you pressed your lips against Bucky’s forehead, letting them linger against the warmth of his skin. Upon pulling away you shared a moment, smiling back at each other before Bucky took your hand.

“Thank you Y/N,” he said softly, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. There was so much Bucky meant within those words and by the way you looked at him he believed you knew.

With his body on fire Bucky still rested easier than he had in the last few months, knowing at the very least he had you in his life again.

The subway rocks gently as you travel down the familiar route to the hospital, this time not worrying about making it on time to clock in but with excitement fluttering in your belly to be able to see Bucky again.

Last night you called him just before you went into his apartment, grabbing the few things he asked for and not lingering. You were a second away from crashing, having enough energy to plug your phone in before your face hit the pillow.

In the morning you showered, drinking a strong cup of coffee as you got ready. You didn’t bother with much but it felt good to look presentable. You grabbed Bucky’s things, texting people before you lost service underground. Rebecca thanked you for the updates and said they were looking to fly in towards the end of the week. George and Winnie would definitely be happy to see them again. They contacted you this morning as well, saying they would be seeing you at the hospital in a bit.

Bucky tried to keep himself occupied, shutting his eyes and eventually finding sleep for a few hours before the nurse needed to check his vitals. He stared out his window, watching the dark blanket of the sky slowly lift over the buildings, falling asleep once more before the next round of nurses coming in. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to heal if he can’t sleep but the doctor lets him know he should be released tomorrow or the following day.

It lifts his mood but the height of his spirits soar high above the atmosphere when Bucky saw you walking into his room. You look much more rested than he does and he’s happy about it. He savors your arms around him, feasting upon the scent of your floral shampoo, your smile bringing sunshine upon a gloomy world.

You put the clothes he asked for in his closet, taking his phone and plugging it into the nearest outlet, settling down again in the familiar chair beside his bed. You were just as excited to hear about Bucky getting released soon, the thought of him being just beyond your shared wall again was comforting.

After charging for a little bit Bucky asked for his phone, just to check a few quick messages. You got up to unplug it, the screen lighting up and making your mouth fall open. Bucky’s lock screen was you! Well, it was the two of you, from that time Winnie was testing out her new phone. It was a beautiful memory, a candid capture of a moment in time when you gazed into each other’s eyes, the corners of your mouths settled into a smile; two people holding back the feelings that were written so evidently across their faces.

You pretended not to have seen it, handing him the phone with the screen down. Bucky nearly forgot about the picture himself, his eyes flitting quickly your way as he tried not to breathe too hard and have the monitors give away his panicked state.

Your head was turned up towards the TV, watching The Golden Girls through the muffled sound of the speaker resting against the side of the bed. You couldn’t look at Bucky in the moment, not when you felt as giddy as a schoolgirl. No, you needed this time to collect your thoughts, to find the perfect words to express exactly how you felt and right when they were at the tip of your tongue you held them back.

Winnie and George walked in looking a lot better than they had yesterday. They greeted you both and settled in for the next few hours. They too were excited about his impending release, offering Bucky to recover at their home.

“No, ma I’ll be fine. The building has an elevator, I’m good.”

Worry crossed her face. “What about food shopping? What about bathing?”

Bucky’s eyes grew wide. “Well you’re not gonna bathe me if that’s what you think.”

You swallowed a chuckle, shifting your expression to a serious one offering your help. “For the food shopping,” you nervously added. Learning from the past, you shut your mouth to avoid the risk of digging yourself a deeper, awkward hole.

His parents left to get lunch for everyone since Bucky was sick of cold vegetables, and the two of you were alone again. He cleared his throat, licking his lips before asking, “You really don’t mind helping me?”

Your smile answered him before your words. “Of course not. Plus we still have a lot of pizza to try.”

You bit your lip watching the smile spread across his face, relief washing over him as things seemed to snap back into place as if nothing had changed. But Bucky forgot about Peter. You had been spending so much time with him this weekend he almost convinced himself things were different.

“Peter isn’t mad you’ve been gone all weekend?” Bucky asked, doing a poor job in hiding the uneasiness in his face as he anticipated your answer. He’s a glutton for punishment, reminding himself that things will never truly be the same again and little does he know how right he is.

“I broke up with him weeks ago.”

Your answer takes a moment to register, the realization hitting Bucky more than the impact of the accident. “Why?”

Haloed by the glow of the sun behind you, the words sang like the message of an angel, because there had to be some sort of divine intervention that brought all of Bucky’s dreams true when you answered, “Because he wasn’t you.”

A tear slipped down your face and Bucky lifted his hand, cupping your cheek and brushing it away. You cupped his hand against you, exhaling staccato breaths and smiling down at the man that brought music into a world that felt silent without him.

You leaned down, the tip of your nose grazing against his, your smile matching his as you closed the distance, pressing your lips together once more. The sound of love flooded your soul as you and Bucky found harmony at last.

EPILOGUE

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[what-is-your-plan-today]

Murder, He Wrote

Part 3 Co-Written with @southerngracela​

Summary: It’s Thanksgiving, but when you’re being held hostage by Hugh Ransom Drysdale there’s really not a lot to be thankful for, is there?

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this is Part 2 to our submission for @jtargaryen18​ ‘s Haunted House 2020  Challenge. Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Series Masterlist. 

You could feel the chill of the outside seeping into your space, your bones, through the vented window following your shower. The way it crept in made you realize just how far along through fall you were, maybe it was even approaching the onset of the holiday weather. Either way, a storm seemed to be outside. At least it felt like it. Once dried, you found yourself wrapping up tighter in the thick cardigan you’d chosen before you dried your hair, and allowed yourself a quick squirt of perfume before settled into the reading chair in the corner of your room, your journal on your lap.

The little, leather bound book had been in your handbag which had been given back to you earlier that morning as the latest reward for behaving and as you ran your hand over the deep brown cover, you couldn’t help the air of excitement you felt at having been given your treasured little note book, despite the dreary sky you could see from the porthole above your chair.

It had actually surprised you that Drysdale had kept it and not disposed of it the same way he had your phone and your car. But for whatever reason, he’d held onto it, and for that you were grateful. Grateful that you had something of your own from before this imprisonment to anchor too. You’d expected him to want some kind of favour in return but he hadn’t demanded any sort of sexual gratification, simply informed you he would be out most of the morning and would be back mid to late afternoon. As soon as he had gone you had eagerly tipped the contents of your bag onto the bed, almost crying at the sight of your half empty bottle of Coco-Mademoiselle, the Mac Lip-gloss, NYX Eyebrow pencil, Mont Blanc fountain pen, a full tube of mints and your treasured journal. With teary eyes you’d put everything away in its new place, apart from the book and pen before padding into the bathroom for a shower, deliberately sorting yourself out for the day. All you could think of was taking the time so you could savour the moment when you could hopefully make some sense of the jumble in your head by spilling it onto a page.

You opened the cover and flicked to your last entry, the morning of Halloween. A rambling rant about Mick-The-Prick filled the page and you paused, tears in your eyes, as you’d give anything to be stood in his office thinking about ingenious ways to kill him and get away with it. Ironic, really considering that was exactly what your captor had done; committed murder and gotten away with it.

You went to jot the date down in the corner of the page and realised that actually, you didn’t have a clue what it was. Down here, night bled into day, day bled into night…and soon it all bled into weeks. However, given the fact your cycle had been and gone a week ago you figured that it was maybe four weeks since Halloween. Of course, you could ask Hugh, but the less you had to ask him the better as far as you were concerned. You hate the fact that he had this hold on you, that you had to ask for and ‘earn’ things by being ‘good’. And whilst it made you sick to your stomach, you’d fast learnt it was easier to comply than rebel. The night he had left you tangled in your sweater had hurt. It had taken you a good twenty minutes to muster the strength to work your way out and drag yourself into a bath, your body shaking with the trauma, sobs wracking your frame. Your body ached for days, your mind in a post-traumatic cloud of despair. And whilst it hadn’t broken you per-say, it had certainly made you realise exactly what the bastard was capable of, and you had no intention of finding out just how much further he was willing to go.

So, in summary, it had taken Ransom Drysdale two days to break you into compliance.

You’d become passive, so to speak. You gave into his whims, let him use you as he saw fit, did as he told… for the most part anyway. There had been a few other incidents post the sweater one where you’d forgotten yourself and protested, fought a little and he’d gone hard on you, but nothing like that second night. Your passive behaviour was mistaken by him for compliance, and as such you had earned a number of rewards. The bistro table where you took your meals, a book or two which just so happened to be by his grandfather, a gesture you weren't sure was him purging or pressing an agenda onto you. And more recently and most preciously, your bag. But, the strange thing was, that whilst he wanted you to give into him physically, he seemed to enjoy the fact that you were in no way, shape or form compliant to him in others. You openly sassed him, bit back, called him out and he actively encouraged it. He’d started spending a little more time with you in the mornings and afternoons, not just visiting you to toy with you or fuck, but to engage in these little tete-a-tete’s, and the sickest, most perverted thing about it was that you were almost glad. The loneliness was crippling, and you craved company. Even if it was his.  

All things considered, you’d rather ask him for as little as possible so instead, you flicked to the front of the book and crossed off the days on the small calendar inside the cover. Deciding that the date it led you to was as accurate as it was going to get, you turned back, jotted it down in the top right of your page and stared at the blank lines, looking to sort your thoughts for your next entry.

The saying used to go, what's in a name, however as I sit here thinking back on the last few weeks I wonder now what's in a day. My days consist of imprisonment. Held by a captor I have met once before. He's smart, almost too smart. Displaying forms of abuse and aggressive behaviors any FBI analyst would love to dive deep into. But that's not my job, no, my job is to please and satisfy him. Answer to his whims of gratification at any call of the day. I have nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. But if I behave, he lets few things get by. I miss home, my bed, my life. I miss Mick, which is saying a lot all things considered. I don't know still what he wants from me, other than the obvious sexual gratification with little to no room for anything else. I'm a toy, a means to an itch. I don't know how long exactly I've been here, I can only guess it's been about a month. Nor do I know how long I'll have to stay. The answers are blurred like my vision, marred by tears and the low light inside. I haven't seen outside since the day he took me. I haven't been anywhere outside this room. I can see from the small porthole window above this stupidly soft leather chair the season has changed. It feels like deep fall, and as a storm comes outside, what little sky I see is bleak and dark, clouds covering the bluest of skies, angry and ready to open up, raining down water to wash away the sins of the day. I wish I could do the same. 

Before you realized, time had obviously passed, for the sound of the door bolts unlocking had you guessing it was late afternoon or early evening. A glance up at the porthole behind you confirmed as much. The sky was dark and rain had been beating on the window for a little while. 

In came Drysdale, hair a bit wet, a strand slightly out of place, wool pants and maroon sweater. He carried a plate of food in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He looked irked, like he'd wasted time on something, a look you were now able to decipher after weeks of seeing it. 

"Happy Thanksgiving," he said, setting the plate down on the bistro table with its two accompanying chairs, waiting for you to join him. 

Instead of biting back, you simply whispered, "it’s Thanksgiving?" You checked the inside cover of your journal and see the date again. You were a day off and it now dawned on you. It was the fourth Thursday of the month and indeed, Thanksgiving. You glanced back up at Ransom and a deep sadness washed over you. Closing your journal and setting it on the table by your chair, you stood, moving towards him and the plate of food. You took a seat and looked down at the plate, full of the holiday dish basics; turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, stuffing, diced not candied yams and roasted green beans. It was gourmet and nothing near what he'd been serving you or managing to try. "Thank you," you said softly, rolling your fork through the potatoes. You take a bite but it's about as bland and tasteless as your despair. 

"I brought it back from the country club, I met my father there," he looked under your gaze again, as if willing your eyes to his. "Do you not like it?" 

Finally, your gaze met those cold cerulean orbs, setting your fork down and you took a drink of water, "No, it's fine." Then you picked up your fork again and took another bite, this time of the turkey and gravy. You didn't have it in you for an argument or it's physical ramifications. 

"Are you not hungry?" Ransom pressed. 

"I guess not as much as I thought," you repled further poking at your food, your voice cracking a little as you try to keep your composure. The sting of the holiday has you broken, far more than you'd expected. Normally, today you'd be helping your mother in the kitchen, settling the final touches on the side dishes and listening to your father tell your uncle about some a-typical dad joke he'd heard. Your sister would be giddy over the wine while her boyfriend of the month received death glares from said uncle and your father. 

Ransom outwardly sighed and you wait for what you were trying to avoid. "Are you alright?" 

The question threw you off guard completely and you struggled to hide the shock from your expression. He never cared about your feelings before. Maybe he thought you were coming down with something. You braced yourself to answer honestly. There was no point in lying, he'd see through it. 

"I'm fine, I'm not sick if that's what you're thinking," you answered, a deep restraint on your tone to keep yourself in check. "I hadn't realized what day it was. I didn't know it was Thanksgiving." You swallowed the lump in your throat and blinked hard. "My mom, my sister and I, we used to all help make dinner as a family. My dad and uncle would talk a bunch of shit around the fireplace while shooting death glares at my sister's flavor of the month."

He looked at you like he was confused. You scoff, "Of course you wouldn't understand."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He squint his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek. His body language completely changed as he leaned forward on his forearms, popping one shoulder up higher than the other. 

"Nothing," you backed down immediately. 

"Tell me," he pressed. 

God, he was relentless. You pushed your plate forward and leaned on your own elbows. You looked at him with a raised brow, "am I going to be in trouble if you don't like what I have to say?" 

"Depends," he popped a shoulder smugly. 

You matched his expression and his demeanour falters just a fraction. You saw it, but you didn't hold back. "Then I'd rather keep it to myself. That's what you want isnt it? Me to comply, be obedient? Frankly, I'm not in the mood." 

He failed to hide his smirk and you noticed that too, "Sweetheart." It wasn't laced with teasing, rather his pet name for you on his tongue held a cautious venom. 

"You hate your family. You know nothing about love and what it takes to give love. Hell, I don't doubt that for a minute you've ever felt loved. It's all an act. Self-preservation even. I don't know you or your family outside of the hours of research I did and the mere forty five minutes I listened to you drone on about your 'predicament'. But, the cold hearted truth of it is, you don't know how to love." You watched him run his tongue along his teeth as he continued to glare at you, but you weren't finished. "And that's what family is, it's what they do. They love, they are the embodiment of love at its deepest root. Maybe, just maybe somewhere along your life, your parents loved you, but judging by the Thrombey-Drysdale standards, none of you know what love is outside your selfish tithings and flashy cars. It got lost along the way, more than likely long before you ever were born."

"Wow," he raised his brows and clicked his tongue against his teeth, "That's good, that's really good."

You're fear receptors suddenly spiked as recognizable flash of anger in his eyes flashed through his irises. But there was something else there that you couldn't put your finger on it. Your breathing quickly up-ticked as you felt your palms begin to sweat.

He inhaled a deep, almost centering breath, "that perfume in your bag, I like it."

As if he'd grown a second head, you blinked hard refocusing on him. Had you heard him right? You'd just broken a rule, laid out an unspeakable truth for him and now in a blink he's, God forbid, complimenting your scent? Who the fuck was this guy? Was he on meds? Because he should be or he should at least probably share. It might make life here more bearable. "What?" 

"The perfume from your bag, you're wearing it. It smells good," he lamented. 

Alright, now the 'of sound mind' argument might be worth something because he sure as shit wasn't now. You swallowed and picked up your fork, taking a bite of the cold food just to buy yourself some time as you tried to process the scene before you. You had no remark to make. Confusing jumbled any thought of a coherent word you could utter. 

"Maybe if I'm out, I can pick you up a new bottle. I noticed you were near empty," Ransom offered. 

This was starting to make your stomach turn. If he'd gone through your bag, because why wouldn't he at this point, smelled your perfume, had he read your journal? You made a mental note to go back through and see if there was anything he'd read that he had used against you thus far or could use to corner you in the future. You looked around the room, waiting to see if you were being Punk'd. Just who the fuck is this guy? Without your expression giving too much of your confusion away, you nod at him in reply. "Thank you, I'd like that."

"Hmph," he paused, a dramatic effect he seemed to know that your heart rate up in anxiety. "Well, then why are you looking at me like I have two heads, Y/N?" 

Tread lightly, you thought to yourself. He didn't call you by your first name often, in fact, the last time he had, you were very much smarting back and it resulted in a forceful situation that left you raw and sore for a few days. It was always 'Sweetheart'. 

He baited you, you knew it, but you couldn't back out now. So you sighed, "I know I'm not supposed to ask questions, but, I don't even know who you are right now. Do you? One minute you're giving me food and being gentle, the next you're allowing my opinion, and now you're ready to flip this table. That's as close as two heads as it gets." 

"Careful, Sweetheart," he now glared at you. There it was, you were in for it. The approach of choice, you weren't sure of, but he was done. You'd learned the different tones in his voice by now, the cues he gave. You were definitely in trouble. You dropped your eyes to your plate. The food stone cold and no longer even appealing in its slightest measure, a wave of nausea washing over you. You further pushed your plate away, "I don't think I'm hungry anymore."

His broad frame rose from the chair, "you weren't to begin with," his left hand reaching for the plate and holds it in his hand, "Third drawer down in the armoire. Pick something, I'll be back."

You watched him leave, the familiar click of the door shutting and snap of the lock sounded around the small apartment and you exhaled loudly, your head dropping into your hands. This wasn’t the first time he’d requested that you ‘dress for the occasion’ so to speak. With a deep breath you stood up and crossed the room, opening the drawer of requirements, seeking out a negligee for him to no doubt remove. Your fingers roamed over the fabrics and selection. La Perla, Agent Provocateur, Carine Gilson, Coco de Mer and Fleur of England were just a handful of the expensive, high-end brands that filled the space. Your fingers smoothed over a black macrame and tule underwired long line bra and the matching thong that was folded neatly under it. Plucking it from the drawer, you headed for the bathroom. You slipped out of your casual tee, duster cardigan and leggings, the bra and panties you'd had on. You sighed as you took a good look at yourself in your naked form. 

While you hadn't lost a ton of weight over the last month, you could tell you'd grown thinner. You weren't gaunt but your lack of a daily Dunkin' Donuts macchiato had seemed to thin you out. Your captor made sure you were fed, but you didn't always eat. The plump of your cheeks had receded and your little pooch brought on by happy carbs was sucked into your frame. There were a few bruises still seen, near green, an indication of their final healing stage. The pock mark from a hickey he'd given you still a bit scaby as he'd broken the skin just barely. This was your life now and it made what few bites of Thanksgiving dinner in your stomach nearly lurch forward back up your throat.

You swallowed it down, pulling the long line bra straps up your arms and clasping it behind your back. Your legs slipped into the thong panties and you pulled the material up your freshly smooth legs. Your shaky fingers plucked at the hair tie that fastened the end of your brain closed, nails raking through your hair to loosen your tendrils. He always wanted your hair loose. You looked at yourself in the mirror, you were ready. 

***** Ransom tossed the un-eaten food into the garbage and dumped the plate into the sink to be dealt with later. Turning so that his lower back was leaning on the edge of the kitchen counter he ran a hand over his clean shaven jaw, his mind ticking over the events of the day so far. A pain-in-the-ass Thanksgiving meal with his father had been made bearable by the fact he knew he was coming back to her, and because he hadn’t wanted to be a complete monster he’d made the effort of bringing her a nice dinner back too. But she’d hardly touched any of it.

And what disturbed him most about it, was the fact that instead of wanting to punish her for being an ungrateful bitch, he instead felt a deep rooted sense of concern. She’d lost weight, her face was pale, her hip bones more pronounced, and frankly the last thing he wanted was her passing out on him. Whilst he wanted her compliant, necrophilia really wasn’t his bag.

He had thought by giving her back the bag she’d had on her the night he took her he might have seen a lift in her spirits so to speak, a little gratitude, but instead she’d been meek and reserved until he’d coaxed that familiar sass out of her. And even then she’d been reticent.

It should have pleased him that she was learning her place and becoming more subservient. But if he was being honest with himself, he almost missed her fighting and arguing back. It had been exciting in a way, and he had thought it would have taken longer than it had to break her so to speak. Maybe he had overestimated exactly what a fighter she was, maybe she wasn’t the right muse for his writing after all. Because, let’s face it, writing a tale about a woman who was captured and broken into submission within two days, merely becoming a puppet for her captor’s whims was hardly going to win him any accolades was it? He needed more, needed something that he could spin a good story from. He knew now that when he went back down to her he had to try a different tact so to speak, he needed to coax her mind into reacting not merely her body.

Because if he couldn’t do that, there was no point in keeping her.

He allowed her half an hour or so before he headed back down the stairs and found her sat on the bed, dressed in one of the sets he’d purchased, her hair loose round her face and shoulders the way he liked. She jumped to her feet and he had to actively supress the groan that was rolling in his throat as his eyes scanned her up and down, and he didn’t miss the slight bruises that dotted her skin in various places where he’d marked her as his own. She’d long since stopped trying to cover herself up. Instead she stood stock still, her eyes focussed on the floor.

With long strides he walked into the room and stopped in front of her, tipping her chin up with his finger so she was looking at him, her eyes wide with trepidation and he gave a smirk as he reached up, brushing her hair off the side of her face and neck, dropping his head as he did so.

“You smell so good, Sweetheart.” He inhaled against her pulse point, lips pressing into her there. He felt the gasp of her breath, the way her skin pricked with chill bumps. He smirked to himself, he’s found her spot. And he filed that away, committing it to memory. 

“I like this…” he practically purred as he toyed with the straps to the bra, a long, thick middle finger outlining the strap against her skin, lips following pursuit.

“You should, you chose it.”

He chuckled, ignoring the snark behind her words. “Like I chose you, huh?”

Like I chose you.

His words echoed around your head, reminding you exactly why you were in this fucking situation. Because he had decided you would be. He wanted you, and just like with everything else in his life that Hugh Ransom Drysdale wanted, he simply took. But what worried you the most about all this was whether or not you would be discarded the same way he no doubt discarded the other possessions he lost interest in.

You took a deep, steadying breath as his hands moved from the straps of your bra, long fingers moving to caress the back of your neck, but there was no grabbing, no force. He was being positively gentle.

And it scared the crap out of you.

“Are you afraid of me?” He asked, his breath hot and wet in your ear as you trembled under the further graze of his fingers against the macramé of your set. 

“You know I am," you swallowed nervously. You weren't new to this, this wasn't your first time, but the way he was being soft, a stark character change to his a-typical stance with you was what had you crawling in fear in the inside. Was it a game? Was it some sort of ploy? Was this his idea of foreplay now before he turned it up and went hard enough to bruise but not hard enough to make you cry?

A flat palm ran down your abdomen, already taught in fear. But not before a thumb grazed along the underside of your breast. Agonizingly slow, his hand, still splayed over you, dips into your matching macrame panties, dipping into your wet folds, thumb lightly pressing against your clit. 

“You’re so wet, considering you’re scared.”

You didn't answer, just swallowed hard, the lump stuck in your throat as it fought against a little whimper. 

His mouth once more latched onto your neck, the kisses gentle as opposed to the bruising ones you had become accustomed to. The fingers in your folds matched his slow nature, teasing you in such a way that when you closed your eyes and focussed your mind elsewhere, you could almost believe you were somewhere with a man you’d given permission to touch you in such away. But when his lips moved to your jawline and you took a deep breath, the heady scent of his cologne hit your senses and your eyes flew open as you were reminded just whose lips and hands were violating you in such away.

You swallowed as Ransom pulled away, his hand gently grasping your chin once more as he issued a simple instruction.

“Strip for me, sweetheart.”

You took a deep breath, swallowing down the bile that had once more risen up your throat as he sat down on the edge of the bed, his legs bent, hands resting on his knees as he watched you the way a lion watched its prey. You undid the clasp on your bra, your eyes remaining locked on his as you slid the straps down your shoulders and dropped the garment to the floor. Your captor took a deep breath, his eyes flicking down your body as you moved to shed the bottom half, wondering what on earth had been the point of wearing it in the first place. But even as you asked yourself that, you already knew the answer. It was a bout power, another way for him to remind you just who you belonged to now. How he could strip you bare in more way than one without even lifting a finger.

But lift a finger he did, curling it in mid-air as he beckoned you towards him. You took careful steps over the floor until you were stood in between his legs. His large hands smoothed up the outside of your thighs, before he pulled you towards him, his nose brushing the skin of your abdomen as he took  a deep breath, fingers curling round your thighs.

And then, in a flash he stood, taking you with him, and before you could so much as utter a squeak or noise of surprise he had you naked, laying across the bed, the sheets cold against your skin, a contrast to the heat emanating from the body against yours. The look in his lust blown eyes was overwhelming. You didn't know what you were in for but as his body, still clothed in the frayed maroon sweater and wool slacks sunk into the mattress between your legs, you felt a chill course through your veins, your skin, again, pricking in bumps all over. His hands, with their thick fingers, trailed long lines up and down your thighs, Ransom's full lips kissing at your sensitive inner skin, a nip or two here and there as he went from your knee, upward. 

He could smell your arousal, see it glistening as it dripped from your core. "Someone's ready," he quipped. He watched you swallow hard, a literal lump in your throat bobbing the skin. Your eyes never left him. "No cumming until I tell you. Do you understand?" When you didn't answer immediately, he swiped his tongue over your wet lips, tasting the honey your body gave him, your back arching away from sheets. "Do you understand?" 

And there it was, your punishment finally arriving from your little moment before over dinner. As you still had your wits about you, you uttered a single word response, in the hope that the more submissive you were, the more accepting you were of your chastisement, the less hard on you he was going to be.

"Yes." 

His mouth expertly devoured every inch of you, from your inner and outer pussy lips to the depths of your walls, tongue fucking you like you he was starving, the lavish holiday meal he'd partaken in not filling enough. His thumb pressed against your engorged nub, causing you to writhe but a firm arm over your abdomen kept you in place. The same thick fingers that traced lines up your thighs, two were now buried deep inside you, his tongue working away any juices that seeped out. As he gave you a third, stretching you more, you felt your walls start to tighten, that burning coil in your belly flare and your hands gripped the sheets tighter. 

Ransom could clearly feel you flutter against his fingers as he stopped his assault and looked up at you.

"What did I say?" 

Your chest heaved, your stomach taught and you fought to obey. When you managed to calm yourself, he began again, almost from square one, slowly, tantalizingly slow. 

The action was torture and you were desperately willing yourself to remain grounded as again your body fought to ride over the edge building inside you. When his mouth was over you completely, tongue deep, thumb pressing again into your clit, you felt the urge to cum. But he pulled away, slowly, his thumb stopping the pressure, his tongue slowly dragging out of you. 

"I said no. This is your punishment for your smart mouth over dinner."

"Please, I need to, I'll... I'll make it worth your while, please just let me." Your voice sounded alien as you spoke, the words leaving your mouth in the desperate hope he’d take pity on you but to no avail. Your attempts at bartering served only to frustrate him, anger him even and he Ransom backed away, roughly pulling you to the edge of the bed before stripping out of his sweater and undershirt, the undeniable outline of his hard cock along his thigh strained against his wool slacks. 

Harsh in his grip, he repositioned himself between your legs, your thighs across his shoulders, ass dangling above the floor as a heavy arm kept you still. His flat tongue, hot and full of your sex was eating away at you while his final throws of resolve ate away at him.

“I’m done playing fucking games.” he growled against your aching cunt “I should have gagged you, stuffed my cock deep into the back of your throat, something, anything to shut you up.”

You barely had time to register his words before once more you were flat out against the mattress, trying to regain your breath and calm yourself down when he backed away, tore open his flies and smirked down at you.

"Oh no, Sweetheart, we're not done yet."  He kneeled beside you, his chest heaving, hair completely out of place, anger and wait, was that pain, flickering in his eyes as he stuffed you with a hard thrust of his length. "Now you’re gonna cum on this dick."

He thrusted hard and within a few slams of his hips against yours, he allowed you the release you were begging for, "that's right, Princess, cum on my cock." 

You wept at the feeling finally freeing you, cries of pleasure spilling from your lips as you squeezed around him. Your chest heaving against his, skin to skin. The fabric of his wool pants hot and itchy against your inner thighs. He was still thrusting but now it had slowed to a roll, slow and calculated. Your muddled mind was buzzing and rapidly trying to sort out if he'd cum inside you or if he wasn't finished. His features were softer, but still filled with purpose and his lips latched onto a naked breast causing your body to react, tingles and flames licking at your core again. His eyes looked up at yours as he caged you in, still buried deep inside you, hips rolling. 

"I said we weren't done," he rasped. His thrusts and rolls, the two very different tactics mixing now, made the swell of his cock inside you abhorrently pleasurable. Try as you might, it was impossible to feel otherwise. 

And Ransom was finding it equally as hard to hold on. His weight was evenly distributed over her, his cock swelling inside her heat. It took all he had not to blow his load the first time he made her cum, hearing the sinful sounds of her orgasm that felt like a volcanic eruption around his hard shaft. But now he could feel her again, tiny little pulses around his already overtly sensitive dick. He was sure his precum was leaking out, wanting to paint the way for the rest of him to follow. He rolled and thrust as his lips nipped at her neck. She moaned loudly, her body exuding lust. He could feel her shake beneath him and to his delight and surprise her eyes were no longer screwed shut and turned away. Instead they were locked on his. The moment those deep hued orbs met his, he felt a hitch in his breath and tightness in his chest that travelled through his belly and into his cock, causing the thick member to throb inside her. Tiny, soft hands gripped at his biceps, her touch a fiery scald against his skin, almost as if it were frost bite. Her touch equally shocking as her stare and he gave a roll of his hips to hide what he felt. A deep, satiated roll of his hips that sent her over the edge. 

"Hugh!" She came around him, harder than her first, crying out his given name. It snapped him from his moment of revelation, driving him insanely frustrated at the word leaving her lips. He slammed into her as she rode out her orgasm, chasing his own. 

You felt the dismissal of his body as he violently pulled free from your walls, spewing his hot seed over your abdomen, drops claiming your tits too. He nearly collapsed, his dick in hand, the other holding himself up against the mattress between your legs. 

He left you there, dirty, degraded and shut the door with a barked instruction for you to clean yourself up. You no longer cried in front of him, either before, during or after. There was no point. He didn’t care about how you felt, but the thing he DID seem to care about was the fact that you still refused to call him Ransom. 

It was the one thing you held on to, the only thing that gave you an inch of control in this entire fucked up situation. You hadn’t missed the look on his face when you’d cried out 'Hugh' in the throes of your last orgasm. Before that moment there had been a softness in his eyes, one that had unnerved you no end, along with something that had looked suspiciously like hope. But when his given name had tumbled involuntarily from your mouth and not the one he preferred that softness had turned to contempt and you didn't miss the undercurrent of disappointment either.

And seeing that, knowing that it pissed him off and dare you say it, upset him so much was your single, albeit feeble, act of rebellion that served as a desperate boost to your ever waning inner strength. *****

Ransom laid in his large, plush bed, hands behind his head as the silk sheets pooled at his waist as morning was in full swing outside. His thoughts strayed to his girl in the basement and he took a deep breath, shifting slightly as he remembered the way her fingers had felt as they’d curled around his biceps, her touch firey but cold. That had been the first time she’d touched him when she wasn’t trying to push him away, it had been involuntary, he knew that, a reaction to the way she’d been feeling, the way he had made her feel. 

A twitch resounded deep in his belly....the way he made her feel.

He realised now that he’d been going about this the entirely wrong way. The force had been necessary to make her comply at first, but last night she hadn’t just complied she’d participated, just what he had wanted all along. And all after he’d shown her a little leeway, brought her dinner, entertained her talk. He understood now that he needed to play a different card from his hand. She responded better to conversation, talking. Ransom hated fucking talking, he was more cerebral, calculating. Conversation means connecting, and connecting was something he wasn’t particularly interested in normally. He needed to lead, to be in charge, but it was clearly what she knew and thrived on, so he had to swallow his apprehension down to play the long game, to get what he wanted. 

Now he understood that, it was going to be so fucking easy. All he had to do was to seemingly show her compassion, a little give so he could take so to speak. He rolled his head, cracking his neck as he remembered what she said about cooking with her mom so he decided that after her stellar performance last night, today she’d earned a bigger reward than a book or some journal. He was going to show her what she could have if she just gave in and admitted what he knew she truly wanted. A large house, a garden, a pool, a hot tub, silk sheets, a large bed, and a man to fuck her every way to heaven and back. He could give her everything that any woman could possibly desire, and then some.

With a twitch of a smirk across his lips, Ransom pulled his naked frame out of bed and slipped into joggers, a soft waffle knit thermal long sleeve pulled over his tousled hair. He felt like company for breakfast and he knew exactly to invite up. 

His bare feet padded with purpose over the plush carpet of his room, down the stairs and onto the first floor, over the hard wood and marble tile of the halls and entry, down the plush carpeted spiral staircase down to the basement.

He reached the door and gently turned the locks, quietly pushing the door open as he turned the knob. It opened quietly and his eyes fell upon the empty bed. He frowned slightly, wondering where she was. Then his eyes found her, sitting curled up with her eyes cast upward, that little tease of a porthole window in her focus. She'd turned her chair around so she could see it more clearly, the throw blanket he'd tossed at her the week before was wrapped around her body. He didn't know the time, but it wasn't early nor was it afternoon. Not that it mattered, neither had anywhere else to be.

"Good morning," he said lowly. He watched as her eyes slowly moved away from the only bit of outside world she'd seen for weeks now.

"Morning," she replied quietly, her eyes locking onto his. "I err, I was just..." she trailed off. "Actually, I don't know what I was doing to be honest."

He stalked up to the chair, kneeling in front her. His hand reached up and cupped her cheek, his thumb running over her cheek bone. "You were such a good girl last night. Took me so well, teased me with that little number you had on. I've thought about you all morning."

Ransom watched her throat bob as she swallowed before licking her lips and biting the inside corner of her lip. Such an innocent gesture that had him half hard straight away.

"I want to give you something. But you have to be good, or it goes away," he started. "Can you be good, Sweetheart?"

She nodded, slightly. "Okay," he smirked. "Now, fix the chair and come up to make us breakfast."

Ransom stood back, allowing you some space to accommodate his request. You slipped the throw blanket from your shoulders and left it in the chair as you rearranged the piece back to its normal state. You met him at the doorway. You didn't miss the way his eyes moved over you, the way they lit up in a way at as he looked at the silken material covering your body. The dark teal silk and lace cami set was just one of a handful of options he'd provided for you. All the same, different colors, all in your size. 

You hesitated for a second, not sure if this was another one of his little games but he simply met your eyes with his own and nodded up the stairs. With tentative, shaky steps you climbed them, sensing him close behind you as for the first time in weeks you left your prison.  You felt anxious, highly on edge and nervous. What was awaiting you? There was the sickening feeling in your stomach of excitement too, you hadn’t seen the outside since Halloween. You paused at the top of the stairs in the hall. The kitchen was directly across from you, the entry to your right. The door to the basement clicked shut and you felt Ransom’s firm chest behind your back as his form invaded your space. He dragged a finger down your arm causing the strap of your top to fall away, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder.

"Straight ahead, Sweetheart."

“Okay,” you whispered before you slowly made your way through to the large, airy kitchen. You stood looking around, taking in the fancy appliances before you turned back to Ransom. "Did you have something in mind?”

"Well..." Ransom leaned in the doorway, watching you as you stood in the middle of the tiled floor "Yesterday wasn't the first time you said you enjoyed to cook so I thought you might like to." His eyes flicked once more down your frame and back up again before he nodded his head towards the rear of the room. “Anything you need is in the pantry and fridge.”

“And I can make anything I want?” You blinked, not quite able to believe what he was allowing you to do. It was fucked up that you were even considering this as a reward but, you’d take it. Boy would you take it, anything to grasp some sense of normality in this day-by-day hell you were living.

“Sure.” Ransom popped a shoulder again and you took a deep breath before you turned and headed to the sink to wash your hands before sorting out your menu and you froze. The outside landscape had stopped you cold. From what you could see of the back garden the property was secluded, not over looked. A lawn extended a fair distance back from the rear of the house, a neat decking area stood to the right which sported a hot tub and a little further down there looked to be a pool of some kind which was covered over for the season. Trees hung over the bottom of the garden lining the high wooden fence, what few leaves they still sported were shades of crimson, gold and brown and the river traced it’s banks as it curved around the side and back of the house, the sun shining off the surface, giving it the impression it was made of sapphires. It was breathtakingly beautiful and you felt your heart shatter, your eyes well and you couldn't help but hold back the urge to weep as your chest contracted painfully. You were so close to the outside, separated only by a pane of glass, yet it had never felt further away.

His voice broke you from your despair and you swallowed back the sob that choked your throat as you flicked your attention to the left, Ransom's reflection drawing closer towards you as he crossed the terracotta tiled floor.

"Everything alright?"

You cleared your throat and gave a quick shake of your head, "Fine."

Again you felt him in your space. His presence consuming. “You sure?”

Sure? No you weren’t sure. Because none of this was fine, in fact it was as far from fine as it could possibly get. In that moment you wanted nothing more than to spin round and hammer your fists into any part of his body you could hit but you knew that it wouldn't get you anywhere, bar back in the basement likely shackled naked to the bed so you instead turned slowly to find yourself caged in by his broad frame so close to yours. You cast your eyes downward, uncomfortable at his searching stare, "Yeah, I’m sure.”

Your tongue flicked nervously over your lips as you continued to avoid his gaze before you cleared your throat “How do you like your eggs? Or would you prefer an omelette? Pancakes even?" The urge to move away from him pulled you away from your idea of a menu. Brunch basics were flooding your brain and you rattled off a few nervously. He may have said you could make whatever you wanted, but right now, you had no clue. Seeing a different space, the outside world and breathing new air had rattled you.

“You choose.” Ransom spoke softly, his hand reaching up to brush your hair off your face before he tipped your chin up so your eyes met his. He looked at you, and you swallowed as for the first time there was something unreadable on his face. His eyes were looking at you in a way they’d never looked at you before, with a softness you’d never have anticipated he could possess.

"Waffles." You suddenly blurted out, desperate to escape his gaze "I err, do you have a waffle iron?”

“No.” He deadpanned.

"Oh," you swallowed "Erm, then in that case French toast...maybe? Is that ok?"

“Sounds delicious.” He said, his hand dropping from your face, “Sure it’ll taste almost as good as you.”

“Great. How about with fresh Chantilly cream and berries if you have them?” You asked, completely ignoring his blatant back handed compliment and you started familiarizing yourself with the space as you glanced around.

“Like I said, whatever you want, Sweetheart.” He shrugged, and with that he stepped back to allow you to move away.

Ransom watched her move around the luxurious kitchen, looking through the pantry and cabinet near the stove taking out cinnamon and vanilla, plucking items like bread, butter, eggs, berries and cream from the fridge. Searching drawers for utensils and measuring cups and spoons. Finding a pan and bowl from a bottom cabinet. Measuring sugar from the glass jar on the counter. He hoped the ingredients were still fresh, he wasn't exactly sure how long they'd been stored. She moved like she belonged there, he thought to himself. So sexy looking in her nightwear, bare feet on the tile, her ass and breasts moving underneath the silk as she stretched and worked. 

"Coffee?" He offered, as he moved from one side to the other. He made sure his exquisite espresso machine was ready as it sat in all its glory on its own portion of the counter like a batista station inside Starbucks. 

He didn't miss the way she watched him move around her, preparing the coffee and grabbing the orange juice from the fridge. He reached over her shoulder, his body brushing against hers as he opened the cupboard where he kept the glasses and mugs. He peered down at her, giving a twitch to the corner of his mouth. A smirk indeed. He noted the way her eyes followed him as he poured the juice, like he was going to poison her or something. 

"It's just juice, Sweetheart," he said nonchalantly and put the juice back in the fridge. He set the breakfast table for them and took a seat in his place, a now hot cup of coffee in his hand, hers sitting on the counter next to her. 

It wasn’t long before she had finished and brought the plates to the table, sitting down timidly in the seat to his right as he gestured to it, stopping her dead as she was about to make her way around to the opposite side.

It was quiet, the only sounds heard for a while were the click and scrape of forks and knives cutting away at the plates of food. Ransom wouldn't admit it out loud, but this was the best French toast he'd ever had in his life. Something about it, the way it was not soggy, but perfectly moist, the edges just crispy. The way the cream made for no syrup and the sweet berries added the final element. He watched her pick at the food for a moment or two as he glanced over at her and saw a small bit of Chantilly in the corner of her mouth.

A long arm reached across the table and automatically she flinched a little, as if she was going to pull away but one firm stare stopped her in her tracks. His thick thumb padded away the white, sweet cream and he brought the same thumb to his lips, sucking the cream away. He lifted his brows in a teasing manner and twitched up his lips, "Delicious. Like I said, almost as good as you, Sweetheart."

"Thanks, I think," she paused. 

"Trust me, I know."

The comment seemingly threw her off her meal and it didn't get past Ransom. She had started picking at it, moving it around the plate like she had done with her dinner the night before. He, on the other hand, was near finished. 

"Are you still not hungry?" He inquired. 

She shook her head, "I just made my portion too big. I overestimated my appetite, I guess."

"Huh," he placated her reply. He knew she was lying but he let it slide, realizing that seeing a new space, the window to the outside was overwhelming. So, he thought he'd sweeten the deal. "I thought maybe you'd like to see the house," he offered, watching as her big eyes locked onto his and she took a deep breath.

"That sounds nice, thank you."

"Good, after breakfast then." He nodded affirmingly, as if it were drying ink in his mind. He picked up his coffee and finished it off, his plate already clear. 

She stood from the table, collecting his plate with her own and headed for the sink. He turned in his chair, stalking her, watching her every move. The way she pitched over the sink, bending her frame over the dishwasher to load it as she cleaned up the kitchen. 

With each bend and snap of her hips, he felt his mouth water more. Her little silk cami riding up as she moved, her breasts falling in and out of a fuller view. When she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, he was on her. He moved behind her, his hands grabbed her hips as she spun around completely startled giving a gasp and a quick yelp. 

"Easy, Sweetheart," he chuckled as she looked at him, her eyes wide.

"Sorry... you, err...you startled me." She whispered as he moved his hands so they gripped at the side of the kitchen counter on either side of her, caging her in with his body.

"Some women would like that," he quipped, arching an eyebrow a little and watched as she swallowed hard and cast her eyes downward. Moving one hand slowly up her arm, over her shoulder and around her neck, he tipped her head back up so those large, Bambi eyes locked onto his.

His hand adjusted, gripping her chin softly as he moved closer still, dipping his head he pressed a firm kiss to her lips. He felt her go rigid, her chest spiking as she drew in a sharp breath, her body shaking slightly in his hold. "Stop fighting it..." he whispered against her mouth before he kissed her again. This time, his tongue traced the line of her upper lip, the feel of it soft and soothing.

You felt his tongue line your lip and you couldn't hold the whimper of fear that passed through you. He’d never kissed you before, not on the mouth anyway. You felt him deepen his kiss, his big hand cupping your face, pulling you into it more. Your mind went elsewhere, imagining anyone but him kissing you like this. You couldn't deny it, this intimate moment, completely lost on both of you for different reasons, felt good and he was good at it. He was damn good at it in fact, and that alone made you want to vomit your breakfast into his throat. At that, you jerked back, panting a little, feeling your lips swollen from the way he'd sucked your bottom one between his, pulling at it just the right way. You hated the feeling between your legs that it had evoked, your body betraying you just like it always did.

In an attempt to stave off the conflicting emotions spiking within you, you focussed on his face, the face you hated and to your surprise he looked dazed. The usual stoic expression that clouded his features had been replaced with something akin to surprise but no sooner had you noticed it, it was gone.

"Clean up and I'll meet you in the study." He told you, his voice a deep almost pained whisper. 

"But I don't..." you started but were quickly cut off. 

"You're a smart girl, figure it out," he smirked and slipped away. 

You were tempted to follow, just so you'd see where he was going but you knew not to defy a command. The feeling of unease seemed to disappear as you slumped your shoulders and instead defeat filled your frame. A trembling hand came to your lips as jittery fingertips touched your swollen skin. Your bottom lip quivered like a ripple in a river and you quickly covered your mouth, turning on a dime as your French toast littered the sink. If the water hadn't been running already, Ransom would no doubt have heard you retching. You rinsed your mouth out to attempt at hiding that vomit taste from your tongue and quickly finished your task of cleaning up the kitchen, salty tears dripping from your chin, mixing with the soapy water. 

When you could stall no longer, you sighed and headed out into the large hallway, taking a quick look around. It was light, airy, the grand staircase swept in and curved round to the next floor and your eyes lingered on the heavy wooden door just beyond it. You hesitated, and then with a dejected sigh realised there was no point even trying to escape. Even if it was unlocked, which you doubted, the threat to your family was just too much for you to risk. Instead, you decided to head down the corridor to your right and found yourself in a large open plan living room of sorts. It was decorated in clean whites and crisp greys with a huge feature stone open fireplace and sported a bar at the back. A brown leather sofa and two matching arm chairs were strategically placed around an expensive looking coffee table but you didn’t bother to look at the rest, this wasn’t the room you needed so you turned back on yourself, walked back into the hall and took the turning to your left.

This time you found yourself walking into what you could only assume was his study-come-den of sorts. It was huge, and once again sported a sofa pushed up against the wall, looking out over the spectacular view of not only the garden but the river too. But that wasn’t what caught your attention, nor was it the walnut desk and laptop that sat upon it. It was the floor to ceiling bookshelf behind it. Your mouth dropped open as you made your way towards it but then you stopped, biting your lip. Were you supposed to be looking at them? But, he had said to meet you in here. And left you to find your own way.  Surely, if he didn’t want you looking around he wouldn’t have left you to it.

Throwing caution to the wind you strode forward, your pace hurried this time and your eyes quickly scanned across some of the books. You couldn’t help but feel shocked. Whilst there was a huge collection of his Grandfather’s books, and a number of other crime novels of types, it was the colourful spines to your right that made your chest heave in delight. The entire Harry Potter collection. With a shaky hand you reached for The Philosopher’s Stone, noting the British version of the title, and opened the front page giving another gasp as you read the publishing details.

This was a first edition.  And from the date you also knew it would be one that contained the misprint errors. And as such, would be worth a small fortune.

“See something you like?” that familiar voice hit your ears and you gave a little shriek, jumping around, clutching the book to your chest to avoid dropping it.

“I’m sorry.” You hastily began to apologise “I was just…erm…”

“It’s ok.” He assured you, crossing towards you. Once more he encroached into your personal space and you felt the blades of your shoulders press into the shelf behind you. “Harry Potter fan?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, “Didn’t think they’d be your type of thing.

“They’re not really.” He shrugged “I’m a collector. Everything on the shelves, well they’re all first or limited editions, so worth a lot.”

“Figures.” You mumbled, turning round and slotting the book back into the space it had come from. As you did you felt him push up behind you, his hands on your hips, the unmistakable feel of his hard on dug into the lower part of your back and you fought to stop yourself shuddering. He was after pay-back for allowing you to leave your prison.

“Did you like the house?” he asked, brushing your hair off your neck.

“Yes.” You answered politely, your voice catching a little as he placed a kiss to the crook of your shoulder.

“You know, it could all be yours sweetheart if you just stopped fighting what you know you want” His kisses continued up your neck as his words whirled around your brain and you were back to where you had been in the kitchen. It felt good. And that disgusted you.

“Did you enjoy making breakfast?” he whispered, his lips by your ear.

“Yeah.” You nodded, your voice barely there.

“Show me how much.” His teeth nipped at your lobe, his hips grinding forward and you swallowed and closed your eyes. You knew what he wanted but as you turned to face him you had an idea. One which would save you being fucked no doubt over the desk or on the hard looking couch.

With a lick of your lips you looked at him and sank slowly to your knees, taking his sweats with you. His hard cock sprang free, slapping his lower abs and you reached out, grasping it in your hand.

“Fuck, yeah baby…” Ransom hissed as you moved your head forwards and took him in your mouth.

You pulled out all the moves, you took him as deep as you could, gagging a little as he wasn’t a small man. You kept your hand firmly on the base of his cock, you hollowed your lips, you swirled your tongue around his shaft and he let out a little groan his hand fisting in your hair as his hips bucked forwards.

“Jesus, I knew your mouth was smart but…” he panted, looking down at you. You raised your eyes to look at his as he bit his lip, his entire face contorted in pleasure…

Pleasure that was ruined by the sound of the doorbell.

 “What the fuck…” Ransom growled out, un-fisting his hand from her hair. “Who the fuck is that?”

He glanced down at her and she looked up at him, wide eyed. She was a mess, swollen lips, wet chin and dressed in nothing but her skimpy tank and shorts. With a frustrated growl, Ransom pulled his dick out of her mouth and grabbed his phone from the table to check the doorbell camera. His face blanched as he saw who it was.

“I don’t fucking believe it…” he mumbled, as she looked up at him.

“Who is it?” She asked, wiping her face, “I’m not exactly dressed for visitors, Hugh.”

Ransom might have been pre-occupied with the familiar face staring at him from his phone, but he still picked up on that 'Hugh' and he glared down at her. “No shit, and because we have a visitor, I'm gonna let that one slide. Get up.” She rose to her feet, blinking a little as he pulled off the thermal he was wearing and tossed it to her. “Put that on. No one gets to see you in silk but me.”

She blinked as she caught it, confusion spreading across her face. “Don’t you just want me to go-“

In a flash, he grabbed her chin between his thumb and finger and she winced, “If I wanted you downstairs I’d have said. So put the damn shirt on, and when he starts asking questions just remember what I said I could do to your family and friends.”

In complete complacency, he watched her slip his thermal over her head, her fingers barely peeking through the sleeves to fix her dishevelled hair. The material hit her mid-thigh and his eyes brows gave a flicker of approval before he walked to the entry and opened the door. "What do you want?"

"Pleasure to see you too, Mr. Drysdale..." that infuriating Southern drawl hit Ransom's ears with all the finesse of a cheese-grater. Benoit Blanc, without so much as a gesture of request, pushed past Ransom as he strode inside, stopping in the tiled entry, looking around.

"Do you have a warrant?" The man of the house snipped in his usual spiteful tone.

Blanc still didn’t reply, and Ransom rolled his eyes following him as he wandered down the hallway, stopping at the open door to the study. "Well, if it isn't the lady of the hour."

Ransom stood behind Blanc, an infuriatingly warning glare sent his girl's way. He noted the way she was sitting on the couch, her legs tucked underneath her, lips still swollen, cheeks flushed, hair tousled. She looked like a sex kitten, and maybe that was the idea. He warned her to sell it after all…

"Excuse me?” Y/N looked up at the two men in the doorway. 

Blanc stepped inside the room, taking a seat on the edge of the same couch where she sat. "I've been looking for you, young lady. A lot of people are looking for you, you know Miss Y/L/N.”

“I errr…” she swallowed a little as she slowly got to her feet, her hands pulling the hem of the thermal down before she folded her arms across her chest, not in a defiant manner, but almost as if she was hugging herself “Did someone send you or…”

“No, nothing like that. You see, I heard you'd gone missing, and I knew you had a work connection to Mr. Drysdale, that, shall we say didn't go quite as planned. So when things started adding up, I thought to ask the man himself."

“Well, congratulations, this is one mystery you actually solved correctly, Sherlock. As you can see she’s here and she’s fine, and we were in the middle of something, so if you don’t mind….” Ransom folded his arms, his eyes moving from hers to Blanc, who was irritatingly completely ignoring him, his gaze focussed intently on the woman who stood in front of him.

Ransom could see him take her in fully, now seeing the situation he may have just walked in on. She looked dishevelled and was missing crucial parts of her clothing, but she had no tears in her eyes, no markings looking to be of abuse or out of the ordinary. None that were visible anyway. Blanc’s gaze then dragged over to Ransom who was bare foot in joggers and still half aroused, which he did nothing to hide as he folded his arms over his naked chest.

Ransom held Blanc’s gaze, his chin jutting out defiantly, the detective only looking away when the lady of the hour spoke, her voice quiet, as she gave a small nod. "He’s right, I’m fine."

"Then why not tell your family where you are?”

“I err…” Y/N’s right hand gripped he cuff of the sweater sleeve tightly, “I just, well, I…”

Ransom could see that she was losing it and he knew he had to intervene. He walked over to her and placed an arm around her, kissing the top of her head lightly, "It's alright, Sweetheart. I know how he can be frustrating. We're doing nothing wrong."

With that he turned his gaze to the man in front of him, not even trying to hide the sneer of contempt that was crossing his face “I have neither the time nor the crayons to explain this to you Blanc.”

“Well, maybe Miss Y/L/N has some crayons hidden up her sleeve so to speak.” Blanc smiled innocently and Ransom felt the anger floor his system.

“You’re starting to really piss me off.” he snarled, “You barge into my home, without so much of an explanation…” his rant was stopped dead as Y/N placed her hand on his chest, palm splaying over his bare skin. Ransom swallowed at the touch of her fingers against his skin, firey hot just as they had been last night when they curled around his arms.

"Hey," she spoke and he looked down to see her giving him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes but one that should be enough to convince the dumbass detective who was watching them. "It's okay." She then turned to Blanc as he held his hand up, palm open, speaking to Ransom.

“I’m not trying to be frustrating Mr. Drysdale, I'm merely enquiring after Miss Y/L/N’s wellbeing."

"I'm not here under duress if that's what you're thinking.” She spoke, clearing her throat. “Hu… Ra, we have had to keep our relationship private,” she stumbled on the right identity, settling for 'we'. Clearing her throat again and settling her nerves, she continued, "Mr. Blanc, as you well know, I'm reporter and his background has been less than stellar as of late. It no doubt would not look good for either of us if it had come to light. My reputation as a journalist would have been in tatters.”

“Well, lies and deception certainly go hand in hand when it comes to Mr. Drysdale...”

Ransom rolled his eyes dramatically “Change the record, Blanc. The static is a little loud.”

Blanc completely ignored him, his attention still on her. “So you caused all this worry, because of some…” he waved his hand in front of him, gesturing between the pair of them. 

Ransom’s arm curled round her even tighter, his fingers pressing into her hip and he felt her stiffen a little before she relaxed into his side and gave a small nod.

"Like I said, it wouldn’t have gone down well with my family, or my career.”

“Ahh, yes, your job, which you quit.” Blanc looked at her. “Yes, I spoke to your boss.” He answered her unasked question. “Why would you be so worried for your reputation as a journalist, if you’re not actually a journalist anymore?”

At that she took a deep breath “I quit the paper because my boss is an asshole. His antics on Halloween were a step too far. But that doesn’t mean I have no intentions of working ever again. I'm currently taking a long overdue sabbatical.”

Blanc studied her again, almost as if he was weighing something up and she once more began to fidget and Ransom decided he’d had enough.

"Okay, I’m done being polite,” Ransom moved his arm from around his girl and stepped towards Blanc, placing himself directly between the detective and the woman. “You've interrupted out little post brunch love affair and I’m horny, so…do you need help finding the door, or can your super sleuth skills figure the way back out of it on their own?”

“Miss Y/L/N?” Blanc spoke, his eyes locked onto Ransom’s. Ransom felt the nerve in his jaw twitch, the fact that Blanc wasn’t scared of him irritated him no end.

There was a pause and then her voice came clearly from behind him as she spoke, “If you'd be so kind as to not tell my family where I am, I'd appreciate it. I prefer this time without their unwanted opinion.”  Her voice was steady, measured almost. “You can tell them that you've found me, alive and well."

Blanc knew he wasn't welcome, he had proof of life and no reason to suspect foul play. He stood, his long wool coat falling into place around him. "Well, then I guess my work is done." He brushed passed Ransom and gave a quick quip, "I'm warning you...." 

"What was that?" His girl wondered. She'd heard him. 

"Have a nice day," Blanc nodded curtly “I’ll see myself out.”  

You watched the back of the detective as he left the large living room, Ransom following him to the doorway where he stood, arms folded, watching. The sound of Blanc’s feet on the tiles of the hallway grew fainter and fainter until eventually they stopped completely.  The latch of the door sounded and you fell to the closest thing you could sit on. Your while body shook with a chill that crept into your bones but not from the cold. No, you were sick to your stomach in fear and worry. The bile of deceit rose to your throat and had you not already spewed up your breakfast it would have most likely decorated the carpet of the study.  Instead, you swallowed down the sour bile as Drysdale approached you and you glanced up at him, blinking whilst he studied you for a second, his face passive. As you held his gaze, something akin to amusement flashed in his cold blue eyes and a twisted smirk spread across his face.

“Your acting skills certainly improved there along the way, at the end you were almost award worthy.” He drawled, his hands falling to his hips. “Even Meryl Streep would be jealous.”

"Fuck you," your voice quivered.

He arched an eyebrow, an amused expression on his features “Already played that game Sweetheart, and carry on back-chatting me and you’ll be back in the basement.”

"Wh... What?"

"You pulled through in the end there. It was a rough start, but you convinced Colonel Sanders that you were here on your own."

“Colonel Sanders?” You blinked, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Blanc. CSI KFC.” He replied. You were none the wiser as to what he was going on about and it must have shown on your face as he simply rolled his eyes. "Never mind...the point is, sweetheart, I'm in a good mood. And seeing as you behaved...”

"What?" Your voice was quiet, meek.

"If you shut that pretty little mouth for longer than a second, I'll explain." His tone was measured but you didn’t miss the underlying threat.

“Sorry.” Your eyes fell to the floor, your left hand worrying at your right.

“Eyes on me.” He barked and your head whipped up automatically and he smirked at you as you took a deep breath. “As I was saying, seeing as you were such a good girl, I thought I’d reward you, let you stay up here with me for the day.”

The notion shocked you. Your mouth went dry and you couldn't make sense of it. But then, the more you thought about it, the more his audacity irked you. He’d imprisoned you, used you, abused you…and now he was implying that staying in his company was a fucking reward.

“Wow, thanks…” you blurted before you could stop yourself, sarcasm lacing your tone. As soon as the words had slipped from your mouth you felt panic flood your system as he stepped towards you and reached out, his right hand curling around your throat.

"Don’t push me sweetheart.” His voice was low as his fingers squeezed the column of your neck, a reminder of how easily he could simply end it all whenever he chose. 

And just like that the softness that he had displayed with you earlier that morning was gone, and the shutters were back up. You swallowed hard, feeling the strain of your throat against his touch, his eyes now dark and full of that familiar angry lust and desire that chilled you from head to toe. Blanc had riled him, gotten underneath his skin, that was easy to see while your mouthy comments fuelled that ire. And as such, he needed an escape, an outlet.

And he was going to get it from you.

“Now on your knees and finish what you started."

[otonymous]

A Bolt From The Blue (MLQC Shaw - NSFW) - Part IV (End): Courage, My Love

Description: The final chapter.  The Big Bang 😉  Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language & mature themes — reader discretion is advised.  Potential trigger warnings: physically aggressive behaviour, ex-boyfriends, angst, size kink, profanity, vaginal fingering and intercourse Word Count: 4237 words (~21 mins of thrills, real talk, fluff and smut) Author’s Notes: To all the lovelies who have been patiently following this story: you’ve made it! 🥳  Welcome to the final chapter in this Shaw saga, where we aim to go out with a massive bang (pun intended 😆).  Once again, thank you all for every like, reblog, and comment I’ve received on this story.  You are all amazing, and I appreciate your support! 💕

As always, tagging the lovely @op-peccatori​ — I hope you enjoyed this story!  I certainly had lots of fun writing this!  Please note the potential trigger warnings listed above, dear readers, and happy reading! 

Jump to Chapter(s): One | Two | Three

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The quiet is back.

But there is no peace, no relief in the monotony that follows after the man known as Shaw burst into your life like a bolt from the blue, stirring up long forgotten feelings like dead leaves animated by a carefree wind — here one minute, gone the next.

And with each passing day, hope erodes.

Little by little, your heart learns not to race as the clock above the magazine rack approaches 1:30.

It becomes harder to remember the sound purple sneakers made walking through the store.

You stop hoping, wishing, to see a head of lavender hair; that the next person to approach the register would place a cup of Pepsi mixed with Coke on the counter, amber-eyed gaze speaking volumes without uttering a single word.

Days become weeks, and then eventually…

…you stop counting them altogether.

* * *

“You’re looking good.  I see you’re doing well for yourself.”

He reaches for the jade pendant hanging around your neck, eyes flashing with amusement when you hit his hand away with an audible smack.

“What the hell do you want?  Haven’t you already done enough?” You say through grit teeth, steps quickening as you head for the better lit part of the street, trying to outpace the man and silently cursing the fact that returning to the convenience store was no longer an option at this point.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that.  It took a lot of effort to track you down and I waited a very long time for you to get off work.  It’s cold, dark and lonely out here.  Is that any way to treat your boyfriend?  Or friend, at least?”

“ ‘Ex-boyfriend,’ asshole, and you’re no friend of mine, especially not after the way you took my life’s savings and ran.”

“Baby, it wasn’t like that—”

“Oh yeah?!  Did you try telling that to the loan sharks too before they came and trashed my place?  I had to move, Leto, because it wasn’t safe for me anymore, not with the way they kept harassing me and the neighbours asking about your whereabouts.  They even came to my office.  I lost my fucking job.  So don’t come around here and tell me that I’m doing well for myself.”

Breaking into a sprint, your mind races as you try to think of a way to lose your ex, anger and anxiety prickling every nerve in equal measure.  He had ruined your life, singlehandedly taken away everything you had.  And though you had known him once, desperation has a way of making monsters out of men.

And right now, for all you knew, he was desperate and dangerous.

“Please, I just want to talk.  I don’t need much this time, just a little bit to get me through this rough patch.  I’ll pay you back, I swear, just…just STOP FOR A MOMENT!—”

You shriek to feel Leto wrap his hand about your wrist, but before he could tighten his grip, another arm is thrown around your shoulder, pulling you back until you’re pressed up against a hard, muscular chest, staring at a close up of Snoopy riding a skateboard.

“You got business with my girl?”

That voice.  Dangerous and cocksure, yet comforting like nothing else as the muffled words reverberate through the tiny bones of your ear, a prelude to the soothing ba-bump of his heart, rhythm steady and concrete as the ground upon which you stood.

Shaw.

He’s really here.

“Hehe.  Your girl?”  The derision in Leto’s voice makes you sick to your stomach; you can’t help but hold your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop as he looks Shaw up and down, zeroing in on his old t-shirt.  “Tsk, tsk.  So, not only do you enjoy wearing second hand clothing, you also have the habit of picking up sloppy seconds?”

BOOM!

Deafening thunder rolls moments after a bolt of lightning rends the night sky in two, throwing a jagged spotlight on the fury written on Shaw’s face when he moves just as fast to grab a fistful of Leto’s collar.  The muscles of his forearm bulge as he holds up the entirety of Leto’s bodyweight in one hand, the sky opening in a sudden downpour as your ex struggles in midair, rain dripping almost comically from dangling feet.

And when Shaw brings Leto’s terrified face up close, the ferocity in those amber eyes sends a chill up your spine.

“This is the last time you’ll ever talk to her, see her, even think about her.  Or else I’ll find you and take my sweet time making you wish you were never born, do you understand me?”

Head bobbing in vigorous nods, drops of water fly off the tips of Leto’s rain-slicked hair.  Seemingly satisfied, Shaw tosses him onto the ground at your feet, voice low yet audible as it cuts through the din of the storm when he says, “Beg for her forgiveness.”

The fear in his expression almost palpable, Leto looks between you and Shaw — cowardice etched onto features you had once found so pleasing a lifetime ago.  He prostrates himself onto the wet pavement, voice cracking in between sobs as he yells over the sound of the rain:

“P-please…please forgive me!  I’m a piece of shit!  I’m nothing, I’m garbage!  I…I deserve to go to Hell for what I did to you!  I-I’m so sorry!  Please forgive me!”

Leto reaches out a shaky hand towards your soaked shoes before he remembers Shaw’s warning, but it is too late.  Black combat boots hit the concrete hard within an inch of Leto’s face as Shaw stoops, yanking back a fistful of hair and pulling until your ex is looking up at you like a pitiful supplicant begging for mercy.

“Satisfied?”  Shaw looks to you as if he were asking about something as mundane as the weather.  You nod, suddenly too tired to even speak.  You wanted to wash your hands of Leto, wanted nothing to do with all that had happened since you finished your shift at the convenience store.  All you could do was watch as Leto scrambled away on all fours the moment Shaw loosened his hold, running until he was nothing more than a speck of darkness merging with the night.

The rain is cold, wetness driving against your body to leech even the final bits of warmth from bone.  Your clothes are drenched, heavy as they cling uncomfortably to skin.  But you are too drained to care, lacking the energy to even notice when the dim light of the streetlamp above is blotted out — Shaw holding his leather jacket over your head in the place of an umbrella.

All you are aware of before your vision goes dark is the anxiety in his voice when he calls your name over and over again, how weightless it felt to be carried in the cradle of his arms. ��

How much you missed the scent you thought you had learned to forget.

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

“Finally awake, Sleeping Beauty?”

You opened your eyes to gaze into irises of warm amber, the situation similar to one you experienced before except for the fact that this time, you were the one lying in bed, staring at a man who sat on its edge, brows knit with concern beneath soft lavender strands.

“If you slept for any longer, I would’ve had to knock on your neighbour’s door.” Shaw chuckles but the sound is hollow, mirthlessness obvious like the blanched knuckles of his tightly clenched fists.

“What…how did we…” You begin, voice raspy as it dies, a sudden sharp pain in your throat making you wince.

And immediately, Shaw is on his feet, rummaging through cupboards in your kitchen until he finds a glass.  You watch him run the tap, fill it to the brim.  Feel the strength of his arm around your back as he holds you up, touch lingering even as you down the water in gulps to chase the discomfort away.

“You passed out not long after your douchebag of an ex ran off with his tail between his legs.  I found your keys in your purse, so I let myself into your apartment — hope you don’t mind.  Although, to be fair, I was also carrying you at the time, so it’s not really breaking and entering.”

Head feeling like it would explode as the events of the evening come rushing back, you turn towards him…slowly…slowly, afraid Shaw might disappear before your eyes should any movement prove too sudden.

Thank him.  Now.  Before he goes away again.

He is close, so close that you can count those long, beautiful lashes; almost feel the minuscule shifts in the air between you every time he blinks — those pupils encroaching onto gold as they expand and pulling you into their depths as they do.

“Why are you doing this?”

He doesn’t flinch at your question, and you can’t bring yourself to be shocked by the discrepancy between what you meant to say and the words actually spilling from your lips.  And as the grey memory of days spent counting the hours of his absence settles like lead in the pit of your stomach, the only thing you knew was that your heart couldn’t survive latching onto this sliver of hope only to have it ripped away again.

All you wanted…was the truth.

“Because I can’t stand to see you sad anymore.”

There is no smirk to stretch across that handsome face, only pain that hurts your heart to see it.  Resignation heavy in his voice, Shaw takes a deep breath before he continues.

“Turns out I’m weak when it comes to you.  Selfish.  I know I’m no good for you; there’s no future with me.  I can’t give you anything, can’t even promise you tomorrow, but…I just can’t stop thinking about you.  Wondering how you are.  Whether you’re eating well, sleeping well.  If you’re safe…happy.

“Tonight wasn’t supposed to happen.  I just wanted to make sure you got home okay, that some asshole wasn’t going to hassle you at work.  But then your ex showed up and when he tried to get fresh with you, well…I couldn’t let that slide.

“Listen, I don’t know what’s wrong with me but…I’m sorry, if I ever made you sad, if I scared you.  I’m sorry for everything.”

His gaze drops to the rip in his jeans, the drip, drip of the leaky faucet the only sound in the ensuing silence of his confession.  That is, until you say,

“I’m sorry too…that you’re such an idiot.”

His head whips up, brows furrowed and mouth slack as if caught in a rare moment of speechlessness.  The shock makes him seem years younger, lending him an air of innocence that you couldn’t help but smile at.

“In case it wasn’t obvious, I’m a grown woman, capable of making my own decisions.  I’m not so naïve that I don’t know what I would be getting into by being with you.  You say you can’t promise me tomorrow, but tomorrow isn’t promised to anyone.  All we can ask for — hope for — is the here and now.  

“Love takes courage, as does life.  But a life without love…it’s not much of a life, is it?  So I’m willing to be brave if that’s what it’ll take for us to be together.”

As quickly as they came, the words are gone, leaving you cotton-mouthed and faint as your heart pounds to send the blood rushing to your ears.  That could’ve been the only explanation as to why Shaw’s “I knew there was a reason why I loved you” sounded so muffled you had to ask him to repeat himself.

“Too bad, I only say things once.”

And there it is again: the spark in his eyes, smirk on those lips — igniting the fire you only allowed yourself to feel in dreams of his body on yours, skin to skin like kindling to flame.

“Are you that single-minded about everything?”  You ask, the smile on your face mirroring his as it approaches closer…

“Only when it comes to not letting go of the one I care about.”

…closer…

“Tell me one thing.”  Your voice is barely above a whisper.

…and closer still.

Lips now a hair’s breadth apart, the gentle rhythm of his exhalation blows soft upon your cupid’s bow; a shy request.  Your vision is filled with him, wonderfully awash with colour — lavender, amber, the soft pink of his mouth — and you wished you were the very clothes upon his body; saturated in his intensity, dyed in his hues.

His eyes fixate on your tongue when you wet your lips before asking, “That night, when you were hurt so badly you passed out in my store…why did you still insist on coming in?”

Shaw’s breath catches, hitching in his throat.  You know because you can feel it, the way the warmth stops short on your skin.  And when he speaks, the eyes that hold yours tell you this is no lie.

“Because if it was going to be the last night of my life, I didn’t want to go without seeing your face one more time.”

Love is a funny thing.  Formless, senseless, yet the strongest thing that could bind two strangers.  You hadn’t known Shaw for long, could count the days you spent together on one hand.  And still, entirely without reason, he bled into each and every hour, crept into the darkest corners of your mind to fill your weary heart with a desperation that made it very clear that love was far from done with you.

That right or wrong, the only place you wanted to be was here — held in the arms that wrapped around your body: hot, tight, safe…

…Shaw.

His lips are softer than you ever imagined when he brings his face to yours, plush silk gliding corner to corner to cover your mouth in reverent kisses — one for each night he came into your store, watched over you from afar.  

Your stalwart protector.

You tasted it now, the remnants of cinnamon on his tongue from the gum he was so fond of chewing, intensified by the memory of all the times you wondered about its flavour: pink bubbles popping in his mouth as he coolly dealt with the robber, the night you emptied his pockets as your neighbour stitched him up on your bed.

Shaw tasted sweet.  Far sweeter than you ever imagined.

And when his tongue slides against yours — slow and sure as it explores your mouth with increasing fervour before drawing back just as you clenched around emptiness, yearning for more, the beast within you refuses to abide.

You like the shock that passes over his face when you move, sudden and forceful, to push him onto the mattress beneath you; the artless way Shaw sinks teeth into his bottom lip in response.  You like how he watches as you straddle his hips — gaze earnest and body honest, hardening as you grind undulating circles upon his groin.

But, perhaps most of all, you liked the spark of something wild in those amber eyes, an unpredictability warning that if you weren’t careful, you’d be the one to find yourself pinned to the bed.

Because wasn’t that ultimately the push-and-pull that characterized so much between you and him?  Maddening at times, but always, always binding you to Shaw like some red string of fate.

So you nod when he whispers “May I?”, unable to suppress a moan to finally feel his hands on you: tracing along your jaw, cradling your face…resting the pad of his finger on your lip before pushing past to stroke your tongue.

Every sound he makes pleases; the soft hiss preceding the bob of his Adam’s apple to feel your lips pucker around his finger to suck, pink tongue enticing as it swirls along the length of that digit, drawing it deeper into the hot wetness of your mouth.

You never saw yourself as seductive before, but Shaw made you feel sexy.  Perhaps the impulse stemmed from some primitive desire, an instinctive call to please the man you felt so profoundly for that shame was the farthest thing from your mind when you pulled his hand from your lips to guide it to your breast, only partially aware of how wet you were becoming from his gaze alone — half-lidded and heavy with lust.

The heat of his touch permeates your blouse, white and transparent still in patches from the rain.  You watch his hands as they play: cupping your breasts in a gentle squeeze, thumbs and forefingers catching your nipples to pinch and roll until they stood stiff against the drape of your clothing, the flush of your flesh bold through fabric.

“You’re so beautiful that there are times I think you can’t possibly be real.”

His voice is low, husky.  You let it wash over you, almost frightened by how stupidly happy you become, willing the magic to linger even as his words dissipate amongst the sounds of the night: neon buzzing and the faraway screams of sirens in the distance.

A world apart.

Your hands find the broad expanse of his chest, tracing along muscle before circling the nipples that stood erect against his damp t-shirt.  Each twitch is endearing, every erratic breath he draws to feel your touch making you fall harder.  And when he tries to focus on unbuttoning your blouse while fighting the impulse to tear it clean off your body, the stirring between your legs grows in intensity until he finally pulls the silken panels aside, a quiet gasp escaping his lips to see his necklace nestled between your breasts.

“It really does belong on you.”  

The admiration in his tone is laced with a hint of possessiveness that makes you throb.  Shaw pushes himself to sitting, gathering you onto his lap in one smooth motion as he buries his face in your chest, inhaling deep.  You gasp to feel gentle teeth sink into the flesh of your breasts, Shaw following the chain of precious metal with his lips until it leads to the pendant.  And when his tongue slips out to draw the piece of jade into his mouth, he brings your nipple along with it.

“Oh!…”

The sensation is unlike any you’ve known before, the soft wetness of his pliant tongue a searing contrast with the cool, smooth stone rubbing against the sensitive tip of your breast in equal measure.  You feel his smile on your skin when you fist your hands into lavender hair, spine curving as your legs begin to tremble.

And he had yet to touch you below the waist.

“Your body responds so well to me.  I knew you were a good girl.”  He looks up at you, teasing shamelessly even as he continues to lavish attention on your breasts.

“Just your girl, if you’ll have me,” you say without second thought, long past the point of caring to keep your cards close to your chest.

Something breaks in that expression, the final walls crumbling like dust when Shaw blinks once…twice, revealing eyes that shine with emotion when he replies, “For the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.”

* * *

“Hmm!—”

Your moan is muffled, swallowed by Shaw’s greedy lips like he does with every sound of ecstasy that leaks like you do around his cock, buried impossibly deep in your body as it rocks back and forth, back and forth on his muscular thighs…

…doing your best to adjust to his ample size.

He had barely suppressed a chuckle when you first slipped your hand into his jeans, a subtle mix of pride and amusement on his face to see your eyes widen when you couldn’t quite wrap palm and fingers around the entirety of his girth.

And foreplay had only just begun.

“Still doing okay?” Shaw asks, touch tender as he brushes loose strands of hair from your eyes, lips smoothing along the apple of your cheek to feel its pink heat.  “We can go as slow as you want, there’s no rush.  If it’s too much, we can stop—”

“No!  No…I’m okay.  More than okay, I’m great.  Please…please don’t stop…don’t stop…”

Struggling to string words together, your breath comes in disjointed pants as Shaw begin to thrust up — the look on his face effortlessly sensual when he bites his lip to feel you spasm around him, tight wetness yielding in increments to accommodate his body as it broke new ground.

For you had never taken a man of that size, the litheness of Shaw’s muscular body belying the impressive package he’d been hiding in those jeans.  Your jaw ached just to look upon the length of that thick cock, mouth watering as a fresh wave of arousal made you press your thighs tighter together.  The movement didn’t go unnoticed.  Shaw had drawn you to him then — deft fingers dipping low to trace the outline of your swollen folds through moist panties, lavender head bending to kiss its lacy trim.

He took his time preparing you, licking his fingers before he eased them into your pussy — first one, then two…curling deep until the slippery sounds of arousal told him the time was ripe to introduce the third, leaving you blooming for him even as he whispered, “Think you’re ready for me to make you my girl for real?”

It borders on overwhelming, this sensation of fullness — between your legs, within your heart.  And as skin stretched to capacity to accommodate the sweet friction of his slide, you wished there was a way for the euphoria of this connection to last forever:

To the one you could never forget, no matter how hard you tried.

To this man you loved like no other.

“Shaw.”

His name is faint on your breath when he falls back onto the bed, taking you with him.  And as you found yourself straddling his hips once more, the altered angles of your bodies gave him the leverage to make you gasp when he begins to thrust in earnest.  The eroticism of his face, lost in lust, drives all thoughts from your mind as you drop a hand to your clit, fingers drawing tight circles before his hungry eyes.

The violence of your climax takes you by surprise, having no time to consider neighbours and thin walls as the lewdest sounds escape your lips at high volume.  Intense convulsions wracking your body in waves, you clench in time around your lover.  The sensation proves too much to bear, drawing out Shaw’s own release as he pulls out to spill onto the folds of your pussy — swollen and pink and trembling still beneath the coat of his pearlescent seed.

* * *

“I love you.”  

Morning light trickles across your walls like the slow crawl of spidery legs.  Shaw’s words hang in the air between you, a final, sacred moment shared between lovers before the rest of the world wakes.

You loved the hoarseness in his voice; a testament to the hours of noisy lovemaking you had shared in lieu of sleep.

You loved the weight of his hand, stroking softly at the crown of your head.

You loved the rhythm of his heart, echoing just below your ear to confirm his existence.

“I love you too.”

You look up into those amber eyes, trying to discern whether those four little words were sufficient in conveying that fact that you adored every fibre of the man before you.

The smile that graces his face in return is tender, honest…more brilliant than the day breaking in the East.

Your hands find his body, bare beneath the sheets.  And as a curious finger traces along the ridge of the scar that runs in a broad stroke across his sculpted abdomen, your gaze falls on his t-shirt, draped over the back of a chair.

“You should probably throw that Snoopy shirt away, especially after what happened last night.”

Shaw follows your line of sight, chest rising and falling in a deep sigh.  “Shitty as its previous owner was, I could never bring myself to hate something that reminds me of you.  Aside from saving my ass, this was the first gift you ever gave me.  And I never throw away gifts from my girl.”

His girl.

The mystery of life is that filled with unknowns though it is, we continue to live, brave in the face of the uncertainty that comes with every passing day.  You had no idea what fate had in store for you or Shaw, had no way of knowing if your relationship existed on borrowed time.  

The only thing you were certain of was that your feelings for each other were real, that try as you might, neither of you were very good at forgetting the other.  That in this moment, here and now, the only thing that mattered was this love that hit you…

…like a bolt from the blue.

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

Thanks so much for reading!  I hope you all enjoyed this Shaw saga! 💖 

Check out more of my work here! 📚 (Please do not repost/copy/alter my work.  Reblogs, on the other hand, are perfectly fine and much appreciated! 💖👍🏼)

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[creoterative]

AoT x GoT Headcanons

This just came to my mind and in a few hours, I built a whole story with this sh*t, but who cares, so I’m gonna focus on the dragons for now ;)

warnings: mentions of blood and murder, mentions of ehhh.... not so good bed scenes

and of course, spoilers for both

Daenerys Targaryen

-portrayed by Historia Reiss

-although she entitles herself as the ‘Mother of Dragons’, she sees herself as more of a big sister and the Dragons see her as such too

-is a very openhearted and -minded person, just as Dani was in the first seasons

-wants to break the wheel and earn her right to the Iron Throne by releasing every single slave in all of the Seven Kingdoms, because she was used by her father to gain him more power (she was forced to sleep with several generals)

-loves her three dragons and if something happenes to them, she goes on full rampage

-when Reiner gets shot by a spear, she feels extremely guilty and apologizes to him even weeks after 

-her favorite of the dragons is Reiner because he is strong, kindhearted, but a beast in battle, she trusts him the most, which is why she has a connection with him

-Galliard is her favorite when it comes to insulting and threatening her enemies, because that boy knows how to use his teeth and scowls

-Bertolt is her favorite when she needs someone to talk especially when it comes to serious decisions, Reiner can’t decide either and Galliard always wants someone to die, so Bertolt is the only one with a little bit of a brain to work with

-she enjoys laying on top of any of them in their dragon forms, because their bodies are extra warm then and can protect her from the cold, no matter what

-Historia hates it, when her boys fight, so if they do, she will start crying and plead them to stop, which, of course, they do immediately

-because of her experiences with her father and his trusted allies, she doesn’t know how to handle new faces and gets really shy around them, so her dragons get a little... overprotective in these situations

-but she can be a damn strict ruler, if anybody does something, that she doesn’t want to be done, fist on the f*cking table and a stern look, everybody will crawl on the floor

-she gets to know Armin Arlert later in the series and is attracted by him, although two of her dragons do not like him that much at first, has a relationship with him later on, but is killed by Armin right in front of the Iron Throne

-the reason why she gave all her ‘sons’ different last names, or last names at all, is because they actually aren’t related to each other and her consultants didn’t allow her to give them her own last name, since the Reiss family is highest royalty to them. Many of her consultants actually only see the three dragons as tools for battle and not actual members of the empire, Historia creates.

Drogon

-Reiner Braun, there is no better one for him

-but the role of Drogon himself would be a little... different

-Reiner can transform into a light golden dragon, bigger than a Boeing 747, with even brighter horns and claws, his scales shine in the sun and sometimes, when the light is just right, slight glittery patterns can be seen all over his body, giving him some kind of royal appearance

-his flames are bright as well, still orange, but intensive

-also his armor is the strongest among the three brothers

-he is Historia’s choice to ride into battle, which he is very honored by

-is very proud of his origin and powers, but doesn’t show this pride as much as Galliard does

-doesn’t interfere too much into politics, is more of a fighting guy and wants to prove his value to the queen, Historia

-his roar is veeeery deep, can smash a grown mans eardrums into pieces and scares the enemies even before they see him

-as he grows up, he realizes, that killing people gets to be a habit and Historia isn’t just breaking chains anymore, but also kills those, who don’t want to bend the knee, which he highly disagrees with

-nevertheless, he doesn’t interfere until the last day of Historia’s reign, he is the one to melt the iron throne in rage and carries Historia’s corpse to the place, where she gave life to all three of them

-as a dragon, he can fly, but he actually isn’t too good at it at the beginning, Galliard and Bertolt get way ahead of him, which is why Historia almost decided to ride Galliard to battle

-he likes to sleep in human beds more, being out in the open is more a Galliard thing

-gets in fights with his brother Galliard wayyyy too often, but gladly Bertl is there to reason with them, if that doesn’t help, Historia will just start crying right next to them (as they grow older, they don’t harrass eachother as much because... they would burn whole villages)

-he was the first to learn how to breathe fire

-his title amongst the people is ‘the one who breathes gold’

Rhaegal

-Bertolt Hoover would earn the role of Rhaegal, the fierce green dragon, Armin Arlert gets to be his rider later on

-in his dragon form, Bertolt is even bigger than Reiner, a good amount of bigger I should say

-his scales are actually green as well, but a lot darker than Rhaegals in the series, while his teeth are black, as they should be according to the books, his wings are the only ones being without any cuts or wholes, since he doesn’t really fight with his brothers

-he is known for his technique of clapping his wings together and creating a whole storm to send people flying, when he is asked to fight by Historia

-Berts flames are a dark green colour, sometimes a bit of black can be seen as well

-although he isn’t Historia’s first choice in battle since he is rather calm and shy, he can be a real threat because of his size alone

-he actually prefers to fight in the dark, because he can hide more easily even though he is the biggest of Historia’s dragons

-Bertl is the one, who is the most aware of his powers and controls them perfectly, which is why he always reminds his brothers to be careful with their tails or their wings, much to their confusion, I mean, he is the biggest of them, by far

-he’s a gentle giant, most of the time, and Historia’s preferred place to sleep on is his back in dragon form

-that boy can be such a d*ck, when it comes to sleeping, accidentally of course, because, well, he sleeps, but his positions while doing so are... random. In both forms actually, a house was smashed to dust one time

-politics are absolutely his thing, he loves to be a part of tactical meetings and enjoys to help his queen/mother with difficult desicions, although he is pretty shy around other people, who don’t belong to his closest family

-his roar is deep, but not as deep and loud as Reiner’s, even though he should have the lung capacity to make it even louder than his, which is because he actually hates to roar, is more of a silent assassin, you almost can’t hear his wings

-as Historia begins to grow a darker queen, he keeps himself out of it, only follows her orders, but deep inside, he questions their actions and feels sorry for what he has done

-he is really sceptical at first, when Armin approaches him, but as soon as he senses the Reiss families blood, he calms down and lets Armin ride his back

-they actually have a connection similar to that of Historia and Reiner later on, which allows Armin to lead Bertolt into battle and give him commands, just like Historia does

-he has this look, when he is in his dragon form as well as in his human form, a look, that can easily make anybody uncomfortable, though he just looks very directly at somebody. That is his way to say ‘back. the hell. off’

-Bertolt is shot down by three scorpion bolts in the battle at Dragonstone, Galliard isn’t there to whitness this, but Reiner and Historia are right next to him, leading to Reiner wiping out a whole fleet of ships in blind rage

Viserion

-the best one to play this part is Porco Galliard, just called Galliard by everyone, he hates his first name

-Galliard is the smallest of the dragon brothers, but he is actually the toughest and fiercest, leading to him being used in most of the battles Historia fights as the first one to attack the enemy

-in his dragon form, Galliard is of a smaller statue than his brother Reiner, but still pretty big, has copper scales, which pretend to seem a little bit darker, than they actually are, his claws look as if they are really made out of pure copper, but his teeth are pure white

-the fire of this boy is HOT, like he can literally melt rocks and metal like frikin wood, also his flames are of dark orange colour and sometimes a little bit of yellow sparks through

-he actually likes to use his claws to crush catapults and sink ships rather than using his fire, although it is really strong

-is the fastest of the dragon brothers and loves to speed through the enemy lines

-he often teases his brothers because he is the first to rush into combat and ‘makes things easier for them’ (actually he has to save Reiner a lot... and teases him for that as well)

-always the first one to say ‘let’s just kill them all, we know they deserve it, mom’

-he is rather harsh and cynical, but can be really sweet with children, tries to convince them that dragons are not always vicious beasts

-he often wanders around alone, sometimes disappearing whole months only to return from some smaller battles, because of that he has the best orientation amongst his brothers

-he absolutely hates fish

-Galliard actually would never allow any human to ride his back, not even Historia, doesn’t matter if Reiss blood or not, he HATES to be controlled, so Historia can only tell him what to do if he agrees to ‘help her out’

-has no interests in politics. AT ALL.

-Galliard doesn’t like other people, but is loyal to the kingdom and its queen, protecting Historia with his life, if he has to, still, no other people, except maybe some children, he grew fond of

-when he roars, it sounds like a damn hurricane is coming, high pitched, but terrifying as well, people sometimes actually think, that a storm is coming, when he roars, which he is very proud of

-is the first to notice Historia’s turn to the darker side of herself but thinks, that she finally accepted his sight on things, but as soon as it resolves in killing people just for the effect, he starts to question her, and actually speaks his mind to her very openly, only receiving stern looks from her

-he absolutely hates Armin when he first arrives at Dragonstone, shows that by growling at him and just flying away

-Galliard is the first of the dragon brothers to get killed, an ice spear pierces through his shoulder and neck, which kills him mid flight, is later revived by the Night King, also known as Eren Yeager, to fight against Historia

-he gets killed again when Mikasa Ackermann stabs the Night King in the chest, right after Galliard destroyed the wall of ice and fought his brothers in a devastating battle, in which Bertolt gets injured badly

[inyourwildestdreamslove]

Forgotten

No one can remember the last time the Fae were seen in Middle Earth. They were once revered as the most powerful of the races with mystical powers, unlike any in the world has seen. Sauron knew the only way for his plans to succeed was to get rid of them, so he rid the world of them. However, one day you fall into the company of Thorin Oakenshield.

Coincidence or fate? No one knows...

As the last of the Fae you are unsure what to do... All you really want is a bath...

... And the attention of a certain golden-haired Prince... What's a girl to do?

Pairing: Fili x Reader

Chapter 1: Of Falls and Fairy Circles

The market is bustling as you dance your way through the stalls full of art and jewelry. Saturday at the market is easily your favorite day of week especially after you just got paid. Suddenly, a stone on one of the nearby tables catches your eye. It seems to almost have a light shining from it taking your breath away. It is clear with a bright blue light that just seems to shine among all the moonstones and labradorites. You hesitantly pick it up from the stall knowing that it is way out of budget and yet the price tag says $60. You blink in confusion at the piece before your hand secures, almost greedily, around the pendant as you call the owner over.

“I’ll take this one,” you say, pulling out your wallet.

“Sure! What length chain would you like?” she asks briskly, busy with the plethora of customers surrounding you both.

You gaze at the pendant thoughtfully, the shard looking glamorously delicate and intricate, “thirty-six.”

She nods and quickly takes payment, but you stop her from wrapping it up, “I’ll just wear it out, thanks.” She hands it over with a friendly enough smile before she is pulled away by another buyer.

You spend the rest of the afternoon meandering around the stalls of the market. Artisans are selling their crafts and you admire each of them happily. When you are finished you buy a meal from a local food truck and sit happily at one of the picnic tables scattered about the outside of the market. Once finished you throw back the last of your drink before you dispose of the trash and make your way back towards your apartment.

The evening air is brisk and warm with a breeze as the sunset paints the sky various colors of pinks and oranges. It’s only when you feel the telltale drop of rain that you become slightly concerned. You quicken your pace, annoyed you hadn’t driven to the market even though it wasn’t far from your home. As the rain picks up you begin to rush down the street as the once peaceful evening is ravaged by black clouds and lightning. Your apartment is almost in sight as you rush across the bridge, the only thing between you and home.

With a jolt of lightning and a crack of thunder, the bolt catches a nearby streetlamp. You scream as you are thrown back and away. Suddenly water is all around you, a vortex of wind and rain. The only time you seem able to see is when the sky is illuminated by the ominous bolts of lightning.

You scream for help, disoriented, and confused about what is happening, how did you get into the water?

Now it is time to choose…

The light and airy voice startle you. You have no idea how you could hear it over the raging storm. Suddenly all is quiet, almost deafeningly so after the roar of the storm raging around you.

You must choose between life…

And death…

“What does that mean?!” you yell into nothing, to no one.

Living means accepting your destiny… yourself…

“And what does dying mean?!” you ask in panic.

Failure…

Now choose…

The voice echoing in your head is silent, leaving you with your thoughts. You are beyond confused about everything, but what are you supposed to do? You don’t want to die!

“I want to choose life!”

Your choice has been made then? Just know you will never be able to return here…

“What do you mean?”

You have chosen destiny…

You scream as you are abruptly thrown back into the storm and tossed about like a ragdoll in the washing machine. When just as abruptly as it all started… it stops.

Opening your eyes you gaze around you at the lush forest before looking down on the bed of flowers you’ve landed in encircled by mushrooms. The earth is soft and damp beneath you, the moss and foliage having softened your fall. The sky's the deep blue of the evening, you notice the way that the colors of twilight are just beginning to paint the sky. Sitting up you vaguely wonder how you got here, but you can remember nothing. Panic takes over as you search the area around you for anything or anyone. You find nothing. The only thing that floats across your mind is a singular name: Cwen.

You sit up and feel your body scream as you do, with a groan you hold your aching head. Glancing down at your clothes you notice the dress you are wearing, it’s long and a deep black. It’s now stained and ripped in multiple places. You stumble to your feet and after a moment you finally gain your footing as you brace yourself against a tree. You lean your pounding forehead against the rough bark and gasp as whispers tickle your ears. You pull away and look around, but hear nothing and see no one. You tense as your instincts begin to truly kick in. You have no idea who you are or where you are and you’re scared.

There is a crack from behind you causing you to whip around in enough time to see the ugliest creature you’ve ever seen in your life. It’s like a cross between a wolf and a hyena, with a scream you stumble back and away from it. The creature begins to stalk towards you, haunches raised in a low snarl, and with each step, you feel your fear grow. You are backed up against the tree and as you press against it you hear the whispers again. You can’t understand them, but honestly, you have more important things to worry about.

As the creature leaps towards you you scream and hold your arms up, if not to shield yourself, to at least not watch it take a bite out of your face. It never comes though, in its stead is a low whine and groan.

Hesitantly, you lower your arms and open your eyes to see the creature suspended in midair impaled on a branch from the very tree you are leaning against. The branch had gone down the creature’s throat, spearing it and killing it instantly. You’re too terrified to scream as you turn away from the horrid sight and lose your dinner all onto the ground. When you have gained enough wits about you, you run.

You don’t look where you are going as you make a mad dash through the forest, not that it would matter anyway. The only thing on your mind is sheer terror as you just run. Before you know it night has fallen and you can only slump against a fallen log as you try to catch your breath. Now too exhausted to do anything other than sit and think you regard the quickly darkening forest around you and another kind of fear sets in. You curl yourself up into a ball and ponder your options. You could either try to find a place to stay for the night or some civilization and pray that no one will try to murder you, or you could stay where you are and hope that nothing finds you and tries to murder you. Either way, you really hope you don’t get murdered tonight.

With a resigned sigh, realizing that you are very far from where you once were and if anyone is looking for you it would have been best to stay there. However, you know you have a better chance of potentially being able to find light in the dark and hope that you could be led to a road or a city. Anything.

Your memories are slowly coming back, although nothing concrete yet. You remember concepts but you can’t recall a single person, even though you know you know people. No family. No friends. You don’t remember your home and you can’t recall a singular memory of your life.

You have no idea how long you’ve been walking when you see it in the distance, a fire! You quickly make your way through the forest and you stumble across a campsite. The fire is still roaring in the pit, there are what look to be crudely made sleeping bags and various other packs and supplies scattered about as if the owners will be back any moment now. The smell of food is coming from a pot over the fire and you approach it to see stew bubbling. You glance around and call out a few times wondering if anyone is around and if they would answer. When no one approaches or answers you feel a bit like Goldielocks as you take a wooden bowl and scoop some of the stew into it. You have no idea when you last ate, but after running through the forest for hours being scared out of your mind, food sounds delightful and surely no one would mind if you ate some. After all, there looks to be plenty…

You plop yourself down on a log near the fire to keep the chill of the cool night air at bay. The dress you are wearing is not meant to keep you warm on such a cold night. Why are you wearing something so unsuitable for the weather anyway? You wonder this as you eat the stew the happiest that you’ve been since this madness started.

Glancing into the darkness you can make out yells in the distance. Happy that there are people around, you get up off of the log before you take off into the bushes. You aren’t thinking as you see the light of a campfire in the distance and you rush towards it. ‘People!’ you think in relief. However, the minute you step into the clearing you realize you’ve made a grave mistake.

“Oh? Wat do we ‘ave ‘ere?” questions a giant thing that just so happens to be much uglier and smellier than the creature from before, all with gray skin and a large gut.

“Looks like a ‘uman wooman…” says one with a high nasally voice.

“It’s been soo l-ong since we’ve ‘ad wooman! Soo much more fatty than man!” Delights a third.

Wait… did this… thing just call you fat?

“Did you just-?” you start in indignation when one of them takes a step forward with the intent of scooping you up. You jump out of the way and hear a roar of male voices. Glance at the spit and then at a pen in the corner you notice a bunch of men being held hostage by the things before you.  

“Why yoo lit-tle!” exclaims the one that missed.

“Oi! Leave the lass alone!” Yells a gruff voice, he is joined by a chorus of gruff masculine voices.

“No shame!!”

“Pick on someone your own size!”

The deep gruff voices of the men around you at least prove to you that they are decent people. However, you don’t have time to ponder too much about it as you jump and tumble about the camp, all while attempting to keep your dress down. Vaguely you hope none of the men saw your bike shorts. Ok so it really wouldn’t matter, but it kills the illusion.

“Got ya now!” yells one as you are cornered back against the trunk of a tree. You throw your arms up and suddenly there is silence.

“Oi! No fair!” yells the nasally one.

You slowly open your eyes and lower your arms only to see the things blinking at you through thick branches of the tree you're against. The branches now protecting you are woven together creating a barrier between you and your would-be captors.

“Enough of this!” yells the one who seems to be the ring leader as he stomps forward and pushes another out of the way. He takes hold of the branches and begins to attempt to pry them apart. You can hear the men in the background yelling again about them leaving you alone after a brief stunned silence. You feel your fear beginning to creep up on you again as the branches begin to give way to the strength of the beast before you. The popping and cracking of splintering wood assault your ears. Your breathing quickens and the only thing you can think of is how you wished they would just leave you alone!

“Hey! Stop!” yells one of them.

“Let go!” yells another.

“Oi wat’s-” the thing is cut off as vines snake up its body and wrap itself around the creatures. You watch in confused horror as the things all struggle with the vines still wrapping itself dutifully around them. No matter how much they struggle they are no match for the creeping vines entangling then.

You see a flash of something in the distance before you hear the words, “By the dawn!” and a deafening crack rings in the air. You watch as the morning sun hits the creatures and moments later they are stone wrapped in vines. You blink in confusion as the man makes his way into the clearing. He checks on the men first, cutting the ties on one of the bags they are in before he makes his way over to you.

“My dear… are you alright?” You look up through the broken branches into the kind eyes of the man now kneeling in the brush before you. Perhaps it was the events you just witnessed or the stress of the night, or perhaps it was just that grandfatherly kindness that he regards you with, but at that moment you just shake your head and begin to sob.

“Oh, come now child…” he says kindly, as he carefully helps you from the branches and pulls you further into the clearing, “there, there… you’ll be alright…”

“Is she hurt?” asks a male voice from behind the old man before you.

“Aye! Get the lass something decent to wear! She must be freezing!”

“Is she a witch?” questions another with fear in his voice.

Startled out of your emotional breakdown by the men now standing all around you you stumble back.

“Hold steady, lass!” says one who reaches out and catches you just before you hit the ground. In that moment, you may as well be in an old Hollywood movie. You are suddenly gazing up into a pair of golden brown eyes as the sun paints a halo of warm light around his blonde hair. You blink up at him in confusion before he rights you and you, much to your surprise, gaze down at him. Wait… down?

You look about at the men surrounding you and you are taller than all of them, except for the old man who towers above you. Not that you are not exactly tall, to begin with, but this is unexpected.

Before you can say or do anything a heavy piece of fabric that smells distinctly like man and earth is draped around your shoulders. Another short man with a bright smile and deep blue eyes is on your other side helping to steady you, “You alright there?”

“Umm… thank you… I don’t know…” you say with uncertainty.

“Are you hurt then?” questions another in concern shoving the blue-eyed man away.

“The lass is hurt!” shouts another with an odd-shaped hat.

“Make way! Make way!” yells yet another, and at this point, you are wondering how many there are.

A man with a trumpet to his ear is thrust through the crowd towards you. He grumbles to himself about the rough treatment before he straightens himself up and regards you professionally.

“You hurt, lass?” He asks gruffly.

“Umm… maybe?” You answer in confusion.

“Maybe?” he asks in the same gruff tone as before.

“Well everything kind of hurts, but it's more of an ache from… everything…” you gesture unhelpfully around you just hoping he would get the idea.

“Aye… Sounds like ye just need some rest is all. Right as rain soon!” He nods as if that solves all of life’s problems before he makes his way back through the group to complete whatever it was he was doing before he was shoved so unceremoniously through the crowd.

“You’re not hurt then?” Asks the dark-haired blue-eyed man from before giving you what could only be described as puppy dog eyes.

“I don’t think so…” you murmur softly as you lean back against the claw-like branches that had acted as your shield.

“So what exactly did you… uh… do back there?” Questions the man with the funny hat indicating the branches behind you.

“Umm well… I don’t know…”

“Are ye a witch?” Questions one with hair that vaguely resembles a star.

“I don’t think so…”

“You don’t think so? Ye either are! Or you’re not!” He exclaims.

“Aye, now lad! Just calm down!” Says the one with the weird hat.

While the two argue about whether you are or are not a witch, the golden-haired man from before approaches you quietly.

“Are you alright milady?” He asks with a kind smile.

You sigh softly, “I think so…” you’re flustered from your lack of memory.

“What did you mean when you said you didn’t think you were a witch? Are you unsure?” He asks kindly.

“I don’t… remember anything… so I don’t know what I am… I don’t remember ever doing anything like that, and you would think I would if I did… right?” You say uncertainty and fear clouding your voice.

“If I didn’t know any better…” begins the old man, “I would say that’s Fae magic.” His eyes twinkle as he catches yours. As if he is a grandfather with a secret stash of treats and he’s about to tell you where he hides the candy after dinner.

“Impossible!” Yells a deep voice from behind everyone. This one is majestic with graying hair and a beard shorter than many of the others. He’s also taller than most of them, even if you still have about 2 to 3 inches on him.

“The Fae haven’t been seen in Middle Earth for ages, you know that better than anyone Gandalf!” He continues.

“Yes, but that,” he says indicating the claw-like branches you are leaning against and the vines wrapping around the now stone things, “is distinctly Fae magic. And as the only one here who has seen Fae magic, I think I would know what it looks like!”

He ends on a very decisive note and his eyes are daring anyone to oppose him.

The majestic one narrows his eyes as he regards you, “you can’t remember anything? Nothing at all?”

“About myself? Not really…”

“What about your name?” Questions the dark-haired one from before. He seems younger than most of the men surrounding you, perhaps it’s his lack of beard? Or perhaps it’s their very imposing beards that make them seem older than they are? Honestly, you’re just confused.

“Umm the only name I remember is Cwen, I don’t even know if it’s mine.”

“Ye don’t know?” Asks the one with the odd hat.

“It doesn’t… feel right,” you explain and he seems to understand if the nod of his head is any indication. The flaps on this hat bounce up and down with the motion.

“We should take her to Rivendell,” the old man now known as Gandalf says.

“We aren’t going anywhere near those damn elves…” growls the majestic one.

“Elrond would know what to do, perhaps even help her with her… abilities…” argues Gandalf.

“What or who is a ‘Rivendell?’” you ask the golden-haired one that is still lingering next to you quietly.

“It’s not a what or a who, it’s a where,” he says with a wink.

You give him a small smile in thanks before you hear a voice, “Umm excuse me… Miss?”

You look down to see an even smaller man! If that’s even possible at this point...

“Oh… um… yes?”

“Bilbo Baggins, at your service! Would you like some water?” he asks, suddenly handing you a waterskin.

You smile down at him before plucking the waterskin from his hands, “Yes, thank you!”

“Milady, we should probably get you into more suitable clothing,” says a new man with gray hair done in an intricate braid. He seems slightly more proper than some of the others and you just nod absentmindedly glancing down at your ruined and pretty much useless dress.

“Aye!” grunts a balding one, who looks more so like he would kill you than talk to you, “Why are you ye dressed so… impractical.” You can tell he wanted to say something else, the kindly man next to him elbowed him just as he was about to.

“Honestly… I wondered the same thing…” you say as you regard the sandals you are wearing as you examine one foot then the other and the dress. “I don’t think this was on the agenda for the day honestly.”

Meanwhile, you ignore the two men arguing about elves in the background before you realize there are elves…

“There are elves here?” you question softly as you gaze at the men now making their way back towards the once-abandoned camp. You step over logs and hold your dress up enough to keep from getting it snagged on the underbrush of the forest. The golden haired one offering you a hand every once in a while to steady you. You grimace at the way your ankles and feet itch though.

“Of course there is, lass!” exclaims the one with the odd hat, “Surely you’ve heard of Elves!.”

“Are they tiny?” you ask suddenly, slightly concerned that everyone in this land is just very short.

“Tiny?” he questions before he bursts into laughter at the idea, “Not exactly, lass. They are about the same size as the race of men, perhaps a little taller on some occasions.”

“Men? You aren’t ‘men’ then?” you ask innocently.

“What?! You thought we were Men?!” Laughs the dark-haired one.

“Well if you aren’t Men… what are you?” you ask in confusion.

“Why Dwarves, of course!” exclaims a loud man with red hair, “The best craftsmen and warriors of Middle Earth! You’d have thought she’s never seen a Dwarf before!”

“Umm… but I haven’t…” you say hesitantly.

“Haven’t what?” questions the odd hat one.

“Seen any Dwarves… or Elves for that matter… I don’t think we have either where I come from...” you ponder out loud, trailing off slightly in thought.

The Dwarves are silent around you as they take in this new information.

“She’s a witch I say!” exclaims the one with odd hair once again.

“Oh hush Nori!” exclaims the one with the elaborate braid.

“You really aren’t from around here, are ye lass?” questions the one with the odd hat.

“No… I’m really not… and I’m not quite sure how I got here either…” you say with tears beginning to prick your eyes. You push them away because now is no time to cry.

“Aye… Don’t you worry lass! We’ll make sure you find your way to safety,” the one with the odd hat winks at you before he gets up to go talk to Gandalf.

“Aye, you shouldn’t worry,” says the Golden-haired man, um... Dwarf, “He’s right, we won’t let any harm come to you alright?”

You give him a small smile and a nod, “Thank you.”

“Come on. Bit of breakfast will do you some good,” he says as he helps you to your feet, “Oh! I’m Fili, by the way and that over there is my brother, Kili.”

“Fili and Kili?” you ask softly so you can remember their names.

“Aye, that over there is my uncle Thorin talking with Gandalf the Gray. That’s Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur,” he says, indicating the man you were talking to earlier as well as a Dwarf with dark hair and a very rotund Dwarf. “And Ori, Nori, and Dori,” he indicates the trio, one being the one who keeps insisting you are a witch and the other is busy gathering up clothing, probably for you and employing the help of another Dwarf that seems quite timid. “That’s Balin and Dwalin, they are two of uncle’s closest friends and advisors. “That’s Oin and Gloin,” he points to the doctor from earlier with the horn to his ear and the redhead from before. “And of course, Bilbo has already introduced himself.”

“Oh dear…” you say suddenly gazing about at everyone, “How many of you are there?”

“Oh, about 14, why?” questions Kili from your other side now. You have a feeling one brother is never too far from the other.

“That’s… a lot of names…” you say as you regard all the Dwarfs before you in slight confusion and resignation.

“You’ll learn them soon enough,” Fili says, patting your arm in sympathy. Probably understanding that to an outsider there are probably a lot of them.

You simply hum your agreement, even if you don’t necessarily believe it.

“My dear,” Gandalf says suddenly, “Perhaps you could join us for a moment?”

You glance up from the fire and nod before making your way towards Gandalf and Thorn? No… That’s not right…

“This is Thorin Oakenshield, and this is his company,” Gandalf says, indicating the Dwarf before you. Ah… Yes! Thorin…

“Nice to meet you,” you say politely as you regard both men, “And I am Gandalf the Gray. I was wondering if you could tell us what you are doing in the forest alone?”

“I don’t remember… I just woke up there yesterday evening.”

“Woke up where, my dear?”

“In the forest,” you say vaguely, gesturing the way you came.

“There didn’t happen to be… mushrooms… where you landed?” he asked hesitantly.

“Umm… actually yes… there were mushrooms. Why? Is that important?” you ask hungry for answers.

“It is something, it is yet to be seen if it is important yet though,” he says cryptically.

“Okay…” you say in confusion, “Well what now?”

“What do you mean?” He asks with a furrowed brow.

“Is there a town I can perhaps find help in close to here? I don’t know what to do really…”

“We should go to Rivendell!” exclaims Gandalf, “Elrond will know what is best.”

“And I’ve already said we are not going to Rivendell!” exclaims the Dwarf passionately.

You take a step back slightly startled by his outburst.

“We will find a suitable place for the lady, but we are not wasting time by going out of our way to those blasted Elves!” he then proceeds to swear in another language. How do you know it was a swear? Swearing is a universal language even if one doesn’t understand it.

“Uncle!” exclaims the dark-haired Dwarf from before, something with a ‘ly’ at the end, “Such language in front of a lady!”

Thorin just scowls and ignores the mischievous twinkle in his nephew’s eyes. You have a feeling he’s used to the young Dwarf’s antics.

“Kili! You and your brother make sure the lady is comfortable. I believe that Dori was getting her more suitable clothing?” he asks before eyeing your dress skeptically. You stand a little straighter at his scrutiny suddenly feeling a little self-conscious.

“Yes, Uncle.”

He sends you a wink before he motions for you to follow him. The man with the intricate braids is holding out some clothes for you, “I know it isn’t much, but this should get you through until we can get more suitable clothing at the next town.”

“Oh! Thank you!” You exclaim before looking around for a tent.

“Come on now!” he says marching towards the woods, “I’ll make sure no one bothers you while you change.”  

After you have changed you find yourself standing about while the Dwarfs tidy up their campsite and start on their way. You don’t really know what to do so you just watch and try to stay out of their way.

“Feel better then?” you jump at the voice behind you and turn to see one of the brothers behind you.

“Umm… yes… I do,” you say with a quiet nod and a timid smile. He beams back at you before he hands you a cloak to drape around your shoulders.

“It’s been rainy lately, you may need this.”

“Thank you,” you say, avoiding his eyes shyly as you stumble to fasten the cloak around your frame.

“Here, Milady,” he says, before he steps towards you and helps you to do the clasp.

You look down at the mismatched attire, a tunic that is far too broad in the shoulders and far too long, but also too short at the same time and a pair of pants that has far too much room in the leg and crotch area. The boots that were given to you are laced too tightly in order to stay on your feet and you wonder if the circulation will be cut off. You heave a sigh as Thorin yells that it’s time to move out. You fall in line with the others and instantly you can feel the boots rubbing your heels. This is going to be a long day…

You’re quiet most of the day despite the attempts of several of the Dwarfs to get you to open up. This seemed to dampen the spirit of the one with the funny hat, named… Bofur? You tried to recall the ones who had spoken to you most. The younger ones also seemed concerned with your absent minded answers to their questions.

“You must be in deep thought about something Lass…” you glance over at Bofur and regard him thoughtfully.

“Just trying to understand what happened is all… I’ve never done anything like that back there and I’ve never seen anything like those creatures… What even were they?”

“Trolls o’course!”

“So you don’t have Trolls where you come from either?” pipes up Kili from behind you, jogging to walk alongside you.

“No, I don’t think we had anything of the sort. At least not in real life.”

“What do you mean ‘real life?’” questions Fili glancing over his shoulder.

“Well they were in stories, but we didn’t have them in real life.”

“If ye had them in stories, how do you know they aren’t real?” questions Bofur wiggling his eyebrows.

And for the first time all day you laughed, “I once knew someone who said the same thing about dragons.”

“So there are dragons!?” questions Kili in horror.

“No, we don’t have those either,” you say matter of factly.

��But how do you know?” Questions Bofur once again with that mysterious twinkle in his eyes.

“Well aren’t they quite large? I think we would know by now! Do you have dragons here?”

“Aye, we’re on our way to reclaim our home from one,” Says Kili in excitement.

“Kili!” yells a voice from up ahead you recognize as the leader, “That is quite enough! If all it takes is a pretty face to send your head from your shoulders, I will send you back to your mother this instance.”

“Sorry uncle…” he says quietly thoroughly chastised.

You frown at the harsh way he spoke to him, but you suppose this is a secret quest? Who knows? But you could tell that Thorin didn’t seem to trust you along with a handful of the Dwarfs around you.

With the light hearted conversations effectively cut off you settle back into silence as you take in the scenery. It’s quite beautiful with lush foliage and tall trees. Bushes seem to be flowering and vaguely you wonder if these are the flowers of spring or summer.

“Why did your friend think there were dragons even if you don’t?” whispers Kili from your side.

You glance at him and notice the way that Fili and Bofur glance over at you as well, clearly interested in the question.

“Because they show up in legend and lore from all over the world, in cultures and times when they had no contact.”

“So you do have other races!” exclaims Kili in excitement, clearly pleased with his way of gaining knowledge.

“Yes, but not like here…” you say calmly, “We’re all human, there aren’t Elves or Dwarves.”

“Sounds odd,” Says Kili decidedly.

“No more odd than discovering Dwarves and Trolls when you previously thought there were none.”

“Aye, that must have been a right shock there!” Bofur interrupts.

“You have no idea… Although that wasn’t my first run in with this world…”

“Oh?” Questions Fili from his place in front of you, easily he falls back and takes the place by your side much to the displeasure of his brother, “What was?”

“Something I had never seen before… It was this large wolf-like thing…”

“Wolf-like thing?!” he asks in alarm, “A warg?”

“I wouldn’t know what a warg is…” you say, baffled by the term, “But perhaps?”

“How did ye live?! I doubt you woudda’ been able to outrun it!”  exclaims Bofur from your other side.

“A witch!” exclaims a voice from ahead of you.

You frown and roll your eyes at the Dwarf a few paces up, “It impaled itself on a branch.”

“Really? How?” questions Kili in wonder from the other side of Fili.

“I don’t really know… I didn’t see it happen… I was too scared to look…” you say hesitantly not wanting to relive the evening's events.

“That sounds terrible,” Fili says patting your shoulder, “You must have been terrified.”

Something about the soothing way that Fili speaks makes you feel better, “I was…” you say looking away from him.

You spend the remainder of the morning answering questions from the Dwarfs and eventually, many others begin to join in. This is mostly how the morning goes, with you satisfying the curiosity of the younger Dwarves and the Hobbit when he finally gets the courage to linger in the back of the company with you. It did effectively distract you from the pain of your now blistered feet and the fatigue that came with walking all day when you weren’t used to it.

The sun is high in the sky, filtering through the leaves of the forest when a commotion in the brush alerts you to something coming your way… and quickly...

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Things are about to get wild soon... So drop a comment to tell me what you think!

[peachyteabuck]

ceo chronicles. pt iii ~ wanda maximoff

series summary: a set of fics based off of the main au of sugar baby/mommy or daddy dynamics and ceo aus. each fic involves a separate universe wherein each character is the ceo of a different company and you’re their sugar baby. sexy times ensue.

fic summary: something goes very, very wrong at one of wanda’s business dealings. you are left to help her pick up the pieces - no matter what that means. 

pairing: wanda maximoff x reader

words: 2398

trigger warnings: possessive wanda, anger-fucking, collars, spreader bars, riding crop, ball gags

notes/other: this was done for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor ‘s “old hollywood” writing challenge, my prompt was “Must I always wear a low cut dress to be important?” - Jean Harlow and has been bolded within the fic!

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Wanda storms into the penthouse, her stiletto heels clacking against the dark, hardwood floors.

She’s angry, furious – and whether or not it’s aimed at you doesn’t matter, your heart picks up in your chest either way.

“That two-timing sun of a bitch!” she screams, throwing her purse on the ground. Her coat follows shortly.

You watch her, eyes wide in terror, as you stand in the kitchen. She bought the place for its open floor plan and, initially, you had liked it too.

Now, though, with nothing to hide behind, you regret not going with the more closed space in SoHo.

“That motherfucker undersold me,” she screams, standing in place as she yells to no one in particular. “He told me the piece was worth one point two fucking million, and it sells for less than a hundred fucking thousand!”

Oh fuck. If you weren’t scared out of your goddamn mind before you sure are now.

There are two things in this world no one should fuck with when it comes to Wanda’s possessions:

The first is you.

Once, a man accidentally brushed against you at a gallery opening and Wanda nearly bit him – throwing red wine on his white shirt and screaming at him to leave.

Once he was out of her sight, she dragged you to the nearest bathroom, leaving a deep hickey high enough on your neck that you couldn’t hide it before making you show it off to the guests for a few more hours.

The second, is her money.

It’s not that Wanda’s not charitable, far from it; she claims millions on her taxes every year.

It’s just that she’s in charge of those things. She decides who gets what and when, she controls when her Black card is used and why. When people promise to bring her a certain amount of profit, they better fucking deliver, or else…this happens.

This meaning her getting so mad she looks like she could cause wildfires. All those earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, everything – those aren’t tectonic plates, no, they’re something much more powerful.

Wanda’s anger can move mountains, make species go extinct.

And, most important by far, it can make you shake in fear.

“That fucker, I should have known when he asked that I wear some fucking,” you can hear the venom in her voice, spitting over everything as she grabs the Stoch – the nice stuff, from the lockbox deep in the cupboard. She throws the bags of junk food – the chips you like and the cookies she loves – across the kitchen before stabbing in the code with her perfectly manicured nails. She doesn’t speak until she’s had two sips straight from the container, face wincing slightly before she sets it back on the counter. “To wear some fucking slip to the meet up, as if he needed to see me in anything at all! Ugh!” she scoffs, taking another long swig. “Must I always wear a low-cut dress to be important?”

You don’t reply, staying silent and inert as what could be the scariest thing unfolds in front of you.

Out of nowhere, she stills, taking exactly three, ten-second-in and ten-second-out breaths. It’s after that that she steps over to the large navy-blue sectional, sitting on it with her feet flat on the floor.

“Get on your fucking knees,” Wanda hisses.

You drop to the floor without hesitation, petrified.

Wanda watches you intently for a moment, jaw clenching as she moves to sit on the couch, feet flat against the floor. She pats her right hand against her right knee twice, and you immediately understand what she wants.

You fall across her knees, one arm grabbing her ankle while the other folds behind your back for her to grab – each action desperate to be obedient, to try to throw a fire blanket over the ravenous, burning thing that’s overtaken her.

There’s very little warning before she’s pulled the sundress up and bunching it into your fist, giving you little warning before leaving a slap against your ass – barely covered by the flimsy cotton underwear.

She ignores you, when you cry out, ignores you when tears begin to stream from your eyes and when blood spills from your bottom lip when it gets caught between your teeth.

It isn’t until your ass feels like it’s been branded when she lets up, inadvertently giving you a moment to breathe as she clenches her fists in front of her.

“It’s not enough!” Wanda screams, pushing you onto the floor. You fall against the wood hard, making you cry out in pain as she stomps away. “It’s not enough! Why isn’t it enough!”

Through the ringing in your ears you can hear her in the bedroom, the distinct sound of a six-bolt padlock being clicked open ricocheting in your eardrums. The only thing locked with that sort of hardware is the chest Wanda keeps all your kink-related items in, separating into layers by the degree of play.

It starts light at the top; blindfolds and a few cute collars with equally cute pet names engraved onto small heart-shaped nameplates. One of them is even diamond-encrusted, PROPERTY OF WANDA spelled out in bold print across pink faux leather. You can picture them even as your brain becomes fuzzy, can see them vividly against a distinct white velvet Wanda picked out especially.

The second layer, and the third (due to the size of the collection) are dildos, vibrators, butt plugs of more sizes and varieties than you can count. You can hear her removing those two shelves hastily, tearing through the rest of the box until she gets to the last level, the one you fear the most:

They’re rarely used, only barely broken in. A spreader bar Natasha got Wanda as a gag gift about a year ago. A riding crop Wanda bought at a kink convention awhile ago on an intoxicated whim. A thick collar meant for posture made of pure, soft leather and a solid gold latch. And, lastly, a fine leather ball gag, deep and black and beautifully handmade.

All four of them stiff and mean, just like Wanda in times like these.

She calls you into the bedroom with a shout, smiling when she hears you rushing from your felled position in the living room.

You can see the last fleeting moment of it when you cross the threshold, see that her anger has an end and this is not some permanent fixture in your still-budding relationship.

“Down,” she says simply, and you drop, sitting back on your heels.

Your hands remain palms-down on your thighs with your spine straight as one of those expensive paintings that decorate so many of the walls in the place you and her call home.

It stays that way – your spine parallel to the walls – as the collar is dangled in front of your eyes before being secured around your neck.

“Too tight?” Wanda asks, emotionless.

You shake your head as she sticks two fingers, the pads pressed into the soft skin of your neck. “Good.”

The ritual is repeated for the ball gag, the toy wrapped around your head and subsequently checked for fit.

She then instructs you to get on the bed, perpendicular to her as you lay on your back. You can’t see it – but the rustling and distinct clacking sound of metal pieces moving together can tell you she’s grabbing the very toys you’re terrified of the most.

The plain white ceiling gives you something to stare at, to fixate on as you feel the soft leather cuffs tightening before being checked. It’s almost sweet – the little ritual – if it didn’t immediately lead to your imminent torture.

You can feel her stepping back, heated eyes raking up your body slowly, surely. She watches carefully as your cunt pulses under her heated gaze, watches each muscle twitch as you anxiously await her next move.

Wanda looks at you the same way you think starving lionesses look at zebras separated from the safety of their heard. Her eyes zero in on her pulsing cunt, watching for the perfect moment to-

SMACK!

The riding crop comes down quick against your center, a sharp pain causing a fiery heat to spread up your ribs and down to your toes.

“Does that hurt, baby?” Wanda coos, twirling the end of the crop between the fingers of her nondominant hand.

You nod, trying desperately to gasp for air as drool spills out of the sides of your mouth. “Mmm,” is all you can get from behind the plastic. “Hngf.”

Wanda just laughs down at you, smacking the end light enough not to hurt but hard enough to tease you.

“Aw, my pretty little thing,” a faux pout paints itself across her face. “Such a sensitive baby.”

You whine, overwhelmed and desperate and oh so desperate to press your thighs together for any kind of pressure where you need it most. But no, of course not. Wanda wants to see you struggle, looks down at you with a smirk playing across her lips as you twist and beg, hoping she’ll find it in herself to give you mercy.

Given how the hours previous had gone, though, you doubt she’ll give you any.

“I’m going to give you one of these,” Wanda snaps the crop against your left inner thigh and smirks when you yelp. “For each hundred thousand I lost today.”

You do the mental math – whole body tensing. Nineteen. You’re about to get whipped nineteen times with a toy you haven’t broken in…

Shivers run up your spine and each muscle in your body tenses – whether in fear or anticipation, you don’t know and don’t really care to find out.

The first one comes down against the same inner thigh as before, sure to leave angry hot welts that will need constant care in the next few days. The second goes against the opposite side – skin previously untouched now screaming.

The third and forth are against your hips, fifth and sixth hitting just above your knees.

You lose count after that, mind numb as your wetness pools onto the freshly cleaned comforter. Between your racing heartbeats and the blood in your ears you assumed Wanda had finished with you, but coming to for a breath of fresh air only makes to bring the final blow – this time against your cunt.

With the gag the only sounds that reverberate off the walls come from deep in your chest, screams remnant of a horror experienced from another room. Wanda smiles as she watches you squirm as sparks of pain jump across your center and thighs.

There a few moments of silence as your panting curbs to low breaths, giving you a moment for recovery as your vision clears and the ringing in your ears stops.

It’s only then that Wanda gets up, trailing her fingertips across your sweaty skin as she walks past you.

“C’mon kitten,” she murmurs, stepping out of sight and back towards the chest of toys. “Let me make you feel good…”

Your brow furrows in confusion, pulling weakly at the restraints until you hear a plug being insert into an outlet, and the distinct sound of a long, long cord being unraveled.

The sound of the vibrator makes you groan in anticipation – ecstatic and terrified of how Wanda will use it on you. If she thinks you’ve been good, maybe she’ll be nice – get you off with it pressed against your clit with three of her fingers buried deep inside of you.

Or, if she remains unsatisfied with your performance, she could keep you just on the edge or pushing you over it until your begging meets expectations or she gets bored enough to stop.

As the head is pressed to your clit you nearly scream with relief – the soft vibrations and even softer words hitting you like droplets during the first rainstorm after dry season. It washes over you, coating your skin in delicious relief as your buck your hips and cry out.

Each word, each scream, remains muffled by the sphere in your mouth, but Wanda coos down at you nonetheless.  

“Such a pretty little girl you are,” she says, watching you with the same hawkish gaze as before. It feels more reserved, though, as if she was watching over you rather than attempting to pin you down. “Such a pretty little girl for me.”

She climbs over you, then, never letting the toy leave your body as she pulls your head into her lap. Wanda looks down at you as you fall apart, watches you with eagle eyes as you cum.

As the initial waves of pleasure subside, you sigh in relief.

That is, until the head of the toy is pressed to your center once more. The next orgasm, and the one after that, and the one after that and-

They’re nearly painful as they hit you like a spray of bullet, like you’re being tased. You’re crying and doing your best to wail as you writhe around, Wanda cradling your face the entire time.

Your brain is numb when Wanda decides you had enough, whole body limb in her arms when she switches the soaked toy off.

She unties you with quick fingers, allowing you to slump against her as she takes off the rest of the restraints that litter your body.

“Rest up,” she tells you plainly as you nuzzle into her side. “I’m still pissed.”

You smile into the bare skin of her ribs, leaving a small kiss on the warm skin. Despite her tone, you can tell there’s not much behind it – fury that had settled just beneath her skin long dissipated into something she can save for the next time that man dares show his face in her presence.

There’s a pause once you stop adjusting, a heavy beat of silence that neither of you feels a need to fill. It’s a long while before either of you says anything, and even then the words are quite soft-spoken despite the two of you being the only ones in the large house.

“I love you, you know that, right?” Wanda whispers into your hair.

You give a small nod, unable to move because of the soreness attacking each of your muscles. “Yeah,” you mumble, voice equally low. “Yeah. I love you, too. Do you know that?”

Wanda smiles. “Yeah, yeah. I do.”

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 17: The Battle

(from ‘The Winter and The Crown’)

…in which they go to battle. / Warning: DEATH, GORE / 

Word count: 4k

AU: queen!y/n, commander!harry

Description: Y/N and Harry set off on a new adventure to find ‘the cure’ for an ancient curse, meanwhile, the enemies are plotting to take her kingdom.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N aka Peach)

A/N: 

According to plan, we have 2 chapters left.

This chapter is inspired by Train Wreck by James Arthur and Arcade by Duncan Laurence. 

Play these songs for a better reading experience!

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As the cold rain whispered over the muddy fields at the southern border, Isolde soldiers started setting up tents for their Queen to have a meeting with her council. Outside lay long horse-lines and wagons with fires stretching every direction. Y/N had heard enough stories of her father’s victories so she’d been able to picture what a battlefield would look like before coming here. Nevertheless, it was a lot different to hear of those tales than to pick up a blade yourself and end a living person’s life. Hundred thousands would die tomorrow. One of them could be her. The thought sent chills down her spine despite her best effort to overlook it.

It was almost sunrise when the last men crowded into Y/N’s tent. Wary looks were exchanged. Everyone was heavy with fatigue. Lance wasn’t with them. He had temporarily returned to Attwell and would arrive later with his own army, according to plan.

“The Northerners are assembling here.” Y/N stood beside a map on the table, pointing to a marshy place. “They are waiting for reinforcements from Orioch, mercenaries from Cianna. We must strike before their reinforcements can come up.”

“By how much do they outnumber us now?” asked an old general named Seren.

Y/N didn’t answer. “We will form two lines. Here.” She touched the map again. “And use the forest to guard our flanks. We are at a disadvantage because we’re not fighting in the snow–”

“By how many, Your Majesty?”

“Do not interrupt the Queen,” Harry hissed at Sir Seren.

Y/N put up her hand to ask Harry to stay calm. She could not avoid answering the question. “Twice our force.” She sucked in a breath. “Perhaps a little more.”

Muttering passed around the men.

“Have you had any word of the Attwell army?” another general asked.

“They’re on their way,” Y/N said.

The muttering redoubled.

“It matters not,” Harry’s loud voice silenced them all. “We have enough.”

“Enough?” snapped Sir Seren. ”No disrespect to you, Your Majesty, but you might have survived the North mountain and found the magical lake, but what magic can save us, your subjects, when we’re being slaughtered on the field?”

Y/N rose to her feet. Her glare momentarily shut down the men’s murmurs. “Are you questioning your loyalty, Sir Seren?”

“No, Your Majesty. I would not dare. I’ve served your family for nearly two decades. That is why I believe your father would never have blindly trusted a foreigner in a war with Theros. How can we be sure that Lance Devany would not turn his back to us at the last minute?”

“Perhaps,” said a calm voice from the flap of the tent. “You shouldn’t be here if you’re such a coward, Sir Seren.”

Heads swivelled. A few reached for their swords. Y/N heaved a sigh of relief when she saw Lance at the entrance. Sir Seren’s face burned with shame as he bowed his head and slipped to the back for Lance to take his place by Y/N’s side.

“You thought I’d abandon my queen?” he murmured to her with a smirk upon his face. Harry rolled his eyes yet said nothing.

Y/N cleared her throat, grateful for his presence nonetheless. “Now, where were we?”

“Hold on,” Lance cut her off, his brows pinched together. “Why did I just see Mary outside?”

“It’s a last-minute decision,” Y/N said. “It wouldn’t be safe to have left her at the castle. Calanthe wants her. If she knew Mary was there, she’d send people there and my subjects would be in danger.”

“Fair enough,” Lance said, back straight, hands behind his back. “I just wish you’d told me.”

Y/N didn’t know what he was implying, but she could be sure that he was implying something. Did he think she didn’t trust him enough to tell him everything? She just didn’t think it was important, and he’d been in a hurry to get back to Attwell anyway.

By the end of the meeting, Y/N’s concern had been confirmed by Lance not making eye contact with her even once. She wanted to believe he was just tired from the journey to and from Attwell. However, she knew him too much for her own comfort. This wasn’t as simple as that.

The other men followed Harry outside to assemble the Attwell soldiers, and Lance was the last to stay with Y/N.

“Lance,” she called out as he was about to leave.

He turned, an eyebrow arched. “Yes?”

“Is something wrong?”

He regarded her for a second in silence.

She didn’t want to give him a chance to lie. “Did I upset you somehow?”

He averted his eyes, looking quite uneased. “You could’ve reassured them before I arrived.”

“Lance,” Y/N breathed.

“You could’ve just told them you knew I’d not betray the North,” Lance went on. “They accused me of turning my back to you, and you didn’t say anything.” He turned, and they locked eyes. “Do you not trust me?”

Y/N had always assumed that she had always trusted him. Hadn’t she left her kingdom in his hands while she’d been gone for weeks? How could one trust another that much? Still, he was right about her not defending him earlier. She couldn’t explain it herself, and it made her feel even worse.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Lance’s expression went grim. “I know it’s hard to trust someone after all that you’ve gone through,” he said. “You couldn’t even trust your own family, and I can’t blame you, because I’ve lived that way my whole life.” He released an exasperated breath. “But I meant it when I said I loved you and that I would die for you, Y/N. All I ask is for you to trust me.”

Y/N clenched her fists on the table, her chest heavy with tension. “I don’t want you to die for me.” Or love me, she wanted to add, but didn’t. “I want you to be safe.”

Lance smiled faintly before nodding once.“I’ll try. I promise.”

Try. She hated that he’d used that word, for it implied that there were things that were out of their control. She wished she could say with confidence that all of them would make it back alive ,and Isolde would win the war, but all she could manage to do was...try.

“Your Majesty,” came a voice outside her tent, “we found your lady-in-waiting hiding in a wagon with our supplies.”

Y/N whipped her head to Lance, who looked equally dismayed.

“Jo?” he mouthed to her.

Immediately, Y/N bolted past him as she stormed out of her tent. “Take me to her,” she told the guard. To Lance, she said, “Could you check on Harry and my men?”

“Sure.” He worked up a smile and bowed. “Good luck with Jo.”

.

.

.

Jo jumped to her feet as soon as Y/N stepped in. Y/N waved for the guard on either side of Jo to release her and step back. On the ride here, Jo had prepared what she was going to say to Y/N but now that she was standing in front of the Queen, her tongue was tied and her head empty.

Would this be considered treason?

“Your Majesty, I can explain,” she uttered, hands clasped together against her chest.

“What are you doing here?” Y/N asked, her expression hardened. “It was safer in the castle.”

Jo twisted the hem of her jacket as she chewed on her bottom lip and hung her head. “You took Mary,” she said. “You promised me you wouldn’t turn her in, but you brought her here.”

“We weren’t going to turn her in,” Y/N replied calmly.

Jo’s head shot up. “Well, where is she?”

“She’s safe,” Y/N said, her voice soft. She didn’t look like she was about to go to battle, which concerned Jo greatly. She wished she could do something to help, but her being here was already causing trouble to everyone. “We keep her here so she can be safe,” Y/N repeated, emphasising the word. “But you are not safe here. I’ll have someone take you home.”

“I want to stay with Mary,” Jo said fast.

Y/N’s brows furrowed a little. “Jo, don’t be ridiculous.”

Quickly, Jo stepped forward and grabbed Y/N’s hand. “Please let me stay,” she pleaded, looking into Y/N’s eyes. “You wouldn’t let Harry go to battle alone.”

“That’s because I can wield a sword.” Y/N slipped her hand out of Jo’s grip. “You cannot. You’d be dead when the enemies arrive. I’m sorry, Jo. You must leave now. This is an order.”

Jo took Y/N’s hand again before the Queen could turn. “Can I at least see Mary first?”

Y/N parted her lip yet she didn’t say no right away. She spent a moment thinking, then the look on her face softened with sympathy. “Sure.” She exhaled, nodding to a guard. “Follow me,” she said to Jo.

The guard took Jo and Y/N to another tent where they kept Mary. “Hurry up,” Y/N said coldly, not looking at Jo. Jo could tell she was angry and disappointed so she dared not speak, only curtsied to her Queen before she entered.

Mary wasn’t being tied up like she’d imagined. The witch was sitting in a chair. Her face taut with shock and worry when she saw Jo. “What are you doing here?” She jumped to her feet and took Jo’s hands. “This isn’t the place for you, Jo! Does the Queen–”

“She knows. She’s waiting outside,” Jo said. “I was worried they’d turn you in. I was trying to stop them.”

The corners of Mary’s mouth raised despite her furrowed brows. “You idiot,” she chuckled, yet there was sadness in the sound. “It’s safer for everyone when I’m here. They’d attack the castle to look for me. The Queen did the right thing, Jo.”

“I know,” Jo muttered. She’d thought once she’d seen that Mary was unharmed, she’d be at peace. But what she was feeling then was the opposite of peace. Her thoughts were all tangled up together. Even though she wouldn’t be able to help, the thought of leaving Mary here was just too painful.

As if she was able to read minds, Mary released Jo’s hands to cup her face, making Jo flinch, for he wasn’t used to having anyone touch her like this beside Y/N. Mary’s hands were cold and unfamiliar and comforting at the same time. Jo didn’t want her to let go.

“You should go home,” Mary whispered. “You can’t protect yourself.”

“Neither can you.” Jo frowned. “You’re the one they’re after. Not me.”

Mary shook her head. “When they’re here, every life is the same. They’d kill both of us.”

Jo’s stomach knotted. Her fingers were trembling so she wrapped them around Mary’s wrists.

Mary’s expression relaxed with a smile. “But did you really come all the way here for me?”

Jo nodded. “Yes. That was so stupid. I know.”

Mary let out a faint laugh. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t say what for, but Jo already knew. Even though Mary had made a lot of mistakes in the past, Jo believed she wasn’t a bad person. Bad people wouldn’t feel guilty for being bad.

“You are not going to die. I won’t allow it,” Jo said, bringing her forehead to Mary’s.

They both closed their eyes and stood in silence until came Y/N’s voice from the entrance, “It’s time to go, Josephine.”

Jo pulled back, her heart heavy. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she answered.

Mary offered another reassuring smile. “Take care of–”

Not caring what Mary had to say, Jo interrupted her with a passionate kiss, both hands cupping her face. She could tell Mary was in shock at first, then she started kissing back as if it would be their firstand last one. That was the best and worst part.

They broke apart, faces flushed both breathless. “I’ll see you later,” Jo said. Mary squinted her eyes, perhaps wondering why ‘later’ and not ‘goodbye’. Before she could come up with what to say, Jo had already walked out.

.

.

.

The thick mist had begun to burn away.

Y/N was already sweating.

This was happening.

Her whole life had come down to this one moment. Different people were born for different fates. She could not believe this day would decide hers.

With nerves and exertion, she’d riden Thunder here and there to rally and settle and encourage her army before joining the first line of soldiers. On her right was Harry. Lance on her left. There was no sound but the horses’ snorting breaths.

Suddenly, there was a single long blast of trumpet from the distance, and Y/N shifted her attention to the great swampy field. Mist still lay in patches between the two sides, but now the enemies could be seen.

Her heart sank.

There were so many. Their line stretched out as far as she could see; the snorting of their horses was like a rumble from afar. Clouds massed in the north. The first drops of rain started coming down.

Lance, at her side, surveying them, said, “This will be your first battle, Y/N. Do not make it your last.”

Y/N made no answer. In her head, she was praying for them all.

Tension lay thick in the air. In a moment, the mist was gone. The battle was about to begin. A hundred thousand men were about to start killing each other.

Lance let out a shaken breath.

Harry sighed, as though in the most profound grief.

Y/N stood straight, her father’s sword in her hand. She kissed it and lifted it to heaven. “The Gods are on our side!” she called to her men. “To victory! Ride!” And then the men of the North started charging, all screaming in the name of their Queen.

A shout came from the enemy. Y/N leaned forward as Thunder raced across the open field. On either side, the armies were rushing up. Rain was getting heavier, but Y/N wasn’t worried. A disadvantage to one side was a disadvantage to the other.

Thunder and Lightning, light on their feet, cut through the battle faster, but the enemies were closer and it was a race between them. Ears flat to his head, Thunder dodged and sprang and galloped. Isolde’s horses were sturdy beasts, used to running on all surfaces, so the muddy ground didn’t sway them. Wind and rainwater blew into Y/N’s face, almost blinding her, but still she rode with determination. Men everywhere, fighting. Arrows flying from all sides. Harry was riding knee to knee with Y/N, keeping arrows from her while she was doing the same for him.

“The line is wavering,” he said. “We’re going to have to–”

Suddenly, she heard Lance’s voice roaring out over the clash of armies. “Fall back!” he cried.

“Where is he?” asked Y/N in distress. She could hardly see through the rain and mist and the thrash of fighting men. Finally, she spotted Lance, still mounted, dressed in black armour, his sword in his hand. Whooping, he ran a man through, used his white horse’s weight to boost another man out of his saddle. There was blood on his cheek, his arm, his saddle, and the neck of his mare. “Fall back!”

The enemy was advancing. Arrows flew all around. One grazed Y/N’s arm but she barely felt it. “Y/N!” snapped Lance. He looked angry that no one was with her. Harry was busy taking down two Theros soldiers coming at him with spears.

“Protect Her Majesty!” he shouted at the Isolde guards nearby. “All this for nothing if she dies–”

And then Lance’s horse was level with her horse, rearing, forcing another attacker back. His face changed as he leaned over and seized her arm, not minding of her wounds or his. “Where’s Jo? Is she safe?” he asked.

“Yes,” Y/N said. Battle had numbed her.

Lance showed no emotion. Y/N knew he was feeling all sorts of things yet battle had numbed him as it’d done her. He turned to his men again. “Fall back! Join the second line, bring them up!”

It was then that Y/N realised her men were breaking, fleeing, hiding in the second line of battle, which was wavering badly. And Harry was nowhere to be seen.

Lance said, turning to her suddenly, “I haven’t seen Calanthe.”

“I’ll go find her,” she said. “Don’t let Harry die.”

Lance only nodded, turned his horse to keep up with Harry. Y/N’s heart ached when she saw Harry fighting on Lightning’s back. There was mud on his face and blood. A long scratch married the neck of his mare. She pushed away the intention to help him. Lance would do that. She had to do her part.

Quickly, she turned Thunder and cut through the advancing line of enemy in search of Calanthe. Rain was beating down on them. Y/N’s nose was full of the smell of earth and rot and dried blood. The whole scene was illuminated luridly by a flash of lightning.

She found Calanthe standing on a rise, safe and sound, watching the battlefield like a spectator of a show. Vossler was standing by her side, amused by the death of the enemy and his own people. Y/N was charging toward them when a man on a tall red horse rode out to stop her. Suddenly came a black shadow on a white horse riding knee to knee with her.

“What are you doing?” she shouted at Lance. He did not speak. Y/N felt her heartbeat strangling-fast in her throat.

The man didn’t slow down, probably thinking he could take down both of them. His horse threw great arcs of mud with each stride as he dipped in the last moment to catch Y/N in the breastbone. Her blade deflected the full force of the blow. Her sword came down with a clang on his spear.

Then came another Theros soldier, and Lance was too busy fighting him off to help Y/N. She could not help but worry for Lance. Where was he? She could hear the ringing of their swords despite being in the middle of chaos. She tried to locate him, but was unable to do that while wheeling her horse and striking and feinting this man who was keeping her from coming for Calanthe and Vossler. She had blood on her face and she could taste it. Not sure whose blood it was.

Suddenly, Lance cried out. Y/N’s heart was in her throat, but she couldn’t help him. Nor would she. She’d promised him that she would mind her own business. He would be fine. He’d promised.

The flying dirt stung her face as she parried another thrust and scored a strike along the man’s ribs, cutting him open. Blood splashed as he was thrown off the saddle. Even from the distance, Y/N could make out the frightened look on Calanthe’s pale face. Meanwhile, Vossler showed no emotion as he studied Y/N’s every move. A corner of his thin mouth lifted. He was smiling.

Y/N turned her head to another cry, this time, finding Lance on the muddy ground. He had fallen off his horse.

No!

She raced towards him.

He was too near yet too far.

There were bodies lying in the way. She could not get there fast enough. She felt a spark of hope as he pushed himself up.

Yes, Lance, stand up.

He stood straight, gripping his bloody sword. She saw him look around as though to call for his horse.

Except that he didn’t.

And that was when Y/N saw it. A blade going right through his black armour.

“No!”

Lance turned as though he could hear her. He fell to his knees. Y/N screamed. She did not know such a sound was in her. She had stopped thinking of victory. The world was silent for that one second and all she could hear was her violent heartbeats and the heart-wrenching scream of his name. She kicked Thunder into a gallop and jumped right off the stallion’s back into the mud. The man who’d wounded Lance was dead, facedown in the black water. Y/N had no thought to spare for him. Her throat closed in when she watched Lance, still kneeling, shake violently as the blood spilled from his lips.

She caught him right before he fell back. He looked up, his eyelids fluttered. “Y/N.”

“Shh,” she told him, holding him to her chest. “Don’t talk.”

“I am sorry. I meant to live. I did.”

“You’re going to live. Get on the horse,” Y/N said through the tears as Thunder silently knelt in the mud, shielding her from harm. The ground shook from the thunder of two armies, but Y/N felt like there were just them in this moment. Lance could not sit upright but slumped deadweight. Nobody was coming for her. They didn’t want to kill her now even though they could. They wanted her to suffer, just not simply in the way she’d imagined. She could feel Vossler watching with his satisfactory smirk. He knew he was winning.

Trying to control her voice, she said, “We’ll take you to the lake. We’ll take you to the lake. It’ll heal you.”

“Y/N.”

“You’re going to be okay. It’s just a tiny wound.”

Lance chuckled slightly, then came the smirk that she used to hate as he shook his head. “This is not a fairytale, Y/N. Guard this land. Win.”

She stared at him. Wild thoughts darted through her brain.

“I’ll see you again,” he whispered and lifted his hand to graze his thumb across her cheek.

“Promise?” she asked, her voice breaking.

“Promise,” he said and smiled suddenly.

She nodded, unable to speak. She knew her face was crumbling as she embraced him and felt him slipping away in her arms. She did not know how long she wept while the battle raged on. The sound only flooded back in when she felt a presence behind her and looked over her shoulder to see Harry.

He slid from the back of his horse and gazed down at her. She had no words for him, and he knew that gentle speech or a soft touch would have shattered her so he offered neither. He reached out a hand, still smeared with blood and his own. She grabbed it and got to her feet, tumbled back, and bowed over Lance's unmarked body. Her soul was now full of restless violence. She could not bring Lance back. But the thing they had both wanted, she could do.

“Where’s Vossler?” Y/N asked, fuming with rage. Vossler and Calanthe weren’t standing on the rise anymore. They’d either escaped or joined the army. Y/N doubted it was the latter.

“Doesn’t matter. We must win this battle first,” Harry said. All around the wind shrieked. The cry of a storm. They mounted their horses together and wheeled and galloped back to the battle.

.

.

.

Hour by bloody hour, and Y/N did not know how long it had been. Hours? Days?

It was only when a voice shook her that she was brought back to herself. “Peach,” Harry said. “It is over. They are fleeing.”

It seemed as though a haze fell from Y/N’s sight. She looked around and all around she saw only her own men.

Lance, we won.

The wind had dropped. Steadily, snow began to fall.

Snow? At the border?

How?

Not only Y/N, but every standing soldier was looking up, appalled by the scanty flakes drifting down from the sky. A chill wind raced through the field as the falling snow, slowly, thickly, silently, covered dead enemies and dead friends alike.

The cold that touched Y/N’s cheek caused her to flinch. She turned to Harry. “Where’s Vossler and Calanthe?”

Harry couldn’t answer.

A guard rushed up to them on his horse. “The Monks and the Theros Queen are heading to our camps, Your Majesty.”

“Mary,” Y/N said. “They want the witch.”

But why?

[itsjustmyfantasyroom]

Hero

This was a request from my love @detective-giggles​ hope this hits the spot again babes x

Warnings: ADA Carisi smut, bad date and slight swearing.

WC: 1590

Enjoy x

“Counselor wait” Kat ran through the halls of One Hogan Place as Sonny stepped into the lift “Carisi wait” Sonny stopped the doors from closing and Kat rushed in puffed out doubling over to get her breath.

“You ok?” Sonny looked down at her “What’s wrong? Where’s Y/N?”

Kat took in a deep breath and stood up looking over at Sonny

“She went back with Rollins. I need to talk to you”

“About?” Sonny raised an eye brow at her.

“Y/N has a date tonight and I ‘am worried, just something isn’t sitting right”

Sonny’s heart sunk and jealousy bolted through him.

“She’s a grown women she can look after herself” Sonny looked ahead in the lift.

“Don’t you see? You used to be a Detective”

“Excuse me?” Sonny snapped.

“She is only doing it to try and get over you. But I’ve seen this guy’s messages to her and I’ve seen his profile- but you know what she is like”

“Where do I come in, in all this?”

“I have spoken to Amanda but she can’t get a baby sitter and I have a family thing. I’ am going to send you the details of the bar you need to go and keep an eye on her.”

****

Sonny sat resting a beer, he had a clear view of the table you were sitting on but he was grateful that from where he was sitting he could see your face but you hadn’t noticed him yet. The jealousy he felt when Kat told him about the date was nothing to what he was feeling now when he seen you walk in, in your plaid black and white short skirt, tight long sleeved black turtle neck tucked in, thigh high black boots and your hair in a high pony tail with dark pink lipstick.  

Sonny started to notice things weren’t going the best when your date was ordering drink after drink but nothing to eat. He knew what a light weight you were and of course with his history as an SVU Detective all he could see was red flags. He sat there frowning watching as your face went red and your eyes glassed over after what he counted your 5th cocktail.

He couldn’t take it anymore when a 6th drink was ordered and he got down off his bar stool making his way over to you when he heard your slurred speech “I need to go”. He got to you just in time as you stood up picking up your bag and you walked a couple steps and stumbled right into Sonny,

“Son-Sonny. You’re here to help me. My Hero” you rested your face on his chest, he wrapping his arms around you, yours around his middle trying to stop yourself from swaying.

“Who the fuck are you?” Your date stood up and tried to pull you away from Sonny.

“Don’t speak to him like that. He’s my Sonny” you snapped.

“I’ am an Assistant District Attorney, if you don’t get out of here now I’ll charge you with intoxicating a Police Officer and attempted sexual assault”

Your date stormed out and Sonny walked you towards the bar sitting you down and ordering a glass of water for you,

“Thank you Sonny, I didn’t like him” You lent on the bar putting your head in your hands.

“What are you doing dating guys from an app anyway and letting him feed you alcohol like that, you know better” Sonny said firmly to you.

“I wanted to forget” You muttered taking a big sip of water.

“About what?”

“You never asking me out. But I’am no Amanda, so really I broke my own heart thinking you felt the same.” A tear ran down you cheek.    

****  

You rolled over when the sun seeped through your closed eyes with a smashing head ache and you groaned looking around the room trying to remember how you got home. You pushed the blankets down to you still dressed in what you went out in the night before, your thigh high boots placed nicely near your tall boy and your hair in a nice side plait and it all came rushing back.

You jumped out of bed stumbling into your kitchen area to the TV on, the smell of coffee and the sounds of sizzling filling the room. You could see a blanket folded neatly over the back of the couch and you rounded into the kitchen to see Sonny in a t shirt, jeans and socked feet cooking,

“Ah Sonny hey”

Sonny looked over at you with a big smile the crinkles coming next to his eyes,

“Morning Y/N, how you feeling?” Sonny turned the stove down and walked towards you.

“Ah my head is sore. Wh- What happened? How did you get me back here?”

“Kat told me yesterday about the date, she and Rollins weren’t happy about it. She wanted me to keep an eye on you. Its lucky I did” He trailed off

“I don’t remember much” You looked down your cheeks red.

“He was feeding you drinks, he got you drunk. But we can talk about that over breakfast. Sit, its ready” Sonny kissed your forehead.

Breakfast was mostly quite but the grease and coffee was helping with the headache. When you were both done, Sonny cleaned up and came back and sat next to you at the table,

“Thank you for looking after me. Did I say anything embarrassing?” You cleared your throat and looked over at Sonny and he smiled softly.

“Anytime. Not really. You were very truthful actually” Sonny grabbed your hand and squeezed it.

“About what?” your cheeks blushing.

“About why you went on the date in the first place”

“Fuck” you muttered under your breath “I’ am sorry Sonny, I was drunk. Just ignore anything I said ok, you know I’ am a lightweight” You stood up trying to walk away but Sonny gripped your hand tighter when you went to pull yours away and pulled you to stand next him rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“I don’t want to forget” Sonny grabbed your thigh and pulled you to straddle his lap pulling you down onto him “I’ am sorry it took you getting drunk to tell me how you really felt. I should have made a move sooner so you didn’t have to go out on a date to forget about me. I don’t want you to forget about me” Sonny moved one hand to your cheek cupping it and the other on your thigh running it up under your skirt.

“Is that your way of making a move Counselor?” You raised and eye brow at him rolling your hips down on him making him groan.

“Counselor? I was you’re hero last night”

You giggled wrapping your arms around his neck leaning your forehead to his, both of Sonny’s hands up under your skirt rubbing the tops of your thighs.

“Guess I should thank my hero”

You rolled your hips over Sonny again your lips crashing on his, kissing him deeply, the grip on your ass tightening pulling you down on him as he grunted into your mouth bucking up into you. The friction on your clothed core making you moan and you could feel Sonny hardening under you. You reached down between you both undoing his jean button and zipper sliding your hand into his boxers pulling out is hard length wrapping your hand around him giving him a couple of quick pumps up and down. Sonny pulling back from the kiss, his head falling back with his eyes closed. You lent forward kissing around his neck and he bucked up into your hand.

“I have an IUD and I’ am clean”

“I’ am clean” Sonny moaned out.

You lifted yourself up slightly lining Sonny to you moving your panties to the side as you slid down on him, pausing for a moment to catch your breath. Sonny made quick work pulling your turtle neck out of your skirt and pulling it off you throwing it on the floor followed by your bra as you started to roll your hips down on him. You wrapped your arms around Sonny’s neck again, your hands going into his hair, your boobs up near his face and he took one nipple into his mouth sucking and licking it and then doing the same on the other side.

The feeling of his tongue running over your sensitive nipples and the way he filled you up was enough to push you close to the edge almost instantly. Sonny started to buck up into you, one hand moving to your hip and the other reaching between you both to find your harden pearl circling it with his pointer finger,

“Oh Sonny you feel amazing” you groaned your head falling forward, your forehead connecting with his.

“Your mine now. All mine” Sonny moaned out as he felt your walls flutter around him.

You chocked out Sonny’s name in an almost a breathless scream, your release ripping through your body your jaw slack. You rolled your hips through your high when Sonny bucked up hard grunting, his seed spilling into you. You both stilled your movements, the smell of sex and heavy breathing filling the room. Sonny cupped your cheeks and pulled you towards him, his lips landing on yours for another deep kiss,

“Let’s get cleaned up I know the best pasta place a couple blocks down. I want to give you the first date you deserve.”        

Tags: @beccabarba​ @the-baby-bookworm​ @thatesqcrush​ @permanentlydizzy​ @averyhotchner​ @infiniteoddball​

[stones-x-bones]

Just Friend Things|| Bex and Metzli

TIMING: Last Night PARTIES: @deathisanartmetzli and @inbextween SUMMARY: After being tricked into thinking Eloy was onto Metzli, Bex shows up breathless and in pajamas, worried sick. Emotions run high. Mistakes are made. CONTENT: Domestic abuse mentions, Infidelity, Self harm (Mentions/Thoughts)

The second Bex got the user offline notification, she took off in a sprint. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Not right now, not yet. He wasn’t supposed to be here yet. They need more time, she needed more time. She ran through what to do in her head when she got there. She wasn’t prepared. She didn’t have anything wooden and her magic was still recovering from the man in the woods and she didn’t even have a knife-- why didn’t she have a knife? She should have a knife. Bex was going to ask Mina to give her a knife when she got home. If she got home. No, she couldn’t afford to think like that. She would get home tonight, or she would get to Metzli, at least. And they said, they promised they’d do whatever they could to keep Bex safe, and maybe she was banking on that a little hard right now, but she knew Metzli would fight harder if Bex was there. If they were alone, they might just let him win, let him take them. But if Bex was there, they wouldn’t stop fighting. She hated that she knew that. She hated that she was using that.

She almost ran right past them, her vision narrowed to the front door of the apartment complex. She almost ran right past until she heard the grunts of pain and effort and Bex skidded to a halt and swerved around, facing the alley. For a moment, she got woozy. But she blinked through the blackness trying to eat at her mind and bolted into the alley. “Metzli! I--” but she was cut off by a yelp and a screech of pain, and then the figure that had been next to Metzli dissolve into ash. “I-- who-- what?” She stumbled over her words, her feet, knocking into a trash can. “Who was that? Was that him? Tell me what-- who was that?”

Metzli had felt eyes watching them for a while, even smelled the death that the vampire minion gave off as she watched them. Eloy wouldn’t stop, not until he got what he wanted. With an small army at his disposal, he had access to them, access to their life without ever needing to be there physically. But they had had enough, they stormed out of their apartment and followed the trail of death and copper to the alleyway where the woman hissed as they turned and realized she was found. 

She fought valiantly, but never stood a chance. Not when Metzli was much older and stronger. If there had been any ounce of mercy in them, it was gone the second they found her stalking them. It was gone when she whimpered and begged, right until the stake went through her chest and made her dissipate into nothing. She managed to land a few punches, leaving a few gashes, but it wasn’t enough to stop her imminent demise. The adrenaline, the rush of the kill made Metzli pounce as Bex approached. Stake was raised to attack once again. Her scent of honeydew and lemongrass that they had grown so fond of, registered and they stopped. 

“Bex? W-What are you doing here? Are you okay?” Metzli sounded frantic and searched for any visible wounds, no longer caring about what had just happened. 

Bex stumbled backwards when Metzli whirled on her, hands held up in the universal sign of surrender. “I’m sorry!” she squeaked, “I’m sorry! I just-- you were-- you stopped responding and he said he was going to take you and I was here anyway, so I came, I ran! Because I couldn’t let him take you, I thought he was going to--” she lost her breath in the middle of the sentence, grabbing onto the dumpster next to her to keep herself from falling over as a dizzy spell came over her. Her gaze landed on the pile of ash now sitting in the alley, behind Metzli, and Bex remembered when Dani had slayed that vampire woman who had tried to eat Bex outside the library, and the ash that had settled onto Bex’s clothes, and she had been a person, and Bex had thought about her for a very long time after. She’d nearly forgotten about it, but she remembered now.

Frantic eyes went back up to Metzli. “Who was that?” she asked again, when her breath came back and so did her words, and she realized she was still in what would be considered pajamas-- short shorts and a tank-- and she thrown on the wrong shoes, she was wearing Mina’s trainers, and she didn’t even have a sweater and it was cold outside, summer giving way to fall in the north. “Was it him?”

Arms wrapped around Bex as she swayed, and Metzli pulled her close to them to keep her steady. Worry took over and it took everything in them to not apologize over and over again for nearly staking her. “You ran all the way here?” A sense of something, they didn’t know what, made their chest warm at hearing her say that. It was an act of genuine care, maybe even love. “It wasn’t him. Just another member.” Their voice shook from the sheer amount of energy pulsing through them, but they focused all of it on Bex. “Here, you must be freezing.” They removed their hoodie and handed it over. All of the gashes and bruises from their trek with Eilidh had healed, but they were replaced with new ones. 

“Let’s get you inside. And then you can tell me what you mean when he said he’d take me.” Metzli hovered their arms over Bex and guided her to the entrance of the building. Navigating around the elevator and hallways, there were only two other tenants that had seen the pair and gave concerned looks, to which Metzli gave awkward smiles to. 

They were thankful when they reached their door, quickly opening it and leading Bex inside. Yuca immediately trotted up to the two of them and meowed. She pressed her body against Bex and purred loudly, letting her motor of happiness run as she saw a familiar friend. Brushing past Bex, they grabbed a cup from the kitchen and filled it with water before meeting back with Bex in the living room and handing it over to her. “Please tell me what happened.”

Bex supposed she was probably in shock. Or panic mode, still. She took the hoodie from Metzli and slid it on, but her eyes stuck to the new cuts and bruises on Metzli’s body. They reminded her of the ones on Mina. She wanted to ask why they did this to themself, hadn’t they had enough of that from their childhood? Bex had had enough. She’d had too much, actually. So much she almost craved pain, now, when she knew she was doing something bad, something wrong. Sometimes it didn’t feel right not being in pain. Maybe that was why she demanded to hurt herself for others. To get hurt for others. 

They were inside now and Bex looked up. Two people shuffling awkwardly by. Metzli waved, Bex stared. 

She shuffled inside Metzli’s apartment and stood just there in the living room, near the doorway, where they’d left her. Yuca was purring and rubbing against her and she looked down at her, wondering why cats made that noise. It was a nice noise. She’d have to do some research on it. The glass of water appeared in her vision and she looked up, taking the glass. She didn’t drink any. Instead, she reached out and ghosted her fingers across the gash on their stomach. “Who did this?”

Their gaze followed the path of Bex’s hand to their stomach and the corner of their mouth twitched. Though she tried to keep her hand hovering, Bex’s hand eventually brushed the cut and they shivered “Not a bad thing, actually. Uh, that wolf I told you about. Her name is Murphy. We got a little rough.” Metzli didn’t go into further detail. Instead, they placed a gentle hand at the base of Bex’s lower back and ushered her to the couch. She looked so tired and scared, but her heart was steadying, and Metzli couldn’t help but be grateful for that. It had been so erratic and violent in the way it thrashed in her chest, but this was completely different. It was as if she had a new heart. 

“Can you tell me exactly what happened? Like, what made you come here? Did master threaten you? Do I need to do something?” Metzli searched Bex’s eyes for answers, practically pleading. They were the one who was attacked but all they wanted to do was protect Bex. All they wanted to do was make sure she was okay. A hand slowly moved up to her cheek, but contact was not made. They took to letting it linger above her cheek and waiting for permission to give her small and gentle affections to comfort and quell any worries she had. If only it were that simple. 

Taking a deep breath, Metzli looked Bex worriedly in the eyes. “Is your heart okay? After running?”

Bex withdrew her hand quickly at the mention of the other woman. “Right…” she mumbled, blinking away from the haziness in her mind. The panic that had been shrouding her falling away. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t him. He wasn’t going to take Metzli away from her. Frank hadn’t taken Mina from her and Eloy wouldn’t take Metzli. Bex shook the thought away and let Metzli lead her over to the couch, sinking onto it, grateful to sit down. She hadn’t even realized how tired she was. Her legs were burning. She wasn’t much one for running. Jogging, sure, but not running. 

“I--” she started, stopped. “He messaged me again.” She admitted quietly. She hadn’t wanted to tell them, hadn’t wanted to tell anyone, and she was fighting her instincts to keep it down, keep it hidden. She was trying, really, to be better. To tell people things. “Said something about coming to get you. And then he sent me pictures of you painting, and of your door and of you outside. And I just--” 

She paused. Metzli’s hand was hovering near her cheek. The only person she let touch her face was Mina. She paused because she wanted to let Metzli console her. She shouldn’t want that. She reached up to take Metzli’s hand, instead-- a compromise-- and set it in her lap, squeezing. “It’s fine, really. It’s better. I’m okay.”

Again. Eloy had messaged her again. This was of no surprise. Metzli knew he was taunting those they cared about, but being faced with the reality of it didn’t make it easy to accept. He loved his games so much. Seeing the fear and distress in someone’s eyes excited him. And at one point, Metzli had shared a similar excitement over it. When they were much more deluded and brainwashed. Memories of that disgusted them and they hated themselves for it. Being consumed with self-hatred was out of the question though, and they focused on Bex. 

“I’m okay, Bex. We’re okay.” Metzli squeezed her hand and locked eyes with her to show the life behind them. Gratitude washed over their features and they almost couldn’t help pulling her in for a tight hug. They refrained and took to just stroking their thumb over the back of her hand. “I won’t let him take me. I told you I’d fight, that we would fight, didn’t I?” The urge to wrap their arms around her grew but they stayed back. She didn’t have to say it, but Metzli knew she loved them. They couldn’t ask for more, not really. 

Seeing the pain in her eyes made it hurt though, and the conversation from earlier resurfaced. Bex’s pain made their unmoving heart ache, and that was something Metzli didn’t know was possible. Mentally shaking their head, they tried to find something else to focus on and found that Bex’s apparel was a good substitute for their current conversation. “Are you wearing pajamas?” They chuckled at their teasing, hiding the enjoyment they felt from seeing Bex wear their hoodie.

“Yes, no, I know, I know, I just--” Bex started again, stopped. She needed to stop working herself up, these were some of the reasons her heart had failed. She needed to learn how to trust other people weren’t going to leave her or get taken away from her. She needed to actually trust them. She ran a hand over her face, through her hair, before shaking her head. “I know you’ll fight, I know. I just...I couldn’t help it. I got so scared.” That almost seemed to be a running theme, even with Mina. Especially with Mina lately. She kept going out more and more and Bex felt the disconnect between them growing and it pained her. 

Bex looked up confused. “What?” Looked down at herself. “Oh.” She pressed her palm into her bare thigh. “I-- maybe. Look, I didn’t think I’d have time to change and get here in time to keep someone from trying to kidnap you.” She remembered how easy it had been for Frank to take her and how long it took Mina to realize something was wrong and how long it had taken them to find her, and the boy had been on her mind a lot, lately, and she couldn’t figure out why. Instead, she tried to find comfort in this moment, where no one had been taken and no one would be and Bex hadn’t been too late. She scooted closer to Metzli and rest her head against their shoulder. 

“They’re cute pajamas, though, aren’t they?” she asked, leaning into the distraction. 

Metzli laughed and held back a jolt when Bex made contact with their shoulder. They really needed to get used to a gentle approach. “You really think it’s gonna be that easy to kidnap me? I kicked ass.” The lighter undertones in each of their voices came to the forefront and it made it easier to navigate the conversation. Their head laid softly above Bex’s and they sighed happily. The past hour had been so hectic and fast, that letting themselves fall into something simpler and safer was welcomed. “She didn’t even get a decent hit in. Just a lame scratch.” The affection brought a huge sense of tranquility to the apartment, and they nearly kissed Bex’s head when they turned to raise it up and look at her.

“Very cute. They go well with my hoodie.” Another moment to tease, another tick towards a real feeling of safety. And then Metzli looked at their hands, still holding the other closely, not wanting to let go in case this wasn’t reality. Squeezing gently, another smiled formed and Yuca leapt onto Bex’s lap, pawing at her to give her attention. “The neediest little baby. She wouldn’t even leave me alone while I painted. But she’s actually the one who brought my attention to the woman. She hissed at the window and I finally recognized the scent. Yuca to the rescue.” Their free hand reached over and gave the feline the attention she requested, and the giggle that surfaced couldn’t be held back.

“I dunno, could be,” Bex shrugged, “I’ve never tried so how would I know? You seem like you’d get in my van if I pulled up and asked you to.” And it was mostly a joke and it should’ve been a joke, they were just teasing, but Bex couldn’t stop thinking about how easily Frank had taken her. Was it because she trusted him? Would she have been so easy to take if she hadn’t? Was it her fault for being too weak, too trusting, too something? Her skin crawled a moment and she pulled her feet up beneath her on the couch. “You have too many scratches and cuts.” She reached over with her free hand again and pointed to the gash. “Why do you let her do that to you?”

Bex jumped a little when Yuca crawled into her lap. She somehow still wasn’t used to it, despite living with three cats at home. Anya mostly stuck around Morgan, though she loved winding herself between Bex’s legs when she walked around the kitchen. And Moira liked Deirdre best, and Niamh was still a little tentative around the others. Bex let her hand brush over Yuca’s back. “At least one of you is looking out for trouble,” she cooed, scratching under her chin. She looked down at the hoodie she had on, Metzli’s hoodie. It was warm and comfortable. It felt nice. She turned to look up at them. “Did you have pets as a kid?” she asked, though she probably knew the answer.

Metzli snorted and would have most certainly blushed if that were possible from the bit of embarrassment they felt, but thankfully, death had its perks. “Only if you had a really good assortment of blood.” A sense of normalcy crept in, but it almost instantly receded as Bex pointed at their biggest wound. “What? I—uh, I—I don’t know. It just…” Their hand broke free and went through their hair, tugging slightly. Typical stem for them to do while under stress. “It just feels good in the moment. It’s fun. I used to be so scared of pain, that somewhere along the way, it started to feel kind of good, I guess.” Averting Bex’s gaze, they scooted away from her slightly and something akin to shame seeped into their skin. “Never done the tender sex thing. Most women I attract want to go as rough as possible. But, uh, I have been craving soft. Macleod was soft for a few moments, before we—before the attack. I liked it. But I don’t know if that’s her thing. And it definitely isn’t this chick’s thing.” They pointed at the gash and bounced their leg uncomfortably. “Why do you ask, anyway?”

When Yuca got exactly what she was looking for, she purred loudly. The sound always brought a sense of comfort to Metzli and they were grateful for her tenacity to make everything about her. But Bex made sure to basically play the reverse card. “No. No pets. Lots of dogs hung out on the roofs though. It was pretty funny. Yuca is my first pet. I found her as a stray with a broken leg. I couldn’t leave her to die, so I did everything I could to save her. Been together ever since.”

“Pretty sure I could just offer mine and you’d come,” Bex said, rolling her eyes. She maybe shouldn’t have asked that, but after seeing how badly Metzli had been torn up after their trip, she found herself adverse to the idea of seeing them hurt like that again, and here they were, doing it willingly. Bex didn’t understand it. Maybe she did. Maybe she should. Maybe sometimes she, too, craved pain, but she never got pleasure from it. It never felt good. She wondered if it was supposed to feel good. She knew she’d asked the wrong question when they removed their hand from hers and scooted away and she felt a pang in her chest, looking down at Yuca in her lap. “Sorry,” was all she mumbled. “Nothing. I-- It’s nothing.” 

She tried to play it off by readjusting herself, moving Yuca further onto her lap as she turned and stretched her legs across Metzli’s, leaning back so she could look at them properly now. “I can’t believe you ever tried to pretend like you weren’t a giant softie,” she said. “I never had any pets, either. I didn’t even consider that that was something I could miss out on.” She stroked her hand down Yuca’s back, scratching lightly. 

There was no response to Bex’s comment. The answer was yes, but that wasn’t something they wanted to admit. It felt inherently wrong to enjoy her blood so much. “You don’t have to be sorry. I just don’t think…I don’t think I get to have that. Love and tenderness. I’m too scared of it anyway.” Legs ceased to bounce when Bex laid hers across theirs, and without thinking, their hand glided down to rest at her shin. Her warmth was soothing, grounding even. So much so, that their eyes shut for a moment to relish in the connection. They shot open, blinking several times and Metzli recovered instantly. 

“I’m not a big softie. I just prefer animals and art over people. They tend to be better than people. Much better. I mean, look at her.” Yuca continued to purr and kneaded at Bex’s stomach. She was happy and content. “She doesn’t have a single bad thought in there. Look at how much she loves you without even demanding anything in return, without needing to delve much deeper than the kindness of your touch.” 

Bex took Metzli’s silence as her answer. She didn’t know why her blood was so enticing to them, really, but more so she didn’t know why that made her feel special. Maybe because it was something that made her special. Maybe cause it was something that made her feel like she had something about her that people liked more than others. Maybe it was just cause it meant she had something. “If you keep saying that then yeah, it’s gonna be true,” she shrugged. “I keep telling you it’s not, though.” Her eyes fell to the hand on her leg. “Why are you afraid of it?” 

She rolled her eyes a little. “You kinda are,” she pointed out. “I never said being a softie meant for humans. You’re very soft, just for animals. And, well, I guess certain people.” Yuca nestled into her and she sighed. “I think she just likes that I’m warm, and is jealous you’re paying attention to me and not her.” She looked across at them. “I, um-- I’m glad you’re okay. Sorry I panicked.” 

“Maybe I want it to be true.” Metzli snapped a little, not harshly or with malice, but just because they were quick to answer. “It’s terrifying having things to lose. I’m scared enough at the thought of losing you, Macleod, or Milo. And to have something as huge as actual, romantic love? There’s so many variables, so much to lose.” Finally looking at Bex, they locked eyes with her and gave her a weak smile. “Maybe that’s part of the deal. What makes it so strong and worth fighting for. Actually, I know it is because of how I feel abo—” They stopped and looked for any distraction they could find, but there was none to be found. “I’m just not ready yet. Maybe after I get my soul. So I can finally feel within it, and feel for the ones I love.”

Metzli flipped the bird at Bex and held it there as they stuck their tongue out at her. “Fine. I can be a softie sometimes. But only when people deserve it. ‘Cause animals always do.” Yuca balled herself up and laid sleepily on Bex, making Metzli’s smile grow considerably. “Don’t be sorry. I would have panicked too. Thanks for checking on me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you actually liked me and cared about me.” None of that was new information, but they always did have to try and keep every moment they could, light.

Bex flinched back, ever so slightly, but it was there. She understood exactly what Metzli was saying. Those reasons were the very ones Bex had run back to her parents when her mother came threatening the only people she cared to lose. The only people she’d ever loved. It was terrifying, knowing they could be taken away. She’d felt more in control leaving on her own terms, even if, in the end, it had had the same effect. She’d lost the things she loved and it had torn her apart. She understood being afraid of that. She was still afraid that losing Mina would destroy her. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to live without her. She knew wouldn’t be able to live without her, and that made the distance she felt between them hurt even more. “Okay,” she said quietly, “I’ll stop pushing it.” Even as curiosity wracked her. Who, she wanted to ask, feel that way about who? 

She let out a short chuckle, reaching out and grabbing their finger when they flipped her off, tugging gently. “That’s rude, you know,” she stuck her tongue out at them back. “Who, me? Care? About you? Sounds fake.” She scooted forward a little and leaned her elbows against her knees, chin in her palms as she smiled up at them. “You’re a surprisingly likeable person, you know.” 

Grateful that she had moved past the subject without question, Metzli squeezed her shin gently and debated on what to say next. She had flinched, and while it would go unnoticed by many, it wouldn’t, couldn’t go unnoticed by Metzli. Not when they analyzed every feature of her so carefully. “Don’t feel bad, okay?” They scooted closer, “You’re curious. You always ask questions. It’s only natural you do it with any of your friends. Even now, you’ve got lots of questions you could be asking. I see them bouncing around in there.” She didn’t have to know now, or ever. It was good she didn’t. Not even the vampire knew what they felt, what love and its many levels were. For all they knew, it was just a deep and never-ending love based on the platonic level.

“Right…” Metzli teased, taking their middle finger and poking Bex’s nose. Yuca didn’t even budge from her spot as the two moved. “You’re the one who ran all the way here to make sure I wasn’t kidnapped.” A grin grew bigger and bigger, watching as Bex leaned forward and spoke. Her words made a sensation similar to a drop and they took to laughing gingerly. “It’s all this charm. People can’t help but like me, you know? Plus, I got this award-winning smile.” They leaned forward, meeting Bex’s eyeline and nudged her forehead with theirs playfully and gently. “You’re pretty likeable too, I guess.”

“I think some people would call that being nosy,” Bex pointed out. “I don’t mean to pry, but I just want to ask a lot of questions. Sometimes I go overboard, though. You can always just tell me when I do that, okay? Cause I don’t exactly know when to stop.” And it was true. She’d apparently offended quite a few people that way and made a few more want to stop talking to her. She couldn’t help it. She liked to know things, and that included things about people. She almost would’ve hated the way Metzli could read her if it wasn’t so endearing. Mina could usually tell what she was thinking, too, just by the look on her face. The two hadn’t done much talking lately, though and Bex had to turn to look away for a moment. 

Bex scrunched her nose. “Of course I came. That’s what people do when they care,” she stuck her tongue out again but froze, suddenly, when Metzli nudged her forehead with theirs. It was such a soft and affectionate gesture, and Bex couldn’t stop thinking about how they wanted someone to be soft with them, and it hurt, a little, she found, to know that no one was giving that to them. And it wasn’t fair, and they were so close, and she could give them soft, she could. She shouldn’t. She lifted a hand to their cheek and moved forward.

Time slowed down and it felt like the air around the two grew heavier. Anything that had happened not even seconds earlier was forgotten. Nothing else mattered but the feeling of Bex’s hand on their cheek, and the way her face moved directly into theirs. Metzli was still, unsure if it was actually happening. And then warm lips met theirs and they kissed back, moving a hand to cup her face in return. They kissed Bex. It was the sweetest kiss they’d ever received and they didn’t want to stop. For a few moments, they didn’t. But the weight of what they had done hit them like a truck, and they pulled away quickly. 

“Bex—I—” Metzli stood up in a panic and began to apologize profusely as they paced. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to—I did, but I was never going to—and then…fuck!” They looked towards the door and then back at Bex. The urge to leave grew and they strode over to make their exit. “I’ll leave. Don’t worry. I’ll leave.” Hand gripped and turn the handle, pulling it open with a force. 

The moment it happened, Bex knew it was a mistake, for so many reasons. It wasn’t fair to Mina, it wasn’t fair to Metzli, and she realized it too late. She was impulsive and emotional, but those were just excuses. Metzli jerked away and so did Bex and her face felt like it was on fire and she clasped a hand over her mouth and couldn’t look them in the eyes anymore. She barely even heard what they were saying, staring horror struck as Yuca leapt from her lap and raced towards the door. It was being flung open and for a moment Bex thought Metzli was demanding her to leave and that would make sense, wouldn’t it? She was just leading them on. That’s what it must look like. She loved Mina. She loved Mina. So why had she done that? 

But then Metzli’s words sunk in-- I’ll leave, I’ll leave-- and Bex was confused and she stumbled from the couch and over towards the door, reaching for them before withdrawing her hand and clasping her hands over her chest. “No, wait-- I-- this is my fault-- this is your apartment.” She recoiled. “I-I’ll go. I’m sorry, I didn’t-- I’m sorry.” She shoved past them quickly, unable to turn and look behind her as she went. Vibrating. 

What was she supposed to say to Mina?

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Nineteen

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Welcome, one and all! I hope your day is going well. Tagging @anonymouscosmos​, @culturalrebel​, @mercy-and-malice​, @deepkittycollecto​, @nelba​, @mechanicalism​ and @commandershepardshtole. Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Part Nine: Domestic Ruminations

Part Ten: Institutionalized

Part Eleven: Two Weeks, Three Days

Part Twelve: Haylen’s Warning And The Glowing Sea

Part Thirteen: Under Fire

Part Fourteen: Dichotomy

Part Fifteen: The Litany Trial

Part Sixteen: Nice Try

Part Seventeen: Preparations

Part Eighteen: Divide And Conquer

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains distressing flashbacks, gratuitous violence and extreme emotional duress. Stay safe!]

Paladin Logan Danse, pride of the Brotherhood of Steel, had never really considered that he may not be the sharpest tool in the shed. Oh certainly, he had heard many a 'Paladin Dense' joke in his time with the Brotherhood; his name made it far too simple to engage in semi-witty wordplay.

  Here and now though, facing down seven coursers with nothing except his laser rifle and power armor, he was beginning to slightly... slightly doubt his own intelligence. 

  The first courser was managed easily enough, rushing him in a suicidal dash. Danse blew their head off without missing a beat, continuing his march forward. The worst part of it all was the silent hatred he felt radiating from the coursers, like a thick miasma of ill will. He wondered pointlessly whether this was how he would meet his end. Trapped in the sterile halls of the Institute, torn apart by this rabid crew of synth hunters.

  "I escaped from you all before, if your records are accurate." The paladin snarled as two of the coursers vanished into thin air. "I doubt any of you would recall. I myself do not recall much of this place."

  The spinal recalibration chair crouched in the center of the white room, needles gleaming in the brilliant light--

  A laser pinged! off his chest plating and Danse bared his teeth, taking another step forward. "I know all of your weaknesses, every last one of them. You might as well give up and face Commonwealth justice." He advised them sternly, brandishing his laser rifle in further threat. 

  "Forget about him, go and find Vega!" One of the cloaked coursers spat from somewhere behind Danse's back. "Father wants her dea--" The paladin pulled a sharp turn, putting a laser bolt directly through the invisible courser's skull with... alarmingly precise accuracy. Of course, that may have been their tactic to begin with. A body crashed against his back and Danse heard the tell-tale alert beep of an unmounted fusion core.

  "A Brotherhood soldier is nothing without their power armor." The third courser taunted while Danse slowed under the ponderous weight of his armor. However, the courser's confidence was short-lived as the paladin used the little momentum he did have to instead fall backwards, crushing the synth beneath the massive frame of his armor. 

  The fusion core clattered and spun just out of reach on the floor, but Danse didn't even have the time to think about moving to grab it before two coursers were on him. Gloved hands clawed at his helmet; a fist slammed into the side of the metal with a resounding impact. Thank Steel the gorget seal held, and Danse managed to move his arm quickly enough to batter one of the coursers away with the sheer bulk of the gauntlet alone. The courser crashed into the wall and slumped to the ground, lifeless.

  Danse frantically tried to count in his head, tried to recall how many coursers he still had to manage. He could barely move, already stringing himself along on little but adrenaline and the promise of seeing the sun again. How many hours had they been down here? It seemed like an eternity.

  What would the EMP do to him? God, should he even risk it? 

  The paladin dragged himself up onto one knee, scrabbling at his waist for the grenade while that other courser seized the back of his helmet and ripped it off. The crackle of his mouthpiece dislodging itself from the helmet to dangle limp over his gorget seemed almost too loud.

  Danse pulled the pin on the EMP as the square barrel of a laser rifle buried itself beside his ear, and his world went white.

  …

  The smooth, cool surface of the floor that his cheek rested on was the only thing he could feel. 

  - No! Voice cracking, screaming as he was wrestled down into the chair by the scientists, needles punching through his skin until the largest caliber ground into the nape of his neck please don't please don't -

  - No! Cutler shrieking, misshapen green flesh pouring out around the strangling confines of his armor, his eyes gone mad but it's still him it's still him I can't -

  - No! Elizabeth collapsing on top of him, the heat of her blood soaking through his shirt, her whole body thrown between he and Maxson no no no no NO -

  Danse noticed, with a sense of detached horror, that his heart appeared to have stopped. The lack of pulse rang in his ears, one agonal gasp crushed his chest and then another rattled his body while everything in him fought to inhale. His consciousness was fading, flickering out like a candle in a gale as his rate of respiration continued to plummet.

  Elizabeth, I'm so sorry .

  His eyes were heavy, gritty with exhaustion. He should sleep. Just for a moment. 

  "- anse? Danse! Paladin Danse!"

  Someone was yelling his name, and another voice that was closer shouted, "Open fire on the courser! Advance to secure the paladin!"

  Suddenly, his heart shuddered to life, his pulse returning with a vengeance that seemed like it would deafen him. Danse heaved in a gasp of air, wheezing, body awash with clammy sweat as he tried to turn his head. Nausea sent his stomach rolling at the motion and a headache throbbed behind his eyes but he was alive --

  Boots on the floor beside his head, someone standing over his body. "Grab his core and plug it back in! We need to get out of here!" Minutemen, Minutemen . It was Delta squadron doing their final sweep. Muskets roared overhead like death from above, the cacophony serving to further deafen the battered paladin. 

  He forced himself up onto his left elbow so that one of the Minutemen could slam the fusion core home in his back plating. The servos in Danse's armor creaked and groaned once more, and the paladin rose with relative ease. 

  "Our egress has been secured, sir!" A young soldier informed him loudly, her cheek smeared with the blood that trickled from her left ear. 

  Danse, still queasy and unsteady after his near death experience ( had he technically died? Did synths die? ), simply nodded and reached to accept his helmet from another Minuteman. 

  A laser bolt cracked! off the side of the helmet and the Minuteman dropped it in surprise. Danse lurched around, hauling up his gauntlet to shield his head from the next bolt that came. His free hand shot out of its own volition and he grabbed... something , slamming it back against the wall with all his strength 

  The courser flickered into view, Danse's gauntlet wrapped around his throat. The paladin almost wanted to wonder at his good fortune, but then the synth simply evaporated out of his grasp. " Dammit , his emergency relay." Danse swore hoarsely.

  "Sir, we don't have time. The reactor is due to go at any second!" The armored man was all but dragged along, pushed and herded by the soldiers around him. His heart kept skipping beats, leaving him breathless and lightheaded as he struggled to keep up with his battalion.

  "What news do we have of General Vega?" He yelled to anyone that would answer him. The shot from the courser had entirely destroyed what was left of the two-way transmitter in his helmet, rendering him unable to communicate with their main forces.

  "No news, sir! Alpha squadron has already pulled out! We have reports from squadrons Echo, Foxtrot and Golf that synths have been sighted relaying in to their respective territories!" One of the soldiers replied, his tones clipped to be heard over the sound of the cabal's battle-rattle. "No word from Beta squadron on casualties yet, and Charlie is still waiting on us as of two minutes ago!"

  The paladin cursed under his breath, his step hitching and nearly causing him to fall. Elizabeth, please , please be alive! He wasn't sure who he was praying to, or even why the hell he was bothering. He should have known better than to think his foolhardy plan to secure her escape would work.

  Back through the old robotics area they stormed, everyone moving doubletime at this point. Alarms blaring overhead, PA system calmly announcing their fast-diminishing window to flee. Blood trickled down into his eyes from somewhere up on his scalp, stinging badly enough to briefly take Danse's mind off of his other injuries.

  The door at the top of the stairs was wide open, and Danse's relief was crippling when he spied Sturges still at the control panel. The engineer whooped upon seeing the ragged group of men and women. "First in, last out! Now let's get the hell outta' here!" He shouted, waving the soldiers into the relay area. "We only got a minute or so until the whole place goes!"

  Danse opened his mouth to ask whether Sturges had already transported Vega, but he was too late. Blue-white energy crackled and fizzled around him and the next thing he knew, he was being unceremoniously deposited on the ground in the shadow of the Prydwen.

  …

  "General, it's time." Preston said quietly. Backhand stared off into the distance, every fresh crackle of radio static making her heart drop. "We have to get this done. It needs to be finished," he continued when she stayed silent. "If you can't push it, that's fine. I know we did our best." 

  Reports had come in left and right that synths were being sighted across the Commonwealth, emergency relays dropping them in the most random of places. Every squadron had been accounted for, aside from Delta and Charlie. 

  "Did we do the right thing, Preston?" Backhand breathed. "Just think of all the good -"

  "I don't think we'll ever know for certain, General. That's the reality of these kinds of scenarios. But you don't need me to tell you that." Preston interjected, his practical words shoring up her limited resolve. "You want me to do this?"

  Vega closed her eyes, nodding rapidly. She heard the rustle of that outrageous coat, and a moment later there was the soft click of the charge being armed. 

  "It's done, General."

  "Thank you, Preston." Vega sank down on the rooftop, tugging her knees into her chest and burying her face in them. The distant explosion tore a sob from her throat and as the Institute collapsed in on itself, General Vega dissolved into tears.

  It felt like an eternity before Preston coaxed her to her feet, the lieutenant pressing his canteen into her hands. "Drink." He urged, his own eyes less than dry. " Drink , General. You're gonna' be okay. We'll get back to the Prydwen, back to your son. It'll all be just fine."

  "I know." Vega mumbled through a mouthful of stale water, doing her best to ignore the plume of smoke that rose in the distance. "I'm okay, I promise. It's just a lot. I'm okay." She tried to assure Preston, huffing at his watery chuckle.

  "No, you're not. You're exhausted and busted up and scared. This is a hell of a thing we've done, you've done. It's okay to be overwhelmed." Preston reasoned, grimacing. "We've got a decent walk back, if you need to talk."

  "What about you , though? How are you holding up?"

  "I'm not sure if it's real yet." Preston admitted. "It'll take some getting used to. But...I'm glad to know that we don't have to fear the Institute anymore."

  His lapel radio crackled, Pride squadron requesting verification on successful detonation.

  "Relay our message to the Castle: mission accomplished, the Institute has been leveled. I repeat, mission accomplished." Preston replied into the handset, seeming a little shell-shocked at being able to say the words.

  Mission accomplished .

  Backhand sniffled, a new wave of emotion threatening to send her spiraling yet again. 

  Shaun . The synthetic child. A child. A son . A second chance that she didn't deserve.

  She fished the holotape he had given her out of her pocket, slotting it into her Pip Boy after a momentary struggle. To her shock, it was Father's voice that issued from the speaker.

  " If you are hearing this, then whatever conflicts you and I have endured are over… "

  …

  Danse wandered across the airport tarmac, some distant part of him aware that he was in a state of shock. He had dropped his helmet. Where, he couldn't say. His head was still bleeding and he was certain that other areas of his body needed medical attention, but he couldn't seem to get himself to stop searching the area for Elizabeth.

  He hadn't seen her, the child or that courser that had warned them of the ambush. His heart sank as he wondered whether the synth had simply been a tool to get him out of the way, separating the paladin from Vega.

  Why had Vega parted from Alpha squadron in the first place? Oh surely, he knew exactly why. She had wanted to confront that man who had once been her son on her own. But it had been reckless , and it may have cost them dearly. 

  Danse groaned, very nearly attempting to rub his eyes before he remembered he was still in his armor and he would probably blind himself in the process. 

  All around him were wounded Minutemen, scribes and aspirants rushing back and forth to try and mediate the damage that had been done. The synths and scientists were easy to spot, each one clad in brilliant white Institute garb. They huddled together in small groups, some crying, some silent, others staring around wide-eyed in wonder. 

  Danse realized suddenly that this would be the first time many of them had even seen the sun. He must have been like them once, all curiosity and fear. He shook his head, more blood dripping into his eye causing him to wince. The paladin grunted, clumsily smearing the trickle from his hairline across his forehead with his gauntlet. It must be mixing with his sweat. 

  "Danse!" That voice…

  The paladin racked his brain, trying to recall the name of the person who owned the voice. 

  It started with a P. 

  Writing. Writer? Wright .

  Piper?

  The woman materialized out of the throngs of scribes, her cap set at a steep angle. In her hand she clutched a battered notepad, and she waved it furiously as if to get Danse's attention. "Hey, big fella'! Over here!" She called, rocking on her heels impatiently while the paladin trudged towards her. "What the hell happened to you in there? You look like a stretch of lonely road!"

  Danse hiccupped, trying for a salute. His arms felt like lead. "I...There was--I-I was separated-" The words wouldn't come, the paladin still reeling from his near-death experience, the loss of Vega, everything , it was too much.

  Was he crying?  

  "Oh Danse, hey, c'mon, easy." Piper soothed, one hand tentatively hovering over his right gauntlet. "It's okay big fella', it's alright." 

  Danse shook his head, utterly mortified as he tried to regulate his sobs. 

  "I was about to ask for a full run-down from a tactical perspective. Y'know, to uh, ease the fears of the Commonwealth populace at large. but I can see that you're in a...er, state right now." Her attempt at delicacy didn't go unnoticed and Danse gritted his teeth. His hands clenched into tight fists as he fought to get himself back under control. These damn emotions-!

  "The operation appears to have been successful." He rasped finally. "We are still...waiting on confirmation. But I am c--I am confident in our success. I am...uncertain of our losses. My two-way was destroyed in the fracas." He gestured at the mangled mess of wires and what was left of the coupling attached to his gorget. God only knew where he had dropped his helmet, but it didn't really matter. If the coursers tearing it off of him hadn't broken the two-way wholly, that final laser had finished the job. "I have no method of communication, I'm afraid. We should...we should find the field scribes and comms."

  Danse could feel the haze of trauma dissipating the longer he spoke, the tactical compartmentalization that had served him so well taking over once more. There would be time later to mourn what he had lost. Right now, it was the Brotherhood's sworn duty to ensure that the Commonwealth remained safe and, more importantly, informed .

  "Come with me, Miss Wright." He ordered, using the advantage of his height to search for the elevated ground of their radio shelter.

  "It's Piper ."

  …

  Vega's boots kicked up a cloud of dust, her footsteps weary. Preston was silent alongside her, the young man clearly deep in thought. Backhand was still reeling from the holotape, Father's words playing over and over in her mind...

  I had hoped to gift this child to you as some sort of consolation for losing me all those years ago, but your actions have proven you unreasonable. If you are hearing this message, no doubt you have found this unit's corpse and stripped it clean.

  Did you think I had no idea you were working with the Brotherhood? The Railroad? You cannot be so naive, Mother. I am merely stunned that it took you so long to gather your forces.

  On the off chance that your bloodlust can be slaked before the total destruction of everything I have built, I would ask that you still take this...synth. This boy, rather, as you would no doubt insist on calling him, has been programmed to believe he is your son. Should he survive you and whatever rampant destruction you have planned, I ask that you raise him as your own. 

  You have no real reason to do so, of course. There would be no tangible benefit, and I know all too well of your callous disregard for life.

  Sleep easy tonight, knowing that you've rid the Commonwealth of its greatest hope for prosperity.

  Backhand cleared her throat. "Preston, do you-" She hesitated. "What if I'm not...what if I'm not cut out for this mom stuff? What if all I'm good for is military shit?" The woman asked plaintively. "I was willing to do anything for my son, back before the bombs dropped. But now...I mean, what the hell kind of life can I even offer to the...to Shaun?"

  "A life at all, I suppose. The freedom to choose." 

  Backhand closed her eyes, forcing a breath out. "Yeah?"

  "Yeah. I think so, anyway. You've fought so hard for folks you don't even know, General! And it isn't like you'd be doin' it alone." Preston reasoned with a smile. "If it seems a little too overwhelming, just remember: there at a moment's notice . We're with you, no matter what."

  "I was kinda' hoping I'd put you guys out of a job!" Vega tried to joke.

  "Nah, we've still got a lot of work to do. Commonwealth's a big place, General." Preston patted her shoulder, waving to the sentries on the Brotherhood retaining walls at the airport. Far overhead loomed Liberty Prime, all gangly steel limbs as its head slowly turned back and forth in a scanning motion.

  Vega began skimming the crowds of wounded from force of habit, her eyes stopping dead at the sight of a black leather coat.

  X6-88 . The courser looked dazed, a singular patch of reddened gauze gracing his forehead. His body was still wrapped protectively around the child, around Shaun , who seemed to be sound asleep. The synth kept snarling at anyone who got too close. Vega wondered who on earth had managed to dress his head. Had someone just tossed him a gauze pack and fled in terror?

  She received her answer a second later as Curie emerged from the crowd, the young woman sporting her usual nearly-spotless white coat to denote her medical ability. X6 would have known her by a different name, however.

  G5-19 . 

  Backhand's heart broke at the way that the courser was obviously struggling to contain himself, the general watching Curie swap out the soaked gauze for a fresh bandage. When Curie reached for Shaun though, X6 said something to her that made her tilt her head in confusion.

  "- know me? Monsieur Courser, I am afraid I do not have zee pleasure." She was saying as Vega and Preston drew within earshot.

  "You were...in the Institute, I...we knew each other." X6 replied in a fragmentary fashion.

  "Ah! I must apologize, Monsieur Courser. I am afraid zat zis body was wiped nearly clean when I acquired it. Zee original owner was in a catatonic state. Somezing about EMP grenades and raiders, if I recall." The former Nanny bot squinted at the courser, pursing her lips. "And yet, you are... strangely familiar! Ah, zis body is a marvel." She continued cheerily, producing two small, plastic-wrapped snack cakes from her doctor's coat. "One for you, and one for zee child when he wakes." 

  X6-88 accepted the prepackaged treats with a nod, spotting Elizabeth over Curie's shoulder. "General Vega, is it?" The courser asked, his voice weary.

  "How you holdin' up, X6?" Vega queried in turn, startled when the killing machine offered her a tight-lipped nod.

  "The wound is not too grievous, even with the limited amount of medical prowess it seems the surface has. She appears to believe I will survive."

  "Madame Vega, it is such a relief to see you in one piece!" Curie exclaimed warmly, the synth hauling her into a hug and planting a kiss on either cheek. "It would appear your mission was a success, yes?"

  "I'd say so." Preston answered for Vega, the lieutenant observing the courser with a fair amount of trepidation. "General, are you sure you...uh. Well, y'know."

  "Lieutenant Garvey," Preston flinched when X6 used his name, "If I intended to cause you harm, you would already be dead." 

  Remarkably , that attempt at reassurance did very little, and Vega smacked herself on the forehead as Preston went a touch gray. "You sure keep some interesting company, General." He commented, his voice cracking.

  "Listen, I said you'd be safe and I'm a woman of my word. But please don't give any of these Brotherhood weirdos an excuse to shoot you." Backhand requested of the courser. "If you want, I'll take over on babysitting duty and you can get the hell out of here. I know it probably feels like you're sitting in the middle of a hornet's nest."

  X6-88 hesitated, his eyes darting to Curie and then back to the general. "I will stay, ma'am." He answered her staunchly, looking weary all of a sudden.

  "Okay. But if you do want to leave, just have them walkie for me. Find basically anyone with a radio. You don't have to stay if you don't want to, I need that to be clear. You're free to go wherever you want, X6."

  "I…" The courser's brow furrowed and he merely nodded silently after a moment, readjusting his grip on the sleeping Shaun. 

  Vega knew she had so much to do, so much to continue planning, but she took a self-indulgent second to brush Shaun's hair back out of his eyes. Dark, dark brown, almost black, just like his father…

  Elizabeth smiled sadly, and then set off in the direction of the communications tent.

  …

  "No word from her yet, sir. Lieutenant Garvey told us of the success of the mission, but it is unclear if she is with him or not." 

  The field scribe's words burrowed into Danse's gut like a knife. Fear, anxiety, the unstoppable creeping sensation of realizing that he had been too late or not enough -

  The paladin shoved the emotions down, all too aware of Piper waiting at his elbow with baited breath. "The reports from the other squadrons then, Scribe."

  "Emergency relays began to activate at five minutes to meltdown, sir. Several synths were spotted in the outskirts of Diamond City and were quickly scooped up by the citizens of Goodneighbor, or Golf squadron, in conjunction with John D.'s forces." The young man replied, tugging one side of his headset off of his ears. "Foxtrot and Echo encountered the most resistance, as a platoon of coursers and gen one synths were sent to both the Castle and Bunker Hill. It seems that both locations held out well. Minimal casualties reported."

  "What's your take on this whole situation, bud? Would you consider this a victory?" Piper asked, leaning around Danse to speak with the scribe. "Enquiring minds want to know!"

  "I-I am not at liberty to pass judgement, civilian, b-but it seems that the operation has gone well!" The scribe stammered, darting his eyes at Danse as if fearful of the paladin's discipline.

  Danse snorted, a touch amused despite the distress that threatened to engulf him. Piper was far more formidable than a cursory glance would assume. It wasn't Danse that this young man needed to be concerned about.

  The doorway at the other end of the tent was flung open, sunset light pouring in with the influx of more bodies from the triage area. Danse didn't really pay any mind to it, more invested in hearing the rest of the field scribe's report. 

  That is, until a certain voice broke through the dull roar of radio static and muffled transmissions. "I need news of Delta squadron!" Vega barked, "particularly of Paladin Danse! Who has eyes on Danse?"

  The scribe across from the dumbfounded paladin looked up at him slack-jawed, then bolted to his feet. "G-General Vega, ma'am! The paladin-!"

  "Elizabeth." Danse breathed, his voice nearly inaudible as he straightened up from the table. 

  When her eyes met his, it was as if something broke inside him. Danse covered the ground between them in a heartbeat, gathering her into a fierce, armored embrace. " Logan! " Vega cried, her arms flinging open to cling to his sides. He almost dared to believe that she sounded relieved or delighted . "You're okay, you're okay, thank fuck ." She mumbled against his breastplate, clutching the lucky bandanna she had tied to his arm like she wasn't sure if he was real. "We did it, we did it, holy shit." 

  Vega appeared to be in a state of shock, finally lifting her head from Danse's chest when Piper hollered, "Blue!", the reporter hugging her from behind and sandwiching the general between herself and Danse. 

  Danse's heart ached as he watched Vega dissolve into tears, Piper gripping her tight and his own hold unwavering. Preston entered the tent as well, the younger man clapping Danse on the pauldron to congratulate him on his survival.

  We did it .

Part Twenty

[bimboamyrose]

Unfamiliar - A Metamy Fanfic (Ch.4 )

First two chapters

Previous (Ch. 3)

Ch. 4: Stubborn

The evening was spent organizing Amy’s closets. She’d tasked Metal with handing her clothes hangers from across the room as she straightened up her wardrobe and later did the same for him as he stacked her tools back up on the high shelf of her storage space. At least his telescopic arm was coming in useful, even if he could do little more than stand still to avoid losing his balance. 

The dreary day gave way to a clear, chilly evening. Amy invited her house guest to sit on the porch with her for her nightly routine of sipping hot chocolate and stargazing. Glistening snow contradicted the beachy atmosphere, thick white blankets draping over palm trees and obscuring sandy ground. It was perfectly tranquil, silent but for the gentle mechanical whirring of Metal’s body.

Amy sat on a lawn chair wrapped tightly in a velvety blanket, knees to her chest. “If Tails isn’t available to fix you tomorrow, maybe we can at least try to repair your foot so you can stand upright.” 

Metal had planted himself on the seat next to hers. The contrast between his disturbing, sharp figure and her endearing and petite frame was as striking as the scenery. He crossed his busted leg over his good one, assessing the damage to his foot. He was not confident a self-repair would be successful, but it was always a possibility. He turned to her and nodded. Amy’s gentle eyes mirrored the starry sky. The calmness in Metal turned to a moderate excitement at the charming sight and it seemed almost to remind him of something.

“So, Metal, do you remember anything? Like, at all?”

He ripped himself out of his enchantment to process her question. Searching through his fragmented memory turned up thousands of inaccessible files. What little was left held mostly primary data with snippets of information. He found pictures and short bios of people he didn’t recognize and the name “EGGMAN” plastered across a repair protocol. Searching for that name just brought up several more corrupt files.

Metal reached for the tablet-sized whiteboard that was sitting on the garden table in front of them. He wrote down “VERY LITTLE” in his neat, mechanical handwriting and showed it to Amy.

She gazed directly into his eyes now, hoping to find some indication of whether Metal Sonic was being truthful in his unchanging eyes. “Do you remember me?”

Amy had asked him earlier if he recognized her and he denied it in his haste. But spending a few hours with the girl teased his memory like a word at the tip of one’s tongue; Metal was sure he knew her somehow. “FAMILIAR,” he wrote finally.

“Familiar, huh?” Amy finished her warm drink, setting the mug down in front of her. Not surprising, all things considered. But what does he really know? She noticed that Metal was quickly erasing his tablet and writing something new. Amy couldn’t keep herself from gasping when she caught sight of it again.

“WHO IS EGGMAN?”

She jerked the other way, hiding her shock. Does he remember that he works for Eggman? It must be part of his programming or something. I need to tell Tails. She decided to bluff. “Let’s, uh, see if we can find out. I think it’s time for bed.” She shot out of her cozy seat and back into the house before the cold could nip her.

Metal Sonic sat unmoving for a moment, perplexed at her sudden gesture. He propped himself up, tablet still in hand, as he drug his feet through the threshold of the backdoor and slid the door closed as gently as he could manage. He watched Amy toss her blanket over the back of the couch, then adjust and smooth it so it looked only partially like it was thrown there haphazardly. A strange maneuver.

“So, uh, you can go into sleep mode I guess?” She didn’t have the slightest idea what robots did at night or if he even needed to recharge. She was met once again with Metal’s unwavering stare; though it didn’t seem so spooky after the day they’d spent together. “Do you sleep?”

Metal simply nodded. He didn’t exactly sleep, but his instinct was to sit idle for a few hours to conserve energy. He was beginning to find that a close-enough answer would be satisfactory.

Amy was surprised but also relieved that she wouldn’t have to worry about him all night. “Oh- Well, is the couch okay?”

He came over and lowered himself onto the sofa, sitting upright and nodding.

“Okay, well- goodni-” Before she could finish, Metal’s eyes had gone dark. I guess that solves that. There was nothing more to do but turn in for the night.

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

The following morning, Amy was startled out of her usual groggy walk into the kitchen when she noticed Metal Sonic’s sharp form sitting at the kitchen table, staring solidly out the back door.  She’d expected to have to wake him up or something but it looked like he had been there for some time. He turned to face her abruptly and her heart jumped once again. 

“Oh, you’re awake- good morning.” Amy chuckled awkwardly.  “Have you… been up long?”

Metal nodded. The morning sunrise activated his sensors. It was closer to 8 AM now and he’d been doing little more than sitting since dawn.

“Sorry, must have been boring.” Amy made her way past him and into the kitchen to make her quick breakfast of toast and coffee. Metal seemed to stare at her the entire time, which made her self-conscious. “I... don’t eat much in the morning,” she explained anxiously . Not sure why he’d care…

Metal Sonic had been analyzing Amy’s every move for the past several minutes. He spent his time awake pondering on the wistful feelings he’d experienced as they sat on the veranda late last night. The exploration of his memory was in vain and he instead tried to force himself to remember, but it was no use. Why was she so familiar? Perhaps observing her would jog his memory.

She took a seat across from him, eating uncomfortably as he looked through her. Amy tried her best to smile. “So, is there anything you’d like to do this morning?”

The robot finally broke his fierce concentration to respond by pointing at his left arm socket.

“Ah…” Amy answered hesitantly. “Tails hasn’t gotten back to me yet.”

He pointed down toward his foot instead.

Amy inhaled deeply, nervous about the prospect of trying to make repairs herself. But she had said they could try, so she agreed dubiously. “Let’s give it a shot.”

Metal turned his attention from her to the glass door where some movement caught his eye. Amy followed his gaze, spotting a small bluebird landing on one of her lawn chairs.

“Wow, it’s rare to see them out in the cold. I guess spring is around the corner.” Amy smiled warmly at the sight. It had been an unusually long winter and the small snowstorm that passed the night before wasn’t exactly indicative of the cold subsiding. Yet the evening frost now began puddling over the otherwise tropical scenery. It was always the coldest just before seasons changed. She turned back to her guest enthusiastically. “Let’s fix that leg of yours!”

Optimism soon turned to frustration, however, as the tangle of wires and bent hinges that held the robot’s foot in place confounded her. The neat little workstation she’d set up on her kitchen table was now a messy array of tools and bolts. She’d managed to worsen the damage in the process, but any time Metal would make a sound or reach toward something Amy would huff and snatch tools out of his hand. Getting annoyed himself, Metal finally resolved to pull his entire leg away to keep her from making it any worse. Amy refused to let go of his foot, however, and the last of the wires that were holding the appendage in place finally snapped, severing his foot off his body completely. 

“Ugh- look what you made me do!”

Metal let out a series of high and low beeps that were meant to offend. She returned that with a sour look.

“I told you to sit still! Ugh!” Amy shoved the severed foot into his grasp and stomped into her bedroom. Metal could hear crashing as she grumbled and pushed things around her storage closet roughly. The girl stormed back into the room with an enormous roll of duct tape and knelt back beside Metal. “Give me your foot, I’m fixing this for good,” she demanded.

Metal emitted a low grumble. He held his foot above his head, out of her reach.

“You think I can’t reach up there?” Amy stared for a moment, challenging Metal. Then she suddenly shot back up and lunged for his hand. “Quit being stubborn and let me fix it!”

He was the stubborn one? Enraged, he extended his arm up towards the ceiling, playing keep away. She tugged fruitlessly on the telescopic cable. 

“You wanna lose another arm?!” 

Before he could make a response, Amy’s communicator rang from the other room. They both turned their attention in the direction of the jingle. Amy let out a frustrated sigh and tossed the roll of duct tape aside to answer the call as Metal watched her disappear wordlessly past the door. While she lingered there for a few minutes, he pulled his arm back and sat silently once more. He looked from his dismembered foot to the shiny duct tape and back again. He supposed it would be better than nothing.

Amy sauntered back into the living room area with her nose up. “That was Tails. Lucky for you, he’s an actual engineer and he can actually fix you.” She crossed her arms defensively.

Metal Sonic rolled his eyes but reluctantly offered his foot back to her.

“Did you just- You’ve been sitting here expressionless for a whole day and the first emotion you show is that?” She snatched his foot out of his grasp. “Unbelievable.” Amy continued muttering under her breath while she taped his leg and foot back together. “There! Not that it matters, Tails is about to fix it anyway,” she scoffed. “At least it won’t fall off on the way there…”

He looked down at his “repaired” foot. It did seem to at least be attached to him, which was marginal improvement. Metal stood up slowly, attempting to disperse his weight evenly. It was a bit shaky and he couldn’t exactly bend his ankle, but he managed to limp around rather than drag his foot behind him. 

“Well?” Amy looked at him inquisitively.

Metal reached for the little whiteboard that he’d left on the kitchen counter. He set it in front of him and scribbled something down quickly, holding it up for Amy to see. He turned away as he did, seemingly embarrassed. “THANK YOU” it read in slightly less neat handwriting than usual.

Amy’s cheeks puffed when she saw it. Her face flushed and she, too, avoided eye contact. “You’re welcome.” She pouted, her cheeks growing ever warmer as she realized what an outburst she’d had. “And, you know… sorry,” she finally added.

Stubborn, Metal Sonic added to his description of Amy Rose in his memory bank. Temperamental. He looked back down at his foot, noticing how neatly she had wrapped the tape around him- smooth, with no folds or creases. Well-meaning, he appended. The fix wasn’t perfect but it was certainly more comfortable than the alternative. Thoughtful.

Amy composed herself, releasing a deep sigh. “Grab your jacket and your arm. Let’s head to Tails’ place so he can get you fixed up for real,” she smirked. She knew her solution was janky, but genuinely hoped it would at least help keep him together. 

Metal Sonic complied with this. He found his arm strewn into the corner of the storeroom and gave Amy a bit of a side eye, knowing she’d knocked it there in her earlier rage. She pretended not to notice this. He was about to head out the front door when Amy stopped him. “You’re not going to wear your jacket? I know you don’t get cold, but…”

He looked to the coat rack where he’d placed it the evening before. It didn’t agree with his telescopic arm when it was extended so he opted to remove it before helping Amy clean up her closet. 

“I’ll help you get it on if you want.”

He nodded back, dropping his other arm momentarily as she slid it over him and zipped the front. Amy smiled at him then with unexpected warmth. 

She was musing silently about his change in character. Overnight, Metal went from a nightmarish enemy to a placid houseguest. Amy thought he could be reprogrammed into becoming her ally, but was now realizing that this robot with all his hinges and bolts was a bona fide person. She’d always thought he was angry by default, encountering him only in battle or other tense situations; but seeing how Metal could become elated and annoyed and show gratitude gave her hope that he wasn’t just an emotionless machine to be modified. Instead, he was a potential new friend.