#if you think John was a good father however I think you might just be bad at watching tv. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

clxja16 · 1 year ago

Text

Enough

Charles Leclerc X Wolff!Reader

Genre: betrayal (?)

Warnings: I think there's some swearing, angst

Word Count: 5K+

Author's Note: Okay you guys voted for this one, and honestly I thought that the fake dating trope was going to win but I guess not. also I kind of need help with the genre, because its not really forbidden lovers. Like is there a genre of your parents betraying your trust in the name of protecting you??? but anyway lmk what you guys think. Actually please tell me what you think, because I'm scared I made this too dramatic. enjoy though <3

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

You lingered in one of the back halls before the start of qualifying. It was the Austrian Grand Prix. You looked around making sure that no one was in sight. Charles started to giggle at your antics of keeping this under wraps. You pulled at him, trying to push him right out the door.��

“Go back to your garage,” you say gently pushing Charles further out the back entry of the Mercedes garage.

“After I get a good luck kiss?” Charles asks, as he holds his hands up in surrender.

You shake your head at him, before saying, “quickly, before someone sees us,” pulling Charles into a kiss, by his race suit. Charles grabs your face with both hands, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss further. You pull away first, worried about who might catch you sneaking about the garage halls, “okay now go, I’ll see you tonight.”

Charles doesn’t let go of your face, pulling you back in for a quick peck on the lips, “okay I’m going.” Charles finally lets you go, and shoots you a quick wink before walking off.

You turn back around to take your place in the garage next to your father, when you hear him calling out for you. You look back to see Charles has walked just far enough away to be out of sight, as your father turns the corner to come face to face with you. You let out a breath of relief that they missed each other. “y/n,” your father calls to your attention, “let’s get settled, qualifying is about to start.”

“Yes, daddy,” you answer, following after your father, to watch qualifying.

You have just finished your degree, a Masters in Business Administration from HBS and a Masters of Science from Harvard John A. Paulson SEAS. It took you nearly 5 and a half years to complete, but you did it regardless. Now, you attend the races to better learn how to apply the knowledge learnt in school to running a formula one team. This is all so that one day you will take over the formula one team from your father.

As you watched George and Lewis set out to do their first few qualifying laps of the session, you longed for it to be you in those cars. You really didn't dream of being behind the scenes, you dream of being up front and center, in the limelight, in the car. You wanted to set the fastest lap, you wanted to be getting grand prix victories, you wanted to win championships. However, you didn’t get a seat in formula 2, so your parents did the ‘reasonable’ thing and sent you off to school, instead of waiting around for the chance of a seat opening up.

“Look here,” your father spoke to you, as he pointed at some data on one of the many monitors in front of him.

“George is a tenth too early,” you say, trying your best to understand the data in front of you.

“Yes, exactly, good,” your father praises, before speaking with a couple of the race engineers. “Now we don’t want George to overly focus on what is going wrong, so we praise, advice and praise again.” You listen to the radio as the engineer, compliments George on his turn 3 and 4, critiques his turn 7, and compliments his turn 10 and 11. “When you take over, you have to remember that you are going to have to manage the drivers' psyche as well as their driving.”

“Father, I won’t be taking over for a long time, you’re gonna need to find someone in between you and me, to manage the team.”

“No,” your father declares, like his decision is final, “I will retire late, and you will start early.”

“Yes Father,” you say, no reason to start an argument now.

“Congratulations on another podium,” you spoke sweetly to Charles at the end of the Austrian grand prix weekend. You and him were hiding out in his hotel room, trying your best to stay away from the cameras, from fans and most importantly from your father.

“It’s only the second podium of the season,” Charles said as he dried his hair with the towel while walking out of the bathroom. “We’re so far behind this season, it’s laughable.”

“You could always make the move to Mercedes, Daddy would love to have you racing for him,” you say, as you wrap your arms around Charles, after he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

You can hear Charles chuckle a little, before turning around to face you. “Never,” he says with a smile, pushing you back down on the bed, kissing you deeply. You can’t contain the laughter that spills from your lips.

“We would make sure you win championships,” you argue, teasing Charles once again.

“And who’s giving up a seat for me?” Charles asks, as he moves from your lips down your neck, spreading his kisses all around.

“Lewis isn’t going to stay much longer,” you reveal.

“What?” Charles asked, as he pulled away to look at you. The seriousness setting in.

“Don’t say anything to anyone,” you start off, as you sit up in the bed, looking at Charles deeply, “Daddy offered Lewis another four years, Lewis said he only wanted to sign on for two more right now.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly, “believe it or not, Lewis does not reveal his intentions to me like you do.”

Charles cracks a smile hearing you tease, “well, maybe I could do Mercedes silver,” he says as he goes back to kissing you.

You and Charles spend the night together, as the two of you have done many times before. The next morning, you try to sneak out early enough where no one notices your empty hotel room. Charles makes your heart feel full, being around him makes you feel at peace, he wears your worries like his own. He’s everything you ever wanted and needed, and more. You know that there was no plausible way you could keep this a secret any longer. You love him too much to pretend nothing is going on. Although, you also know that your father would not be the happiest, he always said drivers weren’t the type of people you bring home. However Charles is different, you know he’s what you need, you know that you can bring him home.

When you did make it back to your own hotel room, you don’t think anyone checked in on the empty room. You made quick work of packing up your belongings, your father was flying out of Vienna this afternoon, to get a jumpstart on Silverstone. It being a home grand prix for both of your drivers, the entire week was packed with events. All events in which you had to attend.

After arriving in Silverstone, did you finally take a breather. George and Lewis both went to visit their families for the first day. This allowed you and your father to spend some time away from the race track. Father instead just went to the factory, and spent some time in the office. You on the other hand went out with Mamma, before she had to head down to Monza for the F1 Academy race.

“Mamma,” you called out to Susie, “do you think Daddy is serious about me taking over the team one day?”

Your question was enough to stop Susie in her tracks, “yes, I do think he’s serious about it.” She gave you a perplexed look. Your father has been talking about you taking over the team since you went off to college. He is determined that with his recommendation the board will approve for the team principal position.

“I don’t know if that’s what I want to do though,” you say truthfully. “I don’t know if I can handle being so close, but not being able to race.” As much as your mind was focused on being a team principal, your heart wanted to drive.

Susie came up to you, pushing your hair behind your ear, holding your face. She had a gentle smile on her face, but there was a sadness behind her eyes that you couldn’t place. “You are racing, if you take over the team, you are still a part of the race, but if you walk away, you will only be a spectator.”

You sigh, you know she’s right, “you’re right, like you always are.”

Susie laughs at your joke, “tell your Father because he never seems convinced that I’m always right.”

You laugh, as you and Susie enter the restaurant for lunch. “Mamma, can I ask you another question?”

“Of course sweetheart,” Susie answers worryingly, you are not normally this ominous.

“Would you be upset if I started seeing a driver?”

Susie doesn’t hide the shock on her face, after your question, “who is it?” She smirks at you, you weren’t the best at hiding your feelings from Susie. She was the first to know about your first boyfriend in High school. She was the first to know about the guy who cheated on you. She was the first to know about the college boy you wanted to bring home. And she was the first to know that none of them were enough to match you.

“It’s no one, it's just a hypothetical, Mamma.”

“Who, sweetheart?”

You debate for a second about how to answer, but you know you can’t lie. You gave away too much, and Susie knows you only use ‘hypothetical’ when it's real. “Charles.”

“Leclerc?” Susie doesn’t mask her shock for a single second.

“Mamma,” you whine at her reaction.

“Sweetheart, your father is gonna have an aneurysm when he hears this.”

“Mamma,” you whine again, this time more seriously, as you feel the water works coming on.

“Sweetheart?” Susie questions, her face going from shock to stone cold serious as she sees how upset you are. “This is serious.”

You sigh, “I really like him, Mamma. He makes me very happy.” You look at Susie, and you don’t like the look she has even more.

She looks very seriously at you, while also having the ‘its not good’ look. “Your father is not going to like this,” she says honestly, “but,” you watch Susie as she begins to smile, “if you’re happy, that is what's important.”

You begin to smile as well, “Daddy will get over it right?”

“I hope so,” Susie says truthfully. You were Toto’s oldest, nothing would ever be good enough for you. You were his pride and joy, you were the first, and as the first, you are everything to your father. Susie knows this, and she knows that no matter how much Charles tries, Toto still won’t think he’s good enough for you.

Susie reminds you that the best way to handle this, is to inform your father sooner rather than later. You agree, but you want to make sure that you and Charles are on the same page as well. Thursday night, once again you are hiding out in Charles' hotel room, instead of staying in your own room. The two of you cuddle together on the bed as a movie plays on the TV.

“Charles,” you start off softly, afraid to disturb the delicate peace that’s settled across the room, “where do you see this going?”

“What do you mean by that?” Charles asked, as he glanced at you.

“Us, our relationship, where do you see it going?” You stared at Charles, while listening to his steady heartbeat.

“I don’t know,” Charles answers, his answer holds a brutal truth that you don’t like, you sit up to look at Charles, “but, I hope it goes far and long.” Charles continues to lay in bed while you stare at him, “ I hope that it gets out of hotel rooms, and garage halls, and private phone calls. I hope it gets you into some red Ferrari gear,” you smile at Charles’ preposterous hope, “I hope that it gets further than this. I love you y/n.”

“I love you too,” you reassure.

“Why do you ask me that ma chère?”

“I’m going to tell my father about us,” you say, “and your plans to move to Mercedes.” You just have to tease him a little bit.

Charles laughs at you, “you mean your plans to be a Ferrari fan from now on.” And he always knew how to handle your teasing.

You laugh going to kiss Charles, “that’s so much work,” you say with another kiss, “you should just switch teams.”

Charles laughs sarcastically, he loves the banter. “y/n,” he calls. It stops you, he never uses your name, “I really do love you.” He’s probably told you this same sentiment over a thousand times, but each time, it still feels like the first time.

Your cheeks hurt from how hard you’re smiling, “I love you too.” Somehow these ‘I love you's' are different, they’re more significant, more meaningful, more genuine, more heartfelt, more profound. They’re more serious, because they’re not just ‘I love you,’ they’re a promise, a commitment, a lifetime, together.

“Daddy, please can you be rational about this?” You ask as you follow your father about the Monaco home. Trying to get him to stop complaining about your choices in men.

“Why couldn’t you date George, at least you would still be supporting Mercedes,” your Father says as the two of you make your way into the kitchen to see Mamma and Jack.

“Mamma do you hear him?” You ask, indicating your father as ‘him.’ “George is very much in a relationship, Father”

“And what’s wrong with Lewis?” Your father clearly is not thinking about the age difference between you and Lewis.

You looked to Mamma to see if your father was serious, and even she was shocked with the suggestion, “you would be okay with me dating someone that is 14 years my senior?” you ask with a brow raised to your father, “you’ve convinced me Daddy, I will stop seeing Charles and start seeing Lewis.”

Your father sighs, “that is not what I…”

“Daddy, I invited Charles over for dinner, tomorrow night, that way you can properly meet him as my partner, instead of as a driver.” You tell your father, hoping that you're just imagining the steaming coming out of his ears, “one dinner, Daddy, that’s all. He makes me really happy.”

“Okay,” your Father says. You don’t miss the slight eye roll he gives though.

“Thank you Daddy,” you say, giving him a hug, before running off to your room like a teenage girl to call Charles and let him know about dinner tomorrow night.

After your father hears your bedroom door shut, does he turn to his wife. “Susie,” he calls out, still listening for you, to see if you were coming back out. “A word, privately.”

“Okay,” Susie answers a bit confused about the request, she turns to Jack, “why don’t you go play for right now.” Jack nods along excitedly, before running out the room. “Toto, what is it?”

“She can’t date Charles.” Toto says, turning his full attention to his wife.

“What?”

“Susie, I have seen the drivers in relationships. They have their girlfriend one weekend, then they have a club girl the next weekend, and then some lucky fan the following weekend. Charles is no different.” Toto doesn’t hold back in his recounting of the drivers stepping out on their partners, “y/n is gonna get hurt, and her entire image will be tainted by being cheated on by Charles.”

“Toto don’t you think you’re being a little unfair.” Susie tries her best to defend Charles, but she knows Toto is telling the truth. She’s seen it too, from a number of drivers amongst the ranks throughout the years.

“Charles is a hell of a driver, but I'm not gonna allow him to ruin my daughter.” Toto declares as final, “we need to find a way to stop them from seeing each other before the public catches wind of their relationship.”

“Toto,” Susie takes a breath, if they do this, they would have to tread very carefully, or they could end more than just your relationship with Charles. “If she ever finds out that we are interfering in her life like this, she won’t forgive us, she's not a kid anymore.”

“She wasn’t a kid when we pulled her from racing,” Toto drags up a long forgotten and regretted moment, “we do what we have to, to protect our children, regardless of how it may look.”

“We’ll need to play this close to the vest.”

To say the evening was filled with tension and awkwardness would be an understatement. Your father continuously gave Charles dirty looks throughout the night, and you wanted to slap him for being so childish. Susie was pleasant throughout the evening. Jack was just being Jack. He probably talked the most, asking Charles about what it was like to be a real race car driver.

“This is a very lovely meal,” Charles says to Susie. You appreciate him trying his best to not ruffle your father’s feathers.

“Thank you Charles,” Susie appreciates the compliments. She doesn’t know what is best, because Toto is determined to stop you and Charles from seeing each other.

“Charles, did you ever pee in the car?” Jack asks, as he shovels another pile of food in his mother.

“Jack,” you say in a scolding manner, while Charles just laughs at the question.

Charles has to take a sip of water before answering, “I try my best to make sure I use the bathroom before I get into the car.”

“Enough questions Jack,” you say to your little brother, getting irritated with how much he was talking.

“I just wanted to ask the racecar driver,” Jack pouts. He makes that face with an exaggerated frown, that almost makes you feel guilty.

“Jack, we’re all race car drivers. Me, Mamma and Daddy have all raced cars before and you never ask us.” you argue back, you almost feel stupid that you have to argue with a five year old.

“But you didn’t make it to formula 1,” Jack points out, and now you don’t feel guilty, you just feel sad that Jack had to point out one of your biggest regrets in life.

“Jack,” Susie says, scolding your brother.

“I didn’t know you raced,” Charles says, turning to look at you.

You smile, thinking back to the time, “Yeah, I did karting for years, then I did formula renault, F4 and F3.”

“Why did you stop?” Charles asks, wondering how you could give it up.

“I didn’t get a seat in Formula two, and the agreement was if I could get a seat I could race, but I wouldn’t pass up opportunities to race. I got into college, so I gave up racing and went back to school.” You reveal to Charles, he can hear the regret in your voice, but he chooses not to point it out. You don’t see that look Susie and Toto exchange when they hear your retelling of events.

“I see,” Charles says, “It’s a shame, I think you would’ve been a hell of a driver.”

You chuckle at Charles, “I would definitely have more wins than you by now,” you tease.

“Oh?” Charles smirks at you, “you would?”

“Of course I would, because I would be driving for Mercedes, for sure.” You chuckle at your own joke.

Charles shakes his head at you, his smile spreading far and wide. Susie watches you and Charles, she's been watching you throughout the night and she knows Charles is enough for you. She knows that this is your person, that they will never be another that will be able to compete with Charles. It's him or nothing.

You skip the Hungarian grand prix, especially as the media releases pictures of you and Charles, going back to the Monaco Grand Prix. Your father thought it best that you stay home, he wasn’t sure how people would react to the relationship news. You spent a few days before your father left for Hungary, arguing with him that it was unfair to bench you, because of the possibility that fans won’t like the news.

Clearly, your father won that argument as you sat at home in Monaco, watching the sessions through the TV, instead of being there in person. What Toto doesn’t tell you, is that he wants you home, so that he can meet with Fred without you getting suspicious.

After the qualifying session, Toto asked Fred, the team principal of Ferrari, to join him for dinner. As the two men met away from the paddock, away from the cameras, from the drivers, from the team. They sat in a private dining room, in an elite restaurant. Only here did Toto feel comfortable asking what he was about to ask.

“What are we doing here Toto?” Fred asks, as he sips the beer he ordered. Fred wouldn’t say it, betraying his French roots, but he always preferred a bottle of beer over a glass of wine.

“Fred, I have a favor to ask,” Toto requests, he ignores his gut feeling telling him that this is wrong, and continues on, “I want you to delay Charles' contract signing.”

“Why would I do that?” Fred asks, delaying a contract signing seems like it’s not a big deal, but there's many implications to what that could mean.

“You would do it, because then I will be in debt to you,” Toto says, he's thought about this, he knows his way through a negotiation.

“Okay,” Fred says, he has a reason to do so, but what is Toto’s reason for asking? “Now why do you need me to do this?”

Toto sighs, “y/n.”

“Your daughter, I saw the news about her Charles,” Fred pauses, taking another sip of the beer, “well actually Charles told me about the relationship back in Miami.”

“Miami?” Toto questions, “she didn’t tell me until after silverstone.”

“Charles said he wanted me to know before the public knew, would like to know what else he said?”

“What?” Toto sighs, once more.

“Charles said he wants to do this right, that he is serious about her,” Fred offers.

“We’ve both heard drivers say one thing and do another,” Toto fixes his posture, sitting up in the chair, “I won’t allow my daughter’s image to be run through by Charles.”

“So you want me to delay a contract signing, to do what? So you can scare Charles into picking a seat over your daughter? And what happens when he picks your daughter over his seat?” Fred sits up in his chair as well, looking Toto square in the eyes.

“If he picks my daughter over his seat, then I know he’s serious about her,” Toto stands upm buttoning his jacket, “but we both know he won’t do that.” Toto sticks out his hand for Fred to shake.

Fred stands to shake Toto’s hand, “this doesn’t mean I agreed to anything.”

“You will agree,” Toto smiles, a little amused at the situation, “we both know me in debt to you is too valuable to pass up.”

Since the news of your relationship has been made public, you and Charles are seen together around the paddock during the Belgian Grand Prix a lot more. Although you guys did try to keep it as professional as possible, there weren't any public displays of affection between the two of you. However, that went straight out the window after the race podium celebration.

Instead of watching the podium you stayed in the garage with your father, since there wasn’t a Mercedes on the podium. As soon as Charles was done with the podium celebration, he ran straight into the Mercedes garage to collect a celebratory kiss from you. His, sweaty, champagne-covered, sticky self, pulling you into a tight hug with a deep kiss. He had one arm wrapped around your waist, while his other hand held onto his trophy. You were taken aback by the initial kiss, but soon you cupped his cheek and held him close.

Charles would’ve kissed you longer, but he could feel the cameras on the two of you. When he finally did pull away, you were a giggling mess that you didn’t even notice the cameras at first. “Let’s go,” Charles whispers to you, “let’s get out of here.”

You wanted desperately to leave right then and there with Charles, “I can’t,” you say. You watch his smile drop just a little, “I have work to finish,” you say while giving the side eye to where your father sat in the Mercedes garage, watching you and Charles. “And you have a press conference.”

“Okay, after that then.” Charles says, kissing you on the cheek this time.

“After that.”

That night, while you and Charles celebrated his podium finish, the picture of you and him making out in the Mercedes garage after his podium celebrations, hit social media. That photo is more talked about than Max’s 8th grand prix win in a row. That photo is in all the group chats around the paddock. That photo makes it to the official formula 1 social media pages. And the biggest take away is your father’s face in the background of the photo. Everytime you look at it, you laugh knowing that your father most likely made that face subconsciously.

Since summer break has begun, you spend more time with Charles than at home with your family. Today, you just so happen to need a few things from your closet, that you stopped in the Monaco home. That is when you could overhear your parents talking in your father’s office.

“We need to be more discreet about this now,” your father says to Mamma.

“Toto, I don’t think this is right. It’s not fair to y/n or Charles,” Susie says. Normally you wouldn’t eavesdrop on your parents, but the mention of you and Charles caught your attention.

“I am trying to protect our daughter,” Toto says, and you can’t help but think. What is your father trying to protect you from?

“This isn’t protecting her, this is your fear about what could happen,” Susie says. You can hear in your mamma voice, she’s getting defensive.

“Like how your fear pulled her from racing,” Toto says in a raised voice. You’re completely confused as to what your father could mean with that statement.

There’s a pause. It goes silent for a second, and you listen closer. “I was saving her life, we weren’t sure what the FIA would do after Jules.” There’s a pain in Susie’s voice.

“Safety measures were put in place,” Toto argues.

“After you pushed back on them.”

“I have changed my position on the halo, you know that,” Toto says. Even though the wood doors separate you from seeing your parents, you can clearly imagine what this fight is looking like.

“After Lewis almost dies!” Mamma never shouts, is your singular thought after hearing that statement. “What if you had gotten your way and the halo was never placed? What if it was our daughter in that car? I pulled her from racing to save her life, because you sure as hell wasn’t going to do it.” Susie pulls open the office door to see you standing on the other side. You watch her face drop from anger to sadness quickly. “Sweetheart…”

“Mamma… you pulled me from racing?” You question as the tears begin to well in your eyes.

“Sweetheart…” Susie repeats, shes at a complete loss for words.

“You told me that I wasn’t picked up for a seat.” you take a breath before you start crying, “was that the truth?”

“Darling,” Toto calls out to you.

“Was it the truth?” You ask again, this time you make the hurt evident in your voice, “you told me a team didn’t want to pick me for F2, was that the truth?”

“You weren’t anybody’s first choice,” Susie pauses, “but you were on the list.” You feel your break, as you start to cry. “We worked a few negotiations to ensure that you didn’t get picked. We worked to pull you from racing.”

You were a hyperventilating mess, you couldn’t stop the tears, the sobs, the heartbreak from happening. “You told me…You told me, if I earned my seat without you or daddy interfering I could keep racing. You promised that you would let me race.”

“We wanted to protect you, we didn’t want what happened to Jules.”

“Don’t you dare,” you snap at Susie, “don’t use what happened to Jules as an excuse.” You walked away, racing up the stairs. Towards your bedroom, you could hear your parents rushed footsteps as they followed after you. You began to shove clothes into a bag, as you tried to violently wipe away the tears.

“Where are you going?” Your father asks in a calm voice.

“I’m gonna stay with Charles for a while.” When you mention Charles, you remembered the beginning of the conversation. You stopped packing your clothes. Slowly you turned to face your parents. “What did you do?”

“Excuse me?” your father questions.

“What did you do to Charles? Mamma said it wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, whatever you were doing. What did you do to Charles daddy?” You’re out of breath, you fear whatever your father has to say.

You watch as your father sighs, he hangs his head. “I asked Fred to delay his contract signing. Ferrari wants to keep Charles, they’re going to give him whatever he wants. I asked for Fred to just hold off on signing the contract.”

You scoff at the revelation. “Just long enough to scare Charles into picking a seat over me. This is rich from the both of you.”

“Sweetheart…” Susie calls out to you as she reaches to hold you.

“Don’t touch me,” you snap once again. You couldn’t tell if you were really angry or sad or shocked, but you did know you were just hurt. Your parents had taken away your dreams, and they were trying to take away your love. “You took away racing,” you take a breath, you strip away all the excess, you let them hear the hurt in your voice, “I won’t let you take Charles away too.”

When you do make it Charles’ place. When he opens the door for you, he sees you silently crying and shaking. Your voice is hoarse already, that it’s only a whisper when you ask, “can I stay with you for a few days?”

“Of course,” Charles says as he welcomes you inside. When he finally closes the door, you drop your bag to the floor, and just hold onto Charles tightly. He wraps his arms around you, providing you with the comfort you longed for.

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

Part II

#formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #charles leclerc #formula 1 au #formula 1 angst #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #scuderia ferrari #f1 ferrari #f1 charles leclerc #charles leclerc au #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc angst #toto wolff #toto wolff daughter #toto wolff au

2K notes · View notes

loveindefinitely · 11 months ago

Text

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

05 — THESE THINGS EAT AT YOUR BONES

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

You were seventeen when you enlisted.

Obviously, you had to lie about your age – just a year off, not a drastic difference. The recruiters wouldn’t care enough to double check, anyways. Anyone willing to join their forces was good enough in their books.

You’d been desperate, desperate for a sense of community, for a home, for something to occupy your time with.

Things hadn’t been easy after your mother had passed.

She’d raised you on her own; having taken you from your father before you could realise what a father was. Said he was a bad man, didn’t deserve an angel like yourself. Sometimes, you wished that you’d known him, or at least had a father figure to look up to.

That was rare, however. Your mother had done a great job in raising you – making sure you had morals and looked out for others. Always had a roof over your head, food made with love in your tummy.

It was only three months prior to your enlistment that she passed.

While you were at school, she was shot and killed in your childhood home. The day you walked through that front door, backpack a hefty weight on your shoulders, and saw her wide-eyed corpse on the living room carpet, was the day that a piece of you died.

That night, with the cool fabric of the paramedic’s shock blanket around your frame, you looked up what happens after you die with shaky, blood-stained hands. A question you hadn’t had to consider. Not until then.

The police wrote down your stilted words in their government-issued notepads, attempts of sympathy on their faces.

All you could focus on was the tap tap tap of your foot against the carpet, the chewed up flesh of your inner cheek, and the burning of your eyes.

You had, thankfully, managed a choked up explanation of what you’d seen.

“I came home. From school. She was just. There. On the carpet. Her eyes were open,” you managed to whisper, eyes remaining in your lap.

“How did you feel when you saw her?” The officer asked.

You had half the mind to ask him that very same question. You didn’t, of course.

“I felt that she deserved a better death than this. Sir.”

The time after that passed in quick, blurry memories. A hand on your shoulder here, a trauma nurse there, all the while your mind could only supply you with the image of the one person you had. Gone.

“Here.”

You’d looked up with bloodshot eyes and chapped lips. The man looked to be in his late forties, with greying hair and saggy features. In his hands was a steaming cup of tea – extended towards you. With trembling fingers, you took it from the man.

“Thank you,” you’d murmured, before blowing across the liquid with a soft breath. It rippled with the flowing air, tea leaves simmering on the bottom. If you looked hard enough, you could make out a tree.

“Is it alright if I join you?” He asked, gesturing to the chair in front of you. You nodded, and he moved to get comfortable in his seat, eyes remaining on you. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

That was, funnily enough, the first time you’d heard those words said to you.

“I’m Herschel Shepherd,” the man supplied, with a small, comforting smile. He extended a weathered hand to you, and after a moment, you accepted it with a light shake. “I think I might know who’s responsible for your mother’s death.”

You swallowed. “What? Are you,” you worked your heavy tongue, “Are you in the FBI?”

He loosed a hearty chuckle at that, before shaking his head. “No, kid. I’m a bit higher up than that.”

You didn’t have it in you to push. Not then, not with the smell of blood a consistent rot in your nose. You just nodded, accepting that explanation, squeezing your hands together for comfort.

“There’s been some rumours,” Shepherd leaned his elbows against his knees, lowering himself to meet you at eye level. “Of a secret organisation, searching and killing those affiliated with the army. Especially those who served, and then ran.”

Your brows furrowed, mouth opening and closing around nothing. “What does this have to do. With anything – my mum, she wasn’t –”

“She was, kid,” Shepherd interrupted with a raised hand. “She was a renowned Lieutenant. Served for ten years.”

Tap tap tap, your foot goes.

“She would’ve told me,” you managed out, throat choking up and nostrils flaring. “She wouldn’t have hid that from me. I’d know. You’re lying.”

“She didn’t tell you to keep you safe,” he urged, resting his hand on your bouncing knee in comfort. “But… This is more than just her. This is an attack on our country, on you, kid. I’m investigating this group, their ideals, their plans. You can help.”

You shook your head adamantly. “No. This has nothing to do with me.”

“It has everything to do with you,” Shepherd immediately retorted, and you felt your chest caving in, your shoulders deflating. “It’s up to you. I hope to see you in my regiment, kid.”

Then, he’d stood, and dropped a card onto your lap. Without another word, he left.

It was later that night, when you found yourself near passing out, that you’d read his business card. It had his name, his title – Lieutenant General – and a regiment. You weren’t sure how any of it worked, if you could do this, if you were made for something like the army. That night, you’d studied and watched and learned everything you could about his regiment.

Three months later, you’d stood before him, gun in hand.

He just smiled, knowingly, and clapped a hand on your shoulder. He leaned down and whispered, “Together, we’ll avenge her.”

And you did, under his wing. You set things right.

Your ears ring, the bumps of the vehicle doing nothing to snap you out of your daze. It’s like your insides have turned inside out, every molecule of liquid evaporated with a single name.

“He’s a good man,” you manage to say, breaking the stunned silence of the 141. You don’t dare to look up, to see their expressions, their apprehension. “He saved me. Multiple times. He wouldn’t hurt anyone without a reason, he wouldn’t.”

Even as you say the words, try and plead, you find yourself losing faith. It’s a devastating thing, one that has you wanting to wretch your near-empty stomach.

“We did some digging,” Price murmurs, sounding sorrowful and almost guilty. “We found the truth.”

The entire time that Price retells the intel he and ‘Laswell’ found, you find yourself falling deeper and deeper into your pit of despair. Like you’re clawing with your nails to get out, yet all you’re finding is unrelenting stone, breaking the keratin with every scratch.

By the time that all the information has been told, your body feels as though it’s frozen.

It isn’t until you feel a thumb wipe against your cheek that you realise you’re crying. Finally, finally, you look up, and meet Soap’s mirthful eyes. His thumb is rough where it wipes away your tears, gathering the salty liquid against the ridges of his fingertips.

Could it get worse than this? Worse than being told that the only other man in your life – the only other person you’d trusted – was a bad man? Working with Graves? How hadn’t you known? Why hadn’t Graves told you –

Why. Why. Why?

“He was the closest thing I had to a father,” you manage, feeling almost manic with it. “He – he and Graves, they’re all I have, I can’t, you can’t–”

You barely manage to open the small window before you’re hurling your empty guts, nothing coming out but air and some bile burning the back of your throat. Your throat, eyes, your entire body aches.

Two large hands rub at your back, and you can hear words being said, but you can’t understand them, can’t hear anything but a low buzz in the back of your mind. Your breath comes out in loud, sharp pants, and you can’t help but sniffle as tears roll down your cheeks and drip from your chin.

Your entire life has just been flipped on its head, and you can’t handle it. You are a Colonel, you’re supposed to be impenetrable, but this, this is everything you ever had. Gone with a few words, a single mission.

“It’s okay, lass, fuck,” you can finally make out Soap saying, recognising one of the hands as his. It’s an, admittedly, comforting weight, one that you find yourself leaning back into. “Steamin’ Jesus.”

“Kyle, do you have water?” Price calls out to the front, and soon, a hand directs your head to enter the van once more, an opened water bottle being pressed to your lips. Price holds it, his hand stroking the back of your neck in support. “Have a drink, darlin’,” he encourages, tilting your head back as you swallow the ice-cold water. “There we go,”he murmurs, his touch unrelenting.

“You good, love?” Gaz calls from the front, brows furrowed where he’s half-watching in the rearview mirror.

All you can give him is a small, weak nod, but he seems to accept it.

Your mind is spinning at a mile per minute, shuddering when Price pulls the bottle away and Soap continues to rub your back in calming circles. This is, you think, the one time you’ll allow yourself to be comforted by them. This was already crossing too many of the boundaries you’d put up in your head, a clear violation of the separation you’d planned out.

Ghost, true to his name, remains still where he sits in front of you, calculating as he stares you down.

“What are the chances,” he begins, focus remaining on you even if everyone else’s is suddenly on him, “That General’s personal pet is also Graves’ girl who had a change of heart?”

“Si–” Soap begins, before Ghost cuts him off.

“How do we know she’s not a fuckin’ spy,” he spits out, glaring at you with everything he has, “And we’ve been too fuckin’ stupid to figure it out!”

You’re not in control of your body, at this point. Your emotions are.

With one breath, you pull out the blade hooked to your hollister, grip it in a fist, and grab the scruff of Ghost’s uniform and pull him close. Grabbing his hand, you slide the knife into it, grabbing his wrist, pulling it forward so the knife is pressed against your neck.

“Kill me,” you breathe, chest heaving, eyes burning with rage, “Kill me if you think I’m a spy. Slice the knife through my fucking throat, Lieutenant, do it.”

His irises are blown black, the white of his eyes stark against the grease paint smeared over his visible skin. You can feel his heavy breaths through his mask, brushing against your snarled lips. You pull him even closer, your fist unrelenting against the fabric of his uniform.

There’s an uproar around you, Soap yelling something to you both, Price trying to tug you away by his grip on your upper arm, Gaz trying to both focus on not crashing and whatever the hell is happening behind him.

You’re strong, however. Trained and built for hand-to-hand battle, and you don’t move an inch. Not when you’re so determined, so stubborn.

“Kill. Me.” You hiss, the words quiet enough to only be heard by the man holding a knife to your throat. You lean in closer, and you can feel a small trickle of blood fall down your bared neck, but it’s a thrilling type of pain.

“You’re a crazy bastard,” he spits back, but he notably eases the knife away from your skin. You just lean into it further, more blood being let. “If you keep tryna call bluffs like this, you’ll be sent home in a casket.”

“What home, Lieutenant?” You ask, almost desperate for his answer, a demand. You narrow your gaze, refusing to break eye contact. “If you can find where the fuck I belong, I’ll be happy to die within its walls.”

The two of you standoff, your eyes doing all the speaking, before Ghost allows the blade to fall from his grip, hitting the floor of the van with a clunk. “You win, Sweetheart,” he taunts, the words being breathed against your own mouth, mere millimetres apart. “Congratulations.”

You finally allow yourself to be pulled back, Soap shooting you a shell-shocked look, his jaw clenching as he looks between you both. Price finally eases his grip around your arm, barking, “Don’t pull that shit! One wrong move and –”

“My whole life has been one wrong move,” you grit out, falling back into your seat with shallow breaths. You drag your hand down your face, before resting against the sticky heat of your blood, pooling at the dip of your neck. “What’s one more?”

There’s no response. You don’t hope for one, don’t expect one, but it still leaves you unsteady. Unsure. Even when everyone just sits in an odd sort of limbo for a few minutes, you struggle to come down from that high, that overwhelming need for control.

“Here.”

When you look up, it’s to see Soap, a medkit in his lap. Price is sitting on the other side next to Ghost, talking quietly to him, stern expressions displayed on them both. They seem lost in conversation – a serious one, considering your current situation.

“What’re you doing?” You find yourself asking, watching as he rips open an alcoholic wipe and takes it out, your leg bouncing. He gives you a friendly smile, this side of hopeful.

“Patchin’ ye up, Sweetheart. Goes both ways,” he explains, and your eyes go glassy once more. “Can aye fix ye up?”

You don’t trust your words, so you simply nod, tilting your head back. You find yourself rocked by the rhythm of Gaz’s driving, finding solace in the comfort of semi-safety. Although not as safe as you would’ve been at Graves’ base, there was a sense of… protectiveness that came with being with the 141.

Wincing, you grit your teeth as Soap cleans up the blood from your throat, his gentle ministrations so at odds with his bumbling, charismatic character. He’s precise, careful to not hurt you too much, delicate movements made by harsh hands.

“You sure do like playin’ with fire, lass,” he murmurs, swiping the last bits of drying blood from the hollow of your throat, the tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips. “Can respect that.”

“I’m sorry for… that,” you sigh, watching as he deposits the used wipe into a hazard bag. Good practice, you think, prioritising avoiding any bloodborne diseases. You’re silently impressed. “Didn’t mean to lose my shit. Just. A lot.”

“I know,” he returns, earnest, opening a bottle of sanitary cream and swiping some onto his finger, bringing it to soothe over your small wound.

“I don’t know who to trust.”

Those words aren’t exactly good ones to say, not to a borderline enemy with his hands on your neck. But it feels like an otherworldly force makes you say them, makes you expose yourself even further to this man. Maybe a taunt, maybe a small punishment for saving his life.

He pauses, but quickly covers up his hesitation with returned fervour. “I don’t envy ya, hen. It’s an absolute shitshow. But…” he grabs some medical tape, cutting it to length to put over your wound. Apparently it’s worse than you’d thought. “Ye heard what happened. Shepherd, Graves, they’re not worthy of ya.”

That gives you pause. Worthy. What made someone worthy? What kind of clarifications?

Did he think he was worthy? Ghost? Price? Gaz?

“You think I’m better than the General?” You raise a brow, attempting to goad him, spark that flame of banter that always seemed to haunt the Scot.

“I know ye are. Seen it with my own eyes.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“We’re nearly back at the safehouse,” Gaz calls from the front, tapping his hands against the steering wheel to a silent rhythm. Price grunts out a reply, and Ghost remains silent, watching. Always watching.

Finishing up his quick first aid job, Soap tilts your head back down with a grip on your chin, his thumb stroking along your bottom lip. “There we go, Sweetheart. Good as new,” he whispers, the corner of his lips tilting into a kind grin.

“How’s the arm?” You find yourself asking, looking to the bandaged ligament. “Feeling alright?”

“Definitely better than if aye’d let it get infected,” he hums, looking down to his arm. “Once this blows over, nurses on base will sort it out.”

You hadn’t noticed before, but you realise that his thigh is pressed against yours, and your leg has stopped bouncing. No more tap tap tap. Just… the feel of fabric against your own, heated by the flesh underneath. The comforting touch of another human, not sexual, not for any reason but to simply… exist.

Ten minutes pass of comfortable silence between you both, before the vehicle comes to a stop, Gaz turning off the engine with a turn of his keys, unbuckling his seat belt and hopping out of the car.

“Out we get,” Price says to you all, gentler than he’d been before. The doors burst open, Gaz flinging the keys back to his Captain, urging the four of you to hop out and head in.

You’re the last to get out, Gaz extending a calloused hand for you to take, ever the gentleman. Accepting it, you jump down, looking to the awaiting men. The Los Vaqueros are rushing inside, talking amongst themselves, relief thick in their words, hands being slapped against each other’s backs.

Price is looking at you as he says, “I think we have a call to make.”

As it turns out, the call is to the last person on Earth you want to talk to right now. In the middle of the same table you’d stood beside Rudy at, mere hours ago, is a computer.

One with General Shepherd’s face on it.

Price had given you the mercy in deciding whether you’d show yourself or not. You still hadn��t made the choice, instead standing off to the side, Gaz and Soap at either side of you. Alejandro stands at the right of the table, and Ghost has his arms folded over his chest at the left.

“You hid this,” Price grips the table, livid, “Why.”

Not a question, not really, more of a command than anything. An order from a Captain.

Shepherd’s response has your blood running cold, reality finally cementing inside of yourself. You claw at your palms when he responds, drily, “We all keep secrets, Captain.”

And, oh, what a slap in the face that is.

“Why the hell wasn’t I informed?” Price snaps, his shoulders rising and falling with each barely restrained breath. He seems to fill out his uniform more than he had before, in the dim light of the room.

The boarded up window allows for a small sliver of sunset to cast against all of you, a small joy in the darkness of the safehouse. And the situation at hand.

“Consider yourself well informed now, John,” Shepherd’s tone lowers, more grating, forceful.

“Oh, that's really fuckin' helpful, General. Thank you. But you're a day late and a missile short. There's three of them – we only found two.”

“Then point yourself in that direction, and fix it,” Shepherd booms, and you can’t help the instinctual flinch of your body. You’d grown up being frightened of his raised voice, the threat that came along with it. Even in the safety of this house, you can’t help your response.

Price scoffs a laugh with no humour, his mouth falling into a grim, dangerous line. “And who fixes you, eh?”

You can hear, more than see, Shepherd’s returning snarl. “I don’t need fixing. I’m a patriot protecting my country.”

Gaz and Soap share a look above your head, but you don’t care, not now. Not when Price stands up, slamming his hand against the table, not when Alejandro curses under his breath.

Not when all you can think about is the empty promises Shepherd made.

“You’re protecting your own ass,” Price cusses, turning back to glare at the man on the screen.

“I do what needs to be done, and no one holds me down with a roll of red tape. I know what's best for the cause.”

Price chuckles, eyes a fire of fury, leaning down once more to the laptop. “You’ve lost your mind, General.”

“And you've forgotten what you're fighting for, John. To do good, you gotta do some bad. When we shit, we bury it, that's how it works,” Shepherd replies, hard and strong in his belief.

You’re at the verge of losing it.

“Yeah,” Price begins, before pointing his finger to the camera, “But we don’t bury each other with it, do we?”

“You need to turn off that side o' your head and face down the real enemy,” Shepherd warns, and it’s the final straw.

“Isn’t that what you told me, Herschel? That the organisation was the real enemy?” You quip, and for a minute, you wonder if he’s ended the call.

That is, until, a choked off voice filters in, “Kid?”

Rushing forward, you turn the laptop to face you, and your entire system seems to revolt as you see the man you once cared for like a father.

“Tell me that you didn’t betray them,” you hiss, leaning in closer, your entire face filling the screen. “Tell me that you didn’t ruin lives – tell me you didn’t make a deal with my Commander behind my back. Tell me, Herschel.”

“You wouldn’t understand –” he begins, but that’s all you needed to know.

Stepping away, you give him a final, cold smile. “Was it worth it?”

“What –” he starts once more, before you grab the handle of your gun, pulling it up to rest as a comforting weight in your hand.

“Was it worth ruining my life? Was it worth ruining this mission?”

“You’re just a kid.”

“I am a Colonel!” You shout, emotions bubbling over as you slam the gun onto the table, eyes blazing. “And when I find you, you’re going to wish you never fucked me over. What was your favourite method? Flaying? Dismemberment?”

“You’ve always been too soft and easy to manipulate,” Shepherd snaps back, voice booming through the speakers.

Your voice is as dangerous as you’ve ever heard it.

“Immolation? That was your favourite, wasn’t it?”

His eyes widen on the screen, seeming to understand, to seemingly take you seriously. Too late. Too fucking late.

“Let’s see if it’s still your favourite when it’s your turn to be the victim,” you slowly say, annunciating every word with clear speech. “Thank you for your teachings, General.”

With that, you slam the laptop screen shut, and prepare to face the fire.

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re @oreo-cream @lalashhyl @someonepleasedateme @letmeapologise @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @inarabee

author's note. im so hyped for all of the future plot points. and romance. ohmygod. yes, ghost does eventually come around. yes, he's the longest slow burn. yes, he's the most intense enemies to lovers. wbk. i also got covid so i have a lot of time to rot in bed and suffer while writing!! ALSOOO there is so much fire symbolism... ;)

your comments mean soso much to me, every time iread one i squeal and feel all excited!! thank u for ur support commenters, i DO read all of them. more than once. <3

623 notes · View notes

heavenlymorals · 5 months ago

Note

Hi! I really enjoy your posts and I was hoping to see if you can answer this question for me. I want to write an Arthur x reader fic, but I want to try writing a more canon Arthur instead of a fanon Arthur. So if you're able to, what do you think Arthur would be like as husband or partner? Thank you! 🩵🩵

Arthur as a Husband (Arthur x Fem! Reader)

Thank you so much ❤️ I'm glad you like my posts, that makes me happy ❤️❤️

And boy, that's kinda a loaded question considering how vast the Arthur x Reader side of the fandom is, so this might be a bit controversial but here we go:

Also, these are all of my thoughts based on my past posts on Arthur. None of them are actually canon as far as I know nor am I presenting them to be canon. These are all just my thoughts based on what I've noticed in the game.

I genuinely think that Arthur would be a great husband BUT he'd be a great husband in the context of the 1800s.

He would never lay his hands on you. He would never disrespect you. Any man try to do anything to you, Arthur would go ballistic. He'd always defend his wife from disrespect. He would always carry your luggage. He would always be a gentleman and assist you in getting on a horse or a wagon. He'd make sure you're comfortable in any way he can. He would never want you to over exert yourself. He would love you to the point of devotion and given how his devotion works for the gang, it'd be priceless. He'd make sure to treat you to the fullest on every date. He'd want to impress you. He would love you most ardently and most fully. If he had sons, he'd make sure to always set a good example on how men should treat their wives/partners.

Very sweet, I know, but again- this is in the context of the 1800s.

I think Arthur, give his attitudes regarding gender roles, would be suited with a woman who believes in the same thing, which given the time period wasn't rare.

Arthur would protect, provide, and do all the traditional things that men were expected to do and he'd do them well enough to where you would never have to worry about things like money, protection, or him taking care of you and honoring you. He'd love you to devotion.

But where he'd do a man's duty, he'd expect you to do the woman's duty, and just how he'd love you to devotion, he'd expect the same. He would never let you do "men's work" if he can help it, unless y'all are living in a super tough environment where you would need to help him here and there, but he'd still do the vast majority of the hard work, and he'd expect a clean place to live, food, and all that domestic stuff from you. If the both of you are able to connect with that dynamic, than Arthur would honestly be a phenomenal husband. He'd be the model husband in the traditional relationship.

I also think respect would be a big thing too. You'd probably both tease each other and love it, but there has to be respect and understanding otherwise he would go off. Note how quick he was able to go off and raise his voice at Mary when she started disrespecting his life style yet chooses to want to use the skills he attained from that lifestyle to help her with her father. He also does it in public where everyone could hear and he only stops when he sees that it was deeply distressing to Mary after she asks him to be kind to her. I realized pretty quick that Arthur is not as patient or pacified as John when Abigail chews into him.

However, I also think he'd be very understanding and open minded to you if you seriously want to talk to him. Communication would be key between both of you and he'd try to understand your thoughts as best as he can and try to make you happy if he could, but again, he'd also expect the same of you.

It's a two way street in different ways. That's the best way I can put it. He'd love you to devotion, given that both of you are comfortable and happy with that traditional dynamic. Arthur would protect you, provide for you, make sure you are always comfortable and never destitute, and in return, he'd expect you to be there for him.

Hope you enjoyed that ❤️ And again, these are just my thoughts based on what I've noticed in canon. Happy writing! ❤️❤️❤️

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #character analysis

136 notes · View notes

brotherwtf · 3 months ago

Note

Age gap clegan got me like 😳😳😳 size difference/experienced John + innocent gale… phew

maybe for some angst John has a drinking problem/some demons Gale doesn’t know about/he comes home drunk and is a little rough in bed which triggers Gale a bit. Cue John reassuring him daddy wouldn’t ever hurt his boy 🥵 and a lavish body worship session. (after sex they have a talk about boundaries and how Gale is in control at all times, and establish what amounts to a safe word lol)

SAME got me blushing and twirling my hair every time I talk about it

(prepare to be sick of me, got a lot of stuff cued up for this age gap au)

I fully think John might kind of lay off on drinking for a little while when he starts dating Gale, no need to put him back through that trauma he basically rescues him from, but there are times when he just needs a drink. Be it a long day of work or something of the sort, he just needs something strong to wash it down. It was a habit he was trying to break, but he still found himself reaching for the bottle when he had a rough day

He never does it at the house, doesn't want the smell of it to trigger Gale, but one time he drinks too much. Stumbles home and when he sees Gale all he can think about is how darn pretty he looks, how he can't believe that he's all his.

Gale would smile when he sees John, would ask how his day went, and John would kiss him immediately, shoving him against the wall to lay claim on him. Gale can't quite catch up, lips falling sloppy on top of Johns, but he likes when John is a little rough with him.

It's only when John pins Gale's hands against the wall and Gale can taste the whiskey on his tongue that Gale starts to not like John's roughness. His father once shoved him into the wall, forced Gale to stay down while he used his belt, and the smell of whiskey and the proximity of John's heavy body was making Gale squirm.

He pulls away and forces John to stop, almost has to shout for John to get off of him, but as soon as John realizes he is fucking devastated that he ever would cause Gale to relive what he went through, literally falls to his knees and begs Gale to yell at him, to tell him off or force him away, he just feels so bad

of course Gale knows that John didn't mean anything by it, just tells him not to be so rough when he's been drinking, reminds him too much of home, and John continues to just beg for forgiveness

DADDY KINK TIME SOUND THE ALARM

sometimes when John's had something to drink, Gale gets so in his head that it reminds him of his father, he knows he can ask John to stop but he feels too good with what Johns doing to ask him to

thinking maybe he calls John "daddy" when he's telling Gale how good he's doing, how well he's taking him, and it dislodges something in his brain because he never got any sort of praise at home, makes him feel protected

and of course John latches onto that immediately, tells Gale how he's going to take care of his boy, won't ever hurt him, will spoil him however he likes, maybe he'll draw Gale a bath after this? and Gale's mind is going so fuzzy bcs someone almost his father's age is treating him with the love and appreciation he craved so much as a child

John of course talks about taking care of his boy all of the time, won't ever let anything happen to him, he's going to be okay :((

age gap au you will always be famous I love her dearly

#clegan #mota #buck x bucky #john egan #gale cleven #age gap au #asks

52 notes · View notes

johnwickb1tsch · 7 months ago

Text

The Bastard’s Mistress ~ A Don John x Servant!Fem!Reader Fic

So I caught the don John brain rot this weekend…very contagious, 10/10 recommend. This might be @scarlettspectra ’s fault, from all her beautiful gifs she’s been posting!😆 I didn’t go full Shakespearean here but had some fun with the syntax. I apologize in advance. Reader is properly deferential for the time, but she’s got a little spunk.😬

Warnings: the line between dubcon and noncon here is VERRRY thin. I don’t even know. So if that bothers you do NOT read this! What else. Period correct misogyny and degradation. Corruption. I’m so bad at itemizing these things. Please take care. If u have squiks i probs wouldn’t read this…

You are a chambermaid in His Excellency don Alejandro’s hacienda. It gives you a certain distance from things, as you come and go, doing your best to keep the country house clean and stay out of sight. But don Alejandro’s bastard, the fire-eyed boy with such a burning contempt for the world, has always seen you.

When you were young children, don John would play with you all, the offspring of the servants who were too young to work. Not because he enjoyed your company, but because he delighted in ordering you all about. Luckily in those days he ignored you as often as he tormented you.

Then there was a time, when the two of you hovered on the precipice between childhood and adult responsibilities, that you had almost been friends. Or at least, not enemies. He, the bitter outsider with the privileges of a full blooded son, but none of the standing. You, unmoored in your fatherlessness, the fever having taken your sire when you were just a babe.

Don John goaded you into shirking your chores one day to go play in the hills. He’d only taunted you a little, as you played your silly games, which mostly consisted of him manipulating you, ordering you to do this and that, always testing just how far he could go before being met with rebellion. It was still better than working your hands raw in the laundry. “We should run away,” he’d said in that devil-may-care way brash young boys have, so sure the world is destined to fold for them. You, however, had begged to go home, for all it won you. Upon returning your mother absolutely tanned your backside, and you never associated with Don John in such a familiar way again.

You saw him around the grounds, of course, as you scurried from one backbreaking chore to the next, and as he went through the motions of learning how to become a gentleman. Amidst his riding lessons he would wink at you from astride his fine black horse, but the cruel turn of his mouth never failed to halt you in returning it, even if your heart quickened in your chest.

That did not mean you didn’t think of him later though, on your lumpy cot of straw, as urges began to awaken in your body that was well on its way to becoming a woman’s. You saw his face at night, so achingly handsome you could hardly contain your longing. It felt like madness, and so you shoved it down in the deepest dungeon of your heart, as far as it could go.

It was not helpful, or good, the times when young don John passed you in the halls, and you felt that he would like to just eat you up. He would tug at your apron strings with a smirk before striding on to whatever lark he plotted for the day. The unholy feelings just a look from that man called up in you had you reaching for your rosary–and late at night, when all others lay asleep, between your legs.

You’d felt a certain relief when he went off to war with don Pedro. Even though your heart ached for the inevitable change, a part of you hoped he would never return.

As it turns out, your hopes were not to be realized. He has returned to his father’s country house, on the tails of some scandal in Messina. His temper is even fouler than you remember. His scowl, crueler. He has met with some disappointment, out in the world. You hope he will not take it out on you blameless servants.

Perhaps that is too much to ask of the upper caste.

You feel his eyes upon you again, as in the old days, but different. There is a weight in his gaze that makes you uncomfortable in your own skin, as though it no longer fits upon your own bones. It makes you ache for something no pious unmarried girl should yearn for, something you cannot name, only feel in the darkest hours of night when you lay awake on your mattress of straw, your sinful fingers exploring the bud of flesh between your legs.

You decide don John carries the flames of Hell in his burning dark eyes.

You dream of him, as though he has possessed your flesh in your sleeping hours.

He corners you one day, as you are changing the linens in one of the many airy rooms of the hacienda. You eye him warily, as he shuts the door, his large and forbidding form blocking your exit. His dark eyes upon you are black as night.

“What a flower you have blossomed into, y/n,” he muses, stepping slowly into the room with the measured calculation of a predator stalking prey. “No longer the knees and elbows girl I remember.”

“You…have also changed, my lord,” you offer cautiously. No longer the awkward, rail thin youth, his shoulders have the breadth of a man who rides a charger and wields a sword. You have tried not to notice.

“How so?” he fishes, canting his head with a smirk.

Your face feels as though you have caught on fire. “You are…taller,” you offer, winning a cruel little chuckle.

“Oh? I do like the sound of that. What else?” Another step closer, his booted heel clicking on the floor, and you are veritably boxed in between the walls and the oversized bed.

“My lord?” you stall, mortified.

“Did you miss me, y/n?”

This question also takes you aback, and perhaps that is why you answer honestly.

“Sometimes.”

“Well. That is more than any of my relations here will bother to claim,” he answers bitterly. In that moment you still see a boy just striving, yearning for his father’s recognition. Perhaps it was ridiculous, but you always felt bad for him, in a way.

“Did you hear the happy news? Don Pedro has taken a wife, and opts to dwell in Messina,” snarls don John with a mocking brightness.

“How…fortunate for him.”

The man before you makes a sound that suggests he barely restrained himself from spitting upon the floor in his half brother’s name.

“Indeed.” He takes one more step, and you know you are done for, your heart in your chest. There will be no escaping now. “What of you, fair y/n? Assumed the yoke of marriage yet?” The disdain in his words hangs bitter in the air.

You are tempted to lie, but know no good should come of it. “No, my lord,” you answer, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

“How fortunate for you.”

Perhaps in your fear, you forget yourself. “John, please–”

He moves to strike, and you are but a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf, quick but not quick enough to evade him. His arm is like a band of iron about your waist, lifting you off the floor in his fury. He slams you down–albeit upon the feather mattress–a luxury you’ve never experienced for yourself, your back accustomed to scratchy tick straw.

“Insouciant wench! How familiar you are, to address me so.” He sounds so cruelly delighted by it, wedging his lean body like a knife between your legs, his narrow hips locked against yours. When you attempt to sit up he easily pins you down, his large hand spanning two of your wrists with ease, his other pressed lightly over your throat. You can hardly hear, hardly think, over the sound of your heartbeat thundering in your ears. He can surely feel it in your pulse, fluttering against his fingers. You are filled with fear–and the sharp ache of desire, God save you.

“Please, my lord…”

He makes a low sound in his throat, his lips tracing your jaw. “Please what, pretty maid? I have a mind to make a meal of you.”

“Please…don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you? That is up to you, my dear. I will have you. Sweetly, or by force, tis your choice.” Your heart lodges in your throat. Your mother warned you about this, time and again. Men are dogs and gentlemen the worst of them. Never let them catch you alone.

And in your darkest heart of hearts, you know that a part of you hoped don John might do just that.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, surprisingly gently for such a villain, but you attempt to turn away. It only wins his annoyance, his large hand turning your face back to him. Before he can press his mouth to yours you say, “You merely seek to make sport of me in your boredom here. It is not right.”

He laughs at that. “Sport, I shall make,” he muses, hiking your skirts above your thighs. “Let us test the truth of your righteous outrage?” Boldly his fingers climb the trail of your leg, to the apex where he finds the damning evidence of your treacherous loins. “My lovely girl, so wet for such a reluctant quarry.” His long fingers dip inside your weeping center, and the sound you make does not resemble protest at all. He smirks down at you like the very devil. “And a virgin my little rabbit is not.”

Javi the stableboy took care of that for you, in a quick and disappointing tumble in the hay. His touch…had felt nothing like this, if truth you tell.

Ashamed, and burning, you look away. Tears trail out of your eyes, and a part of you wishes it shall just be over soon. He frowns at the shining tracks of water upon your cheeks, a menacing scowl that makes your eyes screw shut tight.

“Do not seek to engage my sympathy or my better nature, for you know I have none,” he growls above the dip of your throat, his lips searing as a brand upon your chest.

“That wasn’t always true,” you dare, winning naught but a growl from this ravenous beast of a man above you.

“You are the only one who thinks so.” For the barest moment you see a flash of vulnerability in his eyes–the ghost of the memory of the boy he once was, there and gone like ripples in a pool. It is as though this second of softness spurs him on in his deed, as though he must shove it aside to enjoy his sordid pleasure.

Clever fingers tear at the laces of your stays; you are freed to breathe, but you are bared to his hungry gaze as he tugs down your shift for his delectation. “Such lovely fruits, just ripe for picking,” he muses, cupping your breast in his hand, suckling upon a nipple.

You never knew how such a thing could make your insides clench, your sinning cunt tightening in its aching emptiness. Your hips move against his of their own accord, your legs wrapping about him as you mindlessly seek some relief from this madness. He withdraws with a dramatic pop, laughing at your body’s treachery.

“You are a fiend.”

“Pray, tell me,” he taunts you.

“I hate you.”

“Is that any way to speak to your master?”

He is enjoying this far too much.

“You forget your place, don John, as ever.”

That is when he slaps you. Not hard, nay, your own mother has hit you harder, but it certainly gets your attention. “I will rule here someday, y/n. Have a care with that tongue. I can think of better uses for it.” His piercing eyes fix upon your lips, a moment before he falls upon you, kissing you as though he means to devour you. You tense, thinking to bite him for being so cruel, so conniving, for just using you for no other reason other than he can.

He plays a very dirty trick on you, though.

That dexterous hand slips under your skirts again, swiping up your slick before circling that small nub of flesh that causes you such great tumult and shame. You moan into his mouth, and you feel him smile wickedly against you.

This man is the very devil, you are sure of it.

“Now who is ready to forget?” he taunts you, rubbing you in slow circles that drive you mad, make you writhe for the unbearable tightness coiling between your legs.

You can only manage a small cry, words escaping you. You’ve never felt anything like this, not at your own hands, and certainly not with Javi the stableboy.

“Please,” is all you can manage, and you’re not even entirely sure you know what you’re begging for.

“I like to hear you beg so sweetly.” He reaches to free himself from his breeches, his swollen tip hovering at your entrance. “So beg, wench, what favour is it you ask of me?”

You should entreat him to leave you be–you should beg for his mercy. But the delicious weight of him atop you, this dastardly man whose touch is such sweet sin–you are not sure you wish for him to leave you be. Your whole life has been such a march of drudgery. Even just the possibility of feeling something that is not pain or exhaustion makes you willfully forget every lesson your mother ever taught you, every fiery sermon the Padre ever flung down from his pulpit. Tis easy to renounce the Devil, until temptation has you in its clutches.

“I know not what to ask for,” you answer cautiously, and that at least is true.

Don John smirks down at you, a wicked gleam in his dark eyes.

“Ask for my cock, you stupid girl, and if your quim pleases me perhaps I may be moved to share in the spoils.”

“Yes.” You strain your hips towards him, craving that satisfying, stretching burn of a man’s first thrust. That, atleast, you know something about.

“Yes, what?” he taunts you, delighting in your torment as he holds himself just out of reach.

“Yes, my lord,” you whimper, hating yourself as much as him in that moment. “May I have your cock?”

His smile widens in his devilish delight, almost showing teeth. “Remember that you asked for it.” But he taunts you no further, his thick head penetrating your weeping hole, the fullness of him stealing the very breath from your lungs. He groans once fully inside you, burying his face in your neck.

“I’ve always known you would have the sweetest little cunt in the sierra,” he growls against your skin, and he begins to thrust.

If there is one thing you have always known about don John, it is that he loves to hear himself talk.

“You are mine, little maid,” he goes on, filling you so deeply you fear he must be in your belly. You are not sure you like it, and you only whimper in answer, straining for a better angle against him, seeking that certain friction that made you see stars.

“Say it,” he demands, understanding what you seek very well. You whine, turning your eyes to the ceiling. You know you are a mere peasant, and you know you do not own anything, much less yourself. Yet some small defiance rises in you, for his demanding tone.

“Perhaps I shall, if you make it so.”

You wait for him to strike you again, but to your surprise he smirks with a sort of dark delight, only turning your gaze back to his with a rough hand upon your jaw. “There is the saucy wench I remember of our youth. Do you remember how you used to defy me?”

You don’t very much, recalling that he usually always emerged the master and victor of your games.

“No, my lord.”

“You do not recall striking me with a stick, in defense of a hapless bird?”

You blink, finding it rather unfair of this man to expect you to command the capacity to think in this situation. But then you do recall. You had all been small children. The boys sought amusement in throwing rocks at an injured sparrow. You had taken exception to it.

Don John had sworn he would tell his father and have you executed.

You’d cried for days, but the sword never fell.

You’d nearly forgotten all about it, perhaps willfully burying the memory out of shame and fear. Mostly fear.

The bastard had deserved it.

He never forgot a slight, it seems.

“I always told myself I would have my revenge for that,” he tells you with a smirk, pressing his thumb into your mouth. You try to shrink away, but he has you like a fish on a hook. “Suck,” he commands you. You do not understand why those jetty black eyes boring into yours, paired with that unyielding tone, makes your needy cunt clench around him, only that it is extremely satisfying to see his eyes flutter closed, even if just for a moment.

You do as you’re told.

He uses your own saliva against you, reaching between your legs with that spit-wet thumb to touch you again.

You forget everything else, but the carnal heaven that is his clever fingers with his manhood inside you. The sounds the two of you make are barely human, as you strain and writhe against each other, chasing your release from this hell. Those full lips made for sin devour you–his mouth on your breasts makes you see God, a searing pleasure crashing through you in a spine-cracking rush. How can something that feels so wonderful be so forbidden? Only then does don John truly let himself go, the sound of flesh striking flesh filling the room as he takes you with all his pent up fury. It is not long before he roars his release, filling you with ropes of his hot seed, his powerful body trembling in its tangle of limbs with yours.

For just a moment you wished would last, his fingers lace with yours rather than pin you, his head heavy on your chest as he catches his breath. Yet when he lifts his gaze to you, his eyes gleam with their usual malevolence.

“You will come to my chambers tonight,” he orders you. “For I am not finished with you yet by half.”

When your mouth opens–indeed to give protest–he silences you with a hard but heart-melting kiss, his long fingers tangled unforgivingly in your now loosened hair.

“Do as I say, servant girl. Though if you don’t, I may enjoy making you.” That proud mouth ticks as he seems to imagine it, that fire igniting once more in his mesmerizing eyes. The thought simultaneously makes your blood run cold–and a thrill of desire run raucous down your spine.

This man is the very devil. You are as sure of it now, as you know when the household goes to sleep, you will find your way back to his merciless embrace.

#don john #much ado about nothing #don john x reader #don john keanu reeves #keanu reeves #keanuverse #keanuverse fic

134 notes · View notes

wntrs0ldier · 2 years ago

Text

An Offer · part 04

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 4,2k warnings: typical mafia (dark themes, language, violence, etc.)

<previous part | next part> | series masterlist

series summary: When your father dies, the only thing you can do for your family and the empire he built, is to marry a powerful man.

chapter sneak peek: “Bucky…” You hesitated, taking a little more time to sort out what you should really say. “Helps me with some business.” You reached for the glass of wine standing in front of you and took a sip.

“Always helpful,” Rebecca sneered. You noticed that she has been passionately ignoring her brother, but until now you were convinced that this was just a mistaken impression. “And, of course, he wants the best for you, doesn't he?” She faked a smile.

The encounter with Bucky, which took place a few days ago, turned out to be a new source of worry, leaving you even more confused. Guided by common sense, you tried not to dwell on it, but every time you lost your guard and let your thoughts wander, you found yourself reliving that moment. And each time you asked yourself the same question, Why did an accidental contact lead to such a strong reaction? It wasn't that the two of you had started pawing each other; Bucky accidentally leaned against you. And then he looked at your lips to see if your body was thinking the same thing as his…

You drifted off again, and were made aware of it by the boiling kettle. The flashback of the touch immediately popped into your head like the words of a stupid song you couldn't stop humming. And although you lost your appetite for tea, you filled the cup with hot water.

Michael walked into the kitchen with a newspaper in his hands – the kind he used to bring your father every morning. With a heavy sigh, he put it down on the kitchen counter. When you peeked at him to figure out if that sigh meant he was in a bad mood, you met his gaze. Suddenly you felt uncomfortable.

“What..?”

“Stark is becoming impatient,” Michael began. “Since your father's death, no one really controls the distribution of Stark Industries products. If this outage continues, Stark will quit doing business with us,” he said. Having taken off his glasses, he massaged his closed eyelids. Working with Tony Stark was bringing in a huge amount of money for your Family. As such, you understood Michael's nervousness – you couldn't afford to dissolve your partnership. “In view of this, we have less and less time.”

Biting your lower lip, you ran your eyes nervously over the surface of the countertop. “What about Brock?” You didn't want to consider the possibility that Brock might have turned out to be your last resort, but you knew you should be prepared for it. “Any word from Rumlows?”

Michael shook his head. “I was approached by someone else,” he added. Your first instinct was to feel uneasy, but in the end you decided to give it a chance. It dawned on you that you had to stop being picky, even though it had seemed perfectly reasonable to you up to that point. You had the right to demand to be treated right by any person you were to marry. “John Walker would like to speak to you. Without me or any third parties present.”

This was exactly what you had feared – John Walker joining in. And while he didn't seem as harmful as Brock, you didn't see him as the ideal candidate. But for all intents and purposes, you didn't see an ideal candidate in any man around.

You swallowed hard. “Did he say anything else?”

“That he will reach you to discuss the details of the meeting.”

The conversation with Michael was still looming in your head, effectively hindering your preparations for dinner at the Barnes house. All you could do was turn up there and look good, and even that was difficult to achieve.

A long, warm bath has improved the state of your skin somewhat – until now it was a little too dry and ashen as a result of the stresses of recent weeks. However, it regained some of its softness. You dried and brushed your hair, moisturised your face and did your makeup a little more carefully than usual, trying to cover up every little imperfection – these, too, have intensified since the burden of serious decisions fell on you. You generally tried not to complain about your appearance, but lately you haven't felt particularly comfortable in your own skin. Still, you saw the positive side in worrying about your looks – it took your mind off the rest of your problems.

The day was inexorably turning into evening, but the weather had not changed much – the temperature outside remained pleasantly warm, perfectly reflecting the deep spring. So you decided to put on a white dress with tiny flowers; it had short, buff sleeves and reached past your knees. The hard part came when you had to deal with the tie at the back; it went in a zigzag from mid-shoulders to lower back.

You breathed a sigh of relief when you heard a quiet knock on the door – Suzie appeared just in time.

“I was just about to-” You looked back over the shoulder and felt a sudden wave of heat when you spotted Bucky instead of your sister. Although he'd announced to you that he was coming – this time he'd done it by text, not by standing outside your window – you hadn't expected him this early. And as much as you tried to push the memories of your last contact into some dark, forgotten corner of your mind, these blossomed with vivid colours. “I thought it was my sister.”

“I wanted to wait in the car, but she sent me here,” Bucky said, scratching the back of his head. “Need help with the dress?”

Staring at him blankly, you nodded after a while.

“May I..?”

“Sure.”

Bucky came closer to you, so you turned again to let him work.

“Try to straighten the string, okay?” you added quietly. You wanted it to be as perfect as possible.

Bucky let out a heavy breath and you felt a cool blow on your half-naked back; this in turn made you shiver, much more gently than last time. His fingers slid under the string, and so involuntarily brushed your skin. You felt him hesitate for a moment, but then his fingers moved along the underside of the string, complying with your request and straightening it out. Soon he grabbed both ends and pulled them so that the front of the dress clung to your chest.

“Too tight?” he asked, presumably having heard your sharp sigh. You couldn't tell what it was the result of – the squeezing fabric or Bucky's closeness.

“It’s okay,” you croaked and you almost immediately scolded yourself for how weak and pathetic you sounded.

Bucky tied the ends of the string in a double bow, probably as a precaution; in case it would come undone at the least appropriate moment. He did it in silence, and although this seemed perfectly natural for such an activity, you got the impression that an awkwardness had crept in between you, which you had managed to avoid at the very beginning of your relationship.

“Done,” Bucky said, and you turned around carefully. Just as carefully, you lifted your gaze to his face. He was surveying you, possibly even more intensely than usual. For a brief moment you wondered if he too was tormented by the same thoughts as you, and judging by the slightly pained look on his face, expressing some kind of longing, you could guess that he was indeed.

“Have you heard?” You spoke after a bit longer silence.

“About what?” Bucky didn't even for a split second seem interested in the answer that might lie beneath your question.

“John Walker asked me on a date,” you said calmly, moreover, you were almost tempted to smile – you didn't want to give the situation unnecessary tragedy.

A corner of his mouth lifted, but that gesture had not even a hint of enthusiasm in it. He didn't look surprised or angry. You figured the news had traveled fast, but even if Bucky hadn't been aware of John's offer until now, he predicted it – he told you about it at the very beginning.

“You look really nice,” Bucky’s voice sounded so soft that your face flushed. You wanted to check if he was telling the truth, but you were unable to take your eyes off his.

“Thank you.” You smiled slightly. “I’ll grab a few things and we can go,” you added. You had the irresistible feeling that if you didn't say it – didn’t say something – the mutual gazing at each other would get out of hand again.

“I’ll be in the car.”

You left the house with Suzie. Because of your hands being occupied with a cardboard box, she closed the door behind you, then you both headed to the gate.

Bucky stood with his back up against his car. Your knowledge of vehicles ended with the identification of brands, but even if that skill was even more limited, you would have easily recognised this one – mainly because of the distinctive wild horse logo. A thought unknowingly popped into your head that the black, vintage Mustang suited its owner.

Pulling away from the car, Bucky pushed his sunglasses on top of his head. He opened the passenger door and put the seat down, allowing Suzie to get into the back. As your sister slipped inside and the front seat returned to its place, you also got in. Bucky walked around the front of the car and sat behind the wheel, his gaze immediately falling on the box you were holding.

“I made a carrot cake,” you explained.

He raised his eyebrows with astonishment.

“Barnes don’t eat cakes?”

“We do,” Bucky differed. You glanced at the way his hand landed on the stick and put it in the right gear. He threw his arm over your headrest to look at the back window, and you felt butterflies in your stomach again. “It’s just… Baking is so…”

“Yeah..?”

“I don’t know, wifely?”

You watched the profile of Bucky's face as he focused on the road. “Is there anything else wifely in me?”

Bucky smirked under his nose. When the car stopped at the first traffic light, he leered at you. “In you? I'd have to check.” He shrugged. “But those nightgowns you wear…” He pressed his lips together, shaking his head slowly. “Fuck,” he said almost soundlessly, as if he didn't want Suzie to hear it.

You rolled your eyes and smacked his arm, and he snorted a quiet laugh.

For the rest of the way, you didn’t really talk. You were worried that Suzie might feel uncomfortable, or worse, pick up something she wasn't supposed to hear. She was nearly an adult, besides, she had grown up in the same environment as you, nevertheless, you preferred to spare her the awkwardness.

Not long after you had left the city behind, the car turned into a road along which big old trees were growing; their interlocking tops formed a kind of tunnel. At its exit was a large, green plot of land, and you couldn't really tell where it ended. The house on it – tall, with a surrounding porch and walls covered with ivy in places – was probably as old as the trees.

Absorbed in the views behind the window, you didn't even notice that the car had stopped. You only became aware of it when Bucky opened the door for you. You got out, still scanning the surroundings with your eyes, and Bucky freed your sister.

“This place…” You began, and only after a moment glanced at Bucky. He stood next to you and tilted his head slightly to the side. “It’s beautiful here.”

Bucky gave you a half-smile, and this time you could see an undeniable softness and happiness on his face. You were able to tell that he had positive feelings about his family home.

The front door – solid, heavy, with a colourful, floral stained glass window – swung almost wide open. And although you had never really met her, you recognised Winnifred Barnes in the woman who stepped out onto the porch. At first glance, you saw a striking resemblance between her and Bucky – he had her whole face; her big blue eyes, straight nose and strong jaw.

“Y/N, Suzanne,” Mrs. Barnes beamed warmly at you and your sister. “I’m glad you could make it. Come inside.”

“Thank you for inviting us.” You handed Winnifred the package. “It’s just a cake,” you rushed to clarify, seeing the premature delight on the woman's face.

“That is so sweet of you, Y/N. Jamie,” she turned to Bucky. “Take our guests to the dining room, please.”

Having climbed the few steps leading up to the porch, Bucky joined you.

“Jamie?” you repeated, your mouth curved into a smile.

Bucky chuckled. “Yeah.” He scratched his neck.

You got to the dining room, and although the number of people there exceeded your expectations, you didn't feel overwhelmed by the company. You recognised Timothy first, since you had seen him relatively recently, then Steve Rogers, as he also figured quite vividly in your consciousness. As for the rest, you weren't as sure.

You guessed that one of the young women sitting at the table, who was an almost perfect, and certainly the most faithful copy of Winnifred, was Rebecca Barnes. There was an infant on her lap, banging a spoon on the table top and bursting into laughter after every sound. Rebecca, most likely used to this kind of noise, didn't pay much attention to it; she was busy talking to the person sitting right next to her. This time you assumed it was Josephine Barnes. In fact, you were even sure of it, mainly because of the similarity she shared with Winnifred, Bucky and Rebecca. She only had slightly softer facial features and a not-so-piercing gaze; you also noticed the visible tan.

You almost missed the last one – with her nose in a book she was the least conspicuous. Mary, you guessed. You recalled that she was not much younger than your own sister.

“You okay?” Bucky asked quietly, and it wasn't his voice that revived you, but his fingers hooked on your elbow. You felt electricity radiating from that spot.

Before you had time to reply, something crashed into your legs and embraced them tightly. You looked down, where you spotted a little girl with a grin that missed a few teeth.

“Hi!” She exclaimed.

“Hi.” You couldn’t help but smile, too.

“Oh, Daisy,” Rebecca groaned, clearly embarrassed by the child's behaviour. You therefore concluded that Daisy was her daughter. “Stop that.”

“It’s all right,” you declared immediately.

Still, Bucky crouched down and pulled the child away from your legs, and this little fuss threw you into the spotlight. Everyone at the table stopped whatever they were just doing and focused on you.

“Jamie brought home a girl?” Josephine asked with surprise and a kind of hope. “How long have you been together?”

“Is that your girlfriend?” Mary joined the conversation. “Oh, she’s pretty.”

You pressed your lips together in a slight smile; you hoped to avoid becoming the main attraction, on the other hand, you could breathe a sigh of relief – your efforts to make your appearance tolerable had paid off.

“Alright, that's enough.” Bucky gave his sisters a threatening glare.

“They are not a couple,” Timothy, sitting at the head of the table, spoke, drawing everyone's attention. “As far as I know,” he added, raising his eyebrows. “Y/N,” he said to you, his friendly smile didn't match the mysterious expression on the rest of his face. “Sit next to Steve. I insist.”

You led your eyes in that direction. Indeed, there were two empty chairs between Mary and Steve – probably for you and Suzie. “Of course.” You nodded politely and made your way to that seat, peeking at your sister to check on her. Steve rose and pulled back a chair for you, and once you had taken your seat, you glanced at Bucky confused; Timothy's request seemed more than a little odd to you.

Bucky clenched his jaw. Previous experience allowed you to recognise when he wasn’t pleased, and that was exactly what he looked like at the moment.

Winnifred also appeared in the dining room. As the lady of the house, she sat at the other end of the table. Soon after, the first dishes were served and the room filled with sounds of conversation. The men were talking about baseball, then boxing, and although Bucky was actively involved in the discussion, he seemed a little distracted. Whenever you glimpsed in his direction, you caught him staring at you – you could see that he was a bit disappointed, perhaps even resentful, and there was something dark in his eyes; as if the sea in his irises was hit by a storm. Especially when Steve included you in a conversation, smiled or laughed at something you said.

Winnifred asked about your gallery, the upcoming exhibition, and about Suzie's school. She praised your cake. In exchange you learned that Mary was studying for her biology exam even at dinner, Rebecca had expanded little George's diet – the baby previously sitting on her lap – with more fruit, and Josephine had returned to New York on a short break from her college.

You were worried that you would feel uncomfortable here, especially as Timothy separated you from the only person you knew, but the atmosphere in the Barnes home was like a warm, safe hug. Even Suzie found common ground with Mary, so you didn't have to be concerned about her comfort.

“How did you two meet?” Josephine asked, and when you looked at her without understanding, she nodded discreetly at Bucky.

“Oh, but we-”

“Yeah, I know.” Josephine waved her hand dismissively. “But I'm interested in every detail. I can't remember the last time Jamie brought someone home.”

You plastered a slight smile on your face, knowing that it wasn't Bucky who invited you here, but his mum. “Actually, we met through your uncle,” you answered. You didn't want to spoil the mood with the subject of a funeral or an arranged marriage. “Bucky…” You hesitated, taking a little more time to sort out what you should really say. “Helps me with some business.” You reached for the glass of wine standing in front of you and took a sip.

“Rebecca, honey-” Winnifred interjected softly, and when she did, the table fell silent.

“No, mom.” She shook her head, as if that would prevent Mrs. Barnes from getting a word in edgewise. “It's not fair that some random girl can sit here with us and the father of my children can't.” Tears of anger shone in Rebecca's eyes. “Excuse me,” she said, then got up and left the room.

You felt guilty. Not because you may have actually taken an undeserved seat at the table, but instead of shame or anxiety, you were intrigued by this unexpected burst. You took another sip of wine.

“What happened to mommy?” Daisy asked.

“Nothing, baby,” Winnifred told her gently. “She’ll get better.”

With suspicion, Daisy turned her head at Bucky. “Is that true?”

He pressed his lips together in a pale smile. “Of course, Junebug. Cross my heart.” Bucky put his hand on his chest. “How about we watch ‘Finn and Jake’?” He suggested with theatrical excitement, which Daisy shared immediately – she nodded eagerly. “Yeah?” Bucky grinned again, more relaxed this time.

Daisy ran up to him, grabbed the hand he had held out and dragged him out of the dining room. Bucky glimpsed at you, giving you an apologetic look.

Josephine leaned out and laid her eyes on you. “I’m going for a smoke, wanna join?”

Josephine led you to a gazebo in the garden. As she said, she offered you a cigarette, and you both leaned against the railing. The evening gloom was dispelled by the lamps on the lawn and the lighting inside the gazebo; it was getting unpleasantly cold outside, but you preferred the low temperature outside to the tense atmosphere at the table.

“I probably shouldn't tell you this, but I don't want you to think that my sister is some spoiled bitch,” Josephine began, and you looked at her rather blankly. You didn't want to show too much that she made you curious. “His name was Robbie. The father of her children, as she called him,” she said with distaste. “He was part of the Family. Jamie recruited him, so the whole thing still bothers him. And Robbie was a fucking asshole from the beginning. He spent late nights in bars, gambled all their money away, hung out with other girls. When Daisy was born, it only got worse. He complained that Becca was neglecting him. Didn't help with the baby, disappeared from the house more often and for much longer…” She continued. “Rebecca's only problem is that she has a soft heart. She never said a bad word about Robbie, but everyone knew what was going on. She thought another baby would change him, that it would fix their relationship, but…” Josephine shrugged. She took a puff, and for a brief moment said nothing, staring into nowhere. “So Jamie got rid of him.”

Your brows drew together involuntarily. “What do you mean..?”

“No one knows what really happened to Robbie. He vanished into thin air and never contacted Becca again.”

You felt like a child who had just heard a blood-curdling ghost story. Actually, you only felt that way partly – on the other hand, you were even more fascinated by Bucky. “Well…” You sighed, shaking the excess ash off the end of your cigarette. “He did what he thought was right,” you commented. This time, too, you preferred to be careful, thus not claiming out loud that Bucky had done the right thing.

“Not according to Becca. She's better than she was at the beginning, but it's still a touchy subject for her.”

You finished your cigarettes in silence, and that silence helped you to sink into your own thoughts; to see Bucky in a slightly different light.

“Are you sure there's nothing between you and Jamie?” Josephine spoke, a teasing smirk on her face. “I saw the way he looked at you the whole dinner. I know my brother, and if I were Steve I would keep my distance from you,” she giggled.

Your lips twitched in a slight smile. You noticed it too, and although you weren't the only people at the table, you secretly hoped you were the only ones aware of what was going on.

You could have talked to Josephine about it; told her that Bucky had no right to be jealous. You were strictly focused on marrying someone and Bucky excluded himself at his own request. You could have shared all this with Josephine, thereby taking some of the weight off your shoulders. But you didn't want to involve her.

“I’m sure,” you said. “It's strictly business between him and me.”

“Speak of the devil.”

Following Josephine's gaze, you peeked over your shoulder. Bucky was heading to the gazebo. Having caught your eyes, he smirked softly. You struggled to take your eyes off his face and lowered them to his hands – he was holding a piece of cloth that you couldn't identify in the darkness. Only when Bucky got under the roof of the gazebo did you notice that he had brought a sweatshirt. Moreover, he put it gently over your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you murmured, surprised at the gesture, and glanced at Josephine. From the expression on her face, you were convinced that she wanted to say, So there's nothing between you two, right?

“You sneak out to smoke?” Bucky addressed his sister, his forehead creased. “What are you? Sixteen?”

“Oh, fuck off.” Josephine rolled her eyes.

Bucky reached out his hand, so she handed him the packet and the lighter. With a cigarette between his lips, he looked stunningly – more rough and intimidating.

“I'll leave you two alone,” Josephine suggested, grinning. She pushed herself away from the railing, and you two watched her leave.

You slipped your arms into the sleeves of the sweatshirt and wrapped yourself in it, discreetly inhaling the familiar scent. You looked at Bucky, and he again gave you a gentle smile; it reached his eyes as well. However, it faded soon after.

“I’m sorry about before. Becca-”

“I had this conversation with Josephine,” you stopped him. “I know what happened and I get it. I don't blame her for reacting the way she did. Anyway, she was right. I’m some random girl who-”

“You are not,” he protested immediately. His mouth set in a hard line as he was staring at you. “I-... I like you, Y/N.”

Taking a sharp breath, you looked away. You shook your head in disbelief, tried to ignore the fact that your heart was beating harder than you would have wished. “I like you too, Bucky, but I can’t fall for you. I don’t want to.”

Bucky took his eyes off you only to put out his cigarette. Then he moved a step closer to you and hesitantly reached for your hand. You closed your eyes, then fixed them on his fingers – he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb, and you didn't protest.

“I know,” he rasped. “But I just need to protect you. So please, let me protect you. Okay? Because I feel like everything is getting out of my control. And I’m fucking tired of it.”

You raised your gaze to his eyes. He glared into them pleadingly and with some kind of fear, as if your rejection would shatter him into a million pieces. You nodded slightly, unsure if you really did; if you really agreed to fall under his protection.

taglist: @goldensunflowe-r @nefri-black @vickie5446 @learisa @sjsmith56 @aya-fay @hhiggs @wishingwell-2 @buckysgirl01 @emily-roberts @prettylittlepluviophile @leakingston

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #mob!bucky #mob!bucky x reader #mob!bucky x y/n #mob bucky #mafia!bucky #mafia bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #mob boss!bucky #mob boss!bucky x reader

497 notes · View notes

nthspecialll · 1 month ago

Note

If Arthur had never contracted TB, do you think his stance with Dutch and the gang would have been affected at all in Chapter 6?

I personally do not believe that his final stance would change, I do believe he would still stand with John against Dutch, what however would change would be his approach to the situation.

Arthur's approach to chapter six is self sacrifice, he knows that he will not make it, however he makes the choice to make sure others will.

In the early chapters Arthur has a good healthy sense of self preservation, he gets into dangerous situations but everything is messured, weighed and valued, he knows what is worth the risk and what is not. He does not throw himself carelessly into situations where might die. In chapter six however, he is willing to do more because he isn't fighting for himself, he is fighting for others. So he is willing to go the extra mile for them even if it costs him.

The most visible example of this is jailbreak. In "The First Shall Be Last" aka saving Sean, Trelawny mentions that Sean is being moved to a federal prison, Arthur's reply? "Damn. Well, we can't be rescuing people from some federal prison. We either rescue him now or... cut him loose." He isn't willing to break into prisons, but what does he do in chapter six? He breaks into a maximum-security prison facility for John. He did the exact thing he said he wouldn't.

He does it because he knows he will not live, however in this scenerio he might. Now he doesn't just have to think of the other's future but his own as well, meaning he cannot go around being careless with his life. He would probably still get John, but I doubt in that way.

Now we come to the fact that TB changed how he saw things but what I fear some people forget when discussing this is that everything up until chapter five remains the same. He might not have TB, but he doesn't show his TB until after Guarma either way and we see him doubting Dutch as early as chapter one. He is still there on John's side prior.

Something that will however change, is his need for choosing.

Dutch was Arthur's family for many years, he was his everything, father figure, his mentor, the reason he was the man he was, and the choice to leave him was already made. When Arthur got that TB diagnosis, the choice to leave Dutch had been made by the Grim reaper himself and Arthur could focus on saving John without thinking of stepping on Dutch's toes, it wouldn't matter, he doesn't need to have a good friendship with Dutch.

But in non-TB, Arthur does need to have that friendship with Dutch if he wants to remain part of the family he has been part of for decades. He needs to actively choose to leave behind his mentor. I do think he will do it, he wants John out and the only way to do that is to abandon Dutch, but it will be a hard battle.

#rdr2 #rdr2 community #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #red dead redemption community #red dead redemption two #john marston #rdr john #rdr2 dutch #dutch van der linde #asks #answered asks #ask #nthspecialll #nthspecialll asks

33 notes · View notes

bio1 · 30 days ago

Text

Here a treat for Halloween, my complete fanfic in one post. Hope you enjoy this Earthspark horror themed story and thanks to @billy-jay-kisses-robots for co-writing and spell checking.

Let use begin

Act 1

Despite how close to midnight it was, the sound of footsteps could still be heard throughout the dugout. A combination of caffeine and late night movie watching was keeping Twitch Malto wide awake, while the rest of her terran siblings dozed off peacefully. In her defense, if Robbie didn’t want her drinking his energy drinks, he should have kept them hidden better. And the password to her father’s Netflix account should have been more secure than ‘bumblebee123’.

Though the entirety of the terrans had all stayed up to binge as many horror movies as they could think of (with the exception of Jawbreaker, who had his eyes closed the entire time out of fear), only Twitch was still awake. As she paced nervously up and down the dugout, she looked over her sleeping siblings one by one. Thrash was in his alt mode, somehow completely upside down. His engine was repeatedly reving up and stalling in a cycle, as if he was snoring. Jawbreaker was laying facedown on the floor, a comically small teddy bear perched carefully on top of his head. Hashtag, who had tried staying up later herself by watching youtube, had eventually fallen asleep as well, her phone autoplaying what sounded like Russian dashcam crash footage. And Nightshade… Hm, actually, she didn’t see Nightshade anywhere. Not that she was really paying attention, however. Her mind was too busy replaying everything she had seen earlier in the night over and over.

The kids had essentially gone to the horror section on Netflix and watched as many movies as they could before they got tired. From goofier horror comedies like "Critters" to things genuinely terrifying thrillers like "Halloween", and some striking and odd balance of the two like "Scream". What really got to her, however, was John Carpenter's "The Thing", and not just because of what happened to those poor sled dogs. That awful, morphing monster, the way it ripped the research team apart, really stuck with her. Possibly because it reminded her of a few of Mandroid’s own creations she had to fight before, especially that bear mutant from mother’s day.

She was so caught up in her own head that she didn’t even notice Fluffy Ears right in front of her. Twitch ended up tripping right over the family’s pet cow, who decided it would be a good idea to sleep in the middle of the dugout’s hallway. She managed to catch herself mid fall by switching into her alt mode just before hitting the ground. The sleepy calf roused her head, looked at the little red drone hovering directly in front of her, gave her a quick lick, and fell back asleep. The whole ordeal was quiet enough not to wake anyone else, but it did catch the attention of Nightshade, who poked their head out from around a corner near their lab.

“Oh, Twitch, I didn’t know you were still up.” They smiled. “Is everything alright? You look nervous.”

“How can you tell that if I’m in my alt mode?”

“Well, you’re shaking. Pretty violently.”

She hadn’t even realized that, but they were right. She even accidentally bumped into Fluffy Ears pretty hard. Startled, Twitch switched back into her normal mode and tried profusely apologizing to the calf. Fluffy Ears didn’t seem to mind, and got up from her spot to start aimlessly wandering around the dugout.

“I’m, uh, I’m fine, Nightshade. What are you doing over there, anyway?” Twitch attempted to change the subject, making her way over to Nightshade’s lab. At the very least, this might be a fun distraction. Nightshade’s bright green optics lit up at this, clearly excited to show someone their work.

"I am so glad you asked." They tugged on their sibling's arm and pulled them into their lab. On a table in the center was a large, ominous looking metal contraption.

"Wait, isn't that-" Twitch began, before getting cut off.

"The reverse beartrap from Saw, yes!" Nightshade beamed, proudly holding it up. "The movies we watched tonight weren't particularly the type I enjoy, but I did appreciate some of the creative inventions a few of them displayed." They looked over to see Twitch with a completely horrified expression on her face. "Oh, are you wondering if it works? I am too. This is just a prototype I whipped up based on how it was explained in the film. I was actually just about to test it-" They reached under the table and pulled out a full pumpkin. Nightshade extended their arms and eagerly gestured for Twitch to take the gourd. "Since you're up, would you like to do the honors?"

"... Actually, I was wondering why you built a torture device in the first place." She finally responded, nervously looking it over. "I mean, you've built some crazy stuff in the past, but this is, uh, kind of disturbing, Nightshade."

Nightshade looked somewhat disappointed at this, shaking their head a bit. "You've got the wrong idea! A torture device implies that the victim is meant to survive."

Nightshade set the trap down and activated it themselves. Within seconds, it ripped the pumpkin open, its guts splattering messily onto the floor.

"A person wouldn't have survived that." They added, clearly happy the machine worked as intended.

Twitch flinched and stood back, her eyes growing to the size of dinner plates.

"Twitch?" Nightshade asked, concerned. "What is-oh. I get it. Don't worry, it was never my intention to use this on any living being. I just like challenging myself, and building this seemed like it would be an interesting experiment." They began scooping the guts off the concrete floor. "The thought of this device ever being used for its original purpose… that's something I wouldn't even have wished for on Mandroid." They muse. Noticing their sister was still silent, Nightshade approached her, a worried look forming on their features.

"Are you sure you're alright? You didn't think I was really going to-" Twitch interrupted them.

"No! Oh, no, I know you wouldn't, Shady. I'm just kind of on edge tonight, I guess. Probably shouldn't have stolen Robbie's energy drinks." She attempted to brush off their concern as convincingly as she could.

"You probably shouldn't have! Caffeine can worsen the hyperactive aspects of ADHD after all." They agreed, patting her on the shoulder.

"...You think I have ADHD?"

Before Nightshade could respond, a massive crunch boomed out from above them.

"What was that!?" Twitch flew out in search of the cacophony. Nightshade, trying their best to keep up with her, tiptoed as softly as they could to prevent waking the others. They found Twitch looking through the camera screens in the main room of the dugout. There was nothing unusual on live feed, just a few autumn leaves blowing past the cameras Nightshade has placed around the ranch.

"Should we-" Nightshade began, getting cut off again.

"Check it out? Yes, obviously!" She seemed a little too excited to see what was out there. Perhaps she was just looking for an excuse to feel useful, or burn off some of her energy.

Without a second of hesitation, she switched to her alt mode and flew outside, wildly darting around the sky above the dugout. Twitch changed back into bot mode as she landed on the barn's roof. With the moonlight nearly hidden behind a thick layer of clouds, it was almost pitch black outside. Nightshade caught up with their energetic sister, surprised to see her standing still as a statue.

"Twitch! There is nothing out here but the nocturnal wildlife. Perhaps it was a raccoon who made that sound." Nightshade reasoned.

Twitch responded in a shaky tone. "Nightshade, what kind of raccoon could make a noise that loud?"

"...One with rabies?"

"Wait! Listen for a moment." She hushed, falling silent again.

Nightshade listened for something out there to satisfy their sister's paranoia. "I hear nothing Twitch."

"Exactly, Nightshade! There's nothing! No crickets chirping, none of the cows are making any sound, there aren't even moths near the lights!" She exclaimed frantically.

"Oh goodness, you're right. Now that is odd. The only time it's ever perfectly quiet outside is when there is something…dangerous around."

Nightshade glared in front of them, attempting to make out the source of the eerie calmness.

"That tree… wasn't there before." They noted, their voice shaky as they pointed ahead.

Twitch turned to see what her sibling was referring to. In the middle of the forest, several hundred meters away from the barn, a massively tall, crooked tree stood high above the rest. It only had three twisted branches, growing out of its spindly stalk in such a way to vaguely resemble a humanoid figure with bending limbs. One branch in the middle rounded out at the end to form the "head" of this horrific plant.

"Ok, so that certainly wasn't a raccoon then." Nightshade commented. Their sister began switching into her alt mode, before the younger green bot grabbed hold of her. "Twitch, wait! Going out to investigate… whatever that is right away probably isn't a good idea. We should at least think this through first."

Twitch struggled in their grip for a second before shaking herself off, but didn't immediately fly out like she wanted to. "What's the hold up? You seriously want to just head in and call it a night?" She snapped at them.

"No, of course not. I just think we shouldn't do it alone." They added, remaining calm.

"And give that tree-thing a chance to move in first? I don't think so." Twitch shifted and took off into the sky. Reluctantly, Nightshade changed into their alt mode as well, flying directly in front of her to block her path.

"Twitch! What's gotten into you?" They asked frantically. Thankfully for them, Twitch did stop in her tracks. "You clearly aren't doing well tonight. Whatever's got you troubled, I'm here for you, and so is the rest of the family."

"We obviously have bigger issues than my anxiety to deal with right now!" She shouted. "Things like… that are just more proof I haven't been doing enough to keep us safe."

"Is that what this is about? Twitch, this isn't your fault-" she cut them off.

"Well it'll be both of our faults if that tree monster gets its dirty roots on the others because we were busy screwing around here!"

Nightshade wasn't sure how to respond. Twitch’s panicked tone and expression made it clear how stressed and out of it she was. But how were they supposed to comfort her? This entire situation was making it hard for even them to think, especially with that giant tree staring at them-

Wait, the tree was staring at them?

Nightshade slowly turned their head to get a better look, and to their horror, the tall head of the ominous tree had sprouted a pair of huge, glowing eyes.

“We need to go back inside, now!” They grabbed Twitch's arm with their talons, dragging their sister behind them. Almost involuntarily, the younger mech let out an owlish screech as they dived back into the dugout from the entrance in the barn's roof.

Switching back into their alt mode, Nightshade rushed over to the console displaying the security cameras’ feeds. They displayed nothing but static, oddly enough. Nightshade, frustrated and confused, frantically tried fixing the console, but nothing seemed to be working.

After a few moments, Twitch quietly approached her sibling, meekly tapping them on the shoulder. “Shady, I need to tell you something…”

“I'm not mad at you, Twitch. Just, I need to focus right now-”

“That's not what an owl sounds like.” She continued.

Nightshade stopped what they were working on and turned to face her. “...I'm sorry?”

“I've been meaning to say this ever since you got your alt mode, but that owl screech you do isn't actually what owls sound like. The noise you make is more like an eagle or a hawk.”

Nightshade just sort of stared at her, not sure what to say.

“Oh.” Was all they could think of as a response.

“Wait, why would you bring that up now?”

“I'm sorry! I'm scared! I can't even really think straight, it feels like my brain is shutting down…” She grabbed onto her head and shook it, as if trying to forcefully wake herself up.

Nightshade tried to go back to fixing the camera system, but found that their own mind felt somewhat fuzzy as well. They've repaired similar errors on this exact console plenty of times before. Yet for some reason, the solution just wasn't coming to them now.

“It had eyes, didn't it? That's what those were, in the tree, I mean. Huge eyes.” Twitch finally spoke, her usually energetic voice noticeably slowed. “Do you think… that was something Ghost made?”

“I can't imagine what use they would have with a giant, monstrous tree.” Nightshade answered, putting down the wires they were fiddling with. “We should alert the others.”

“...Right.” their sister responded. She glided over to the nearest Malto sibling, that being Hashtag. The large purple bot was still peacefully dozing off with her phone now playing, of all things, Wendigoon’s conspiracy theory iceberg. As if this whole situation wasn't ominous enough.

Twitch gently nudged the larger Terran’s shoulder. “Hashtag? Get up, something happened.”

No response. She was completely out of it.

“H-hashtag?” Twitch shook her sister a little more forcefully now.

She still didn't stir.

“HASHTAG! WAKE UP!” Twitch yelled as loudly as possible, but this didn't do much besides startle the already well-awake Nightshade.

The smaller red bot, frustrated at this point, switched into her alt mode and fired a laser several inches from her sleeping sister. This also accomplished nothing.

“Twitch! What on earth are you doing?” Nightshade called out frantically.

“I wasn't going to hit her! I… I couldn't think of anything else, I thought that would work.” She admitted, her voice shaky.

Twitch flew over to Thrash and Jawbreaker, shouting their names and firing controlled lasers inches from their bodies in a reckless attempt to wake them. The brothers were similarly out cold, however, and nothing she did had any effect on them.

“You need to stop that! If you miss and hit them…” Nightshade began, stopping themselves off as they watched the red drone revert to her bot mode, a defeated and exhausted expression washing over her face. Her large yellow optics seemed to almost wobble in place, a streaking, cold light emanating from them. Nightshade got the impression that if Cybertronians were physically capable of shedding tears, she'd be sobbing right now.

“What's going on, Shady?” She barely managed to speak, nearly choking on every word.

Seeing their usually cheerful, energic sister in such a miserable state was utterly heartbreaking for Nightshade. It wasn't her fault, but Twitch seemed to truly believe whatever misfortune her family had fallen upon somehow could have been prevented by her.

Nightshade, not being the best at emotional support, tried to go for a more practical way of comforting her. “They… they aren't dead.” The younger Terran informed her. Walking over to Jawbreaker, Nightshade gently pried his eyelids apart to reveal intact, glowing optics. They weren't responding to any stimuli, but the fact that they were on was proof that the bots were in some kind of comatose state.

“How did you…” Twitch started speaking, but seemingly lost the strength to continue partway through her question.

“How did I know?” Nightshade presumptively finished for her. “I've installed vital trackers in all of us. If any of us were to go offline, I would get an alert.” They informed her.

“Oh, that's good. Thank you.” She seemed a little relieved, before realizing the full consequences of what her sibling just admitted. “Wait, I don't remember… when did you install those?”

“That's not really something we need to worry about now…” Nightshade mumbled, not expecting her to question their actions.

“...Nightshade, how many… things have you added to us?” She lowered her gaze a bit, inquisitively. Before questioning them further, her optics lit up, having remembered something.

“I just realized, we never saw Fluffy Ears!” She blurted out frantically. Twitch began zooming around the dugout in her alt mode, looking for the baby cow.

Nightshade gave a sigh of relief that her line of questioning was over for now, and joined her in the search.

“Where was she last?” They called out, looking around their lab while Twitch scanned the dugout’s hall.

“I… I don't know, she just sort of wandered off-Oh!” Twitch flew over to a far corner of the room.

“I found her! What are you doing over here, silly cow…” Twitch nudged the calf, who seemed to be fast asleep, resting her head on her flank. Fluffy Ears didn't stir, however.

“...Fluffy Ears?” Twitch was significantly more worried as she spoke this time, her voice getting louder. The calf didn't respond.

Nightshade looked over their sister's shoulders, noting that, thankfully, the little cow was still breathing.

“That's odd, very odd… whatever happened to our siblings seems to be affecting her as well.” Nightshade leaned down and gently stroked Fluffy Ears head, mostly in an attempt to steady themselves down. This entire situation wasn't making any sense, and that scared them. They needed to remain calm, however, if only to reassure Twitch.

The smaller bot looked to her sibling for answers.

“...Do you think it's gotten to everyone in the house?”

“Are you referring to whatever has put everyone here to sleep?” Nightshade attempted to clarify.

“Yeah, I mean, if it got to Fluffy Ears… Mom, Dad, Robbie, and Mo are also organic.”

“That's a good point, actually.” Nightshade pondered. They didn't even think of that. “Are we dealing with some kind of virus that affects both organics and bots? Does such a thing even exist?”

“Forget virus, it's obviously coming from that messed up tree outside.”

“The tree? That can't be right. How could it even…” Nightshade was at a complete loss.

“Seriously, Nightshade? This thing shows up, and suddenly, all of our family is out cold. That can't be a coincidence.” She was exasperated.

“I agree it's strange, but there shouldn't be any way a plant could incapacitate both organics and Cybertronians by just… I don't even know…” Their head was starting to throb, like a migraine. Trying to think critically was physically hurting them.

The two siblings just stood there, feeling their own bodies growing weaker with every passing second. It was a sensation similar to being sedated. A feeling they probably would have given into, had Twitch not noticed a strange black tendril poking out of a nearby vent.

“Is that a rat?” Twitch asked groggily. Wouldn't be the first time a rat got into the dugout. But said rats usually weren't so long. And slithering…

“Nightshade! Get down!” Twitch jumped and pushed her sibling down to the ground, just before a huge tendril swung at their head. The tendril instead hit the monitors Nightshade had attempted to fix. A single whack caused not only all the monitors to shatter, but the concrete wall behind them to violently crack.

Nightshade's optics widened with horror. There was no question about it. If that tendril had hit them instead, their head would have been knocked clean off.

The tendril dove for the pair of them, seeming to know exactly where they were despite not having eyes. They both moved to opposite sides, barely avoiding getting stabbed. As it pulled out of the small hole it burrowed into the floor, the tendril opened up for a second, briefly revealing a crimson reptilian eye that scanned the room before closing again.

Nightshade, in an effort to get out of the way, bumped into the table they had placed the reverse bear trap onto earlier. It fell into their lap with a clattering thud. An idea came to them, and they armed the trap to go off again.

“Twitch, take this and have it dive for you again! When it gets close, have it aim for the trap! I think it only keeps its eyes open for a few seconds at a time!”

Twitch, being the faster of the two even in her groggy state, agreed with a nod and flew past the tendril, the trap in her grasp. It took the bait and launched itself directly towards her, where it got the last several feet of its body caught in the trap’s mechanisms.

The tendril squirmed and rattled as the reverse beartrap’s countdown ticked. After a few agonizingly long seconds, it finally went off. Just as it had with the pumpkin earlier in the night, it absolutely ripped its prey apart with ease. Shards of metal and some kind of fleshy material flew to all corners of the dugout.

The worst part wasn't the sight of the impact, however, it was the dreadful noise it made. Whatever the tendril was attached to screamed in pain as its appendage was destroyed. It had a cry like a nuclear siren, low, loud, and ear-piercing. It felt like something you were never meant to hear, and simply perceiving was a sign that you as the listener were at death’s door.

What remained of the tendril receded back through the vents, leaking a runny black liquid with an odd, iridescent shimmer. A few of the larger chunks that had been ripped open were still slightly animate, curling where they lay like a dying spider.

Nightshade cautiously approached what appeared to be the eye of the tendril, or atleast what was left of it.

It was a translucent, jelly-like red substance with an awful black slit for a pupil that had sort of melted into the iris due to its injury. Said pupil shuddered in place one last time as Nightshade got closer, almost as if it could still perceive the bot somehow.

“Nightshade! Are you alright right!?” Twitch said, sounding out of breath despite not actually having lungs.

“Yes, I'm just a bit scratched up. It's nothing but a bit of polish won't get out.”

Without saying anything else, Nightshade grabbed and chugged down one of the energy drinks that their sister left out. “I know I said earlier that us drinking these was probably a bad idea, but I think they might help.” Their sister nervously fiddled with the can’s lid before managing to get it open for herself.

Nightshade scooped up what's left of the otherworldly tendril and brought it back to their lab.

Pausing to consider their next move, Nightshade eventually settled on attaching the still pulsating fleshy bits to a battery hooked up to a light bulb. After a few seconds, the light dimmed before going out completely. The battery was instantly dead.

“It appears you were right after all. Whatever this thing is, it emits some kind of field that drains energy from anything it's near.” Nightshade concluded.

“So that's what makes us feel so exhausted?” Twitch looked very concerned, her optics darting between Nightshade and her unconscious siblings.

“More than likely, yes. And you might have already guessed this, but I assume it's also keeping all our organic family members asleep. My current theory is that this is a hunting tactic.”

Twitch knew immediately what they were getting at. “Sleeping prey can't fight back.”

“Exactly.” Nightshade confirmed. “The fact that we were previously awake is most likely the only reason why we aren't currently unconscious.”

An uneasy silence filled the dugout. The siblings stood in place, the air around them cold and heavy with tension. Without saying a word, both of them knew what the other was thinking: that monster would be back any moment, and they couldn't keep up the energy to fight it back for long. It was a terrible calm before the storm, a feeling reminiscent of succumbing to hypothermia. An overwhelming, intoxicating urge to close your eyes and drift into a sleep you were well aware you'd never wake up from.

And at this moment, every light in the dugout switched off.

Act 2

The Terran siblings' optics were the only source of light in the now otherwise pitch black dugout. After the dreadful clicking of the lights switching off, the room was now eerily quiet once again.

“We didn't kill it.” Nightshade finally broke the silence, stating the obvious.

“No, you didn't.”

A voice replied, taunting the young bot. Well, perhaps calling it a voice would be too generous. Whatever responded spoke in a manner similar to rusted nails scratching at granite. Its pitch and tone managed to fluctuate in a manner that just barely could be recognizable as words. It was a sound that shouldn't be possible, as if scrap metal could somehow speak. It went beyond uncanny. Hearing something that otherworldly felt downright violating.

“What clever children you are, deducing my traits so quickly.

Most don't last long enough to find that out.”

Whatever monitors still remained attached flickered on, although they broadcasted nothing but static. When their adversary spoke again, the static shifted in time with its voice.

“My, such a colorful collection. So bright and shiny, sturdy with youthful vigor. Small you might be, but your remains will a part of something far bigger than you could ever dream.”

Twitch, with all her remaining energy, was not having any of this cryptic nonsense. She stormed up to the monitors and put her face meter inches from the screen in a confrontational manner.

“Get away from my family, NOW!” She boomed, slamming her foot onto the concrete floor.

The dying power on the monitor only showed one thing, the white enormous eye of their torturer.

“Oh my child, it's far too late for that.”

Twitch stepped back, trying her absolute best now to show how terrified she truly was. Too late for what? What was this thing implying?

“You're bluffing! You haven't gotten to them yet!” Nightshade answered back for her. “Now how about you save us all time and tell us what you want!”

Twitch wasn't sure what her sibling was getting at. Did they want to give into this thing's demands? And how could they know that their family hadn't been harmed yet?

“If you're already awake, I thought we might as well have a little fun.”

It was pretty obvious the creature was trying to be creepy, but neither of them knew whether or not it fully understood the context of what it just implied.

The dugout was completely silent and nearly pitch black, the abyss around them only just illuminated from both of the bots’ glowing optics.

“Nightshade! What do we do?! Our family is out there with that… that thing! I don't even know which way the exit is anymore, it's too dark…”

“There’s no reason for alarm, the dugout has a backup generator in the barn.” Nightshade tried their absolute best to remain calm for her, despite the gravity of the situation weighing on their mind as well.

“I'll go check on everyone in the house. In the meanwhile, you can start up the generator.”

“Wait, shouldn't that be the other way around? I can actually fit in the house, and you would know how the generator works.”

“Because I can grab everyone in one trip. It would take too long for you to back and forth. Plus, turning it on is rather simple.”

“Nightshade, I've seen the things you make, and none of them are simple.”

“It's literally just a red button labeled ‘generator’.”

“Nevermind, I should be able to handle that.”

Both of the bots carefully exited the dugout. With neither spotting the monster, Nightshade and Twitch split up, their goals both in sight.

Twitch approached the generator, optics darting around herself in paranoia.

“It's okay, Twitch. Just a few more steps.” The red bot assured herself, voice still shaky.

She stood in front of the machine, just barely out of arms’ reach. A chill ran down her metallic spine. Thoughts of what occurred earlier in the night ran through her mind. She kept imagining that if she pushed the button, something would come to remove her head from her shoulders.

“Twitch! HURRY!”

The loud voice booming from the doorway startled the poor bot. It was Nightshade, already back with their human family in tow. They were peacefully sleeping, blissfully unaware of the danger around them. Nightshade dashed into the bunker, leaving Twitch to finish her task.

With a deep sigh, she pushed the red button, the lights around her flickering on. Twitch turned back to join their sibling before stopping dead in her tracks. Something was pushing itself through a gap in the barn wall. A black, pulsating mass with gray armor grew larger as more of its amorphous form forced its way into the room. Five huge tendrils sprouted from a central metal lump. It almost looked like…

“A hand.” She breathed, the terrifying realization overcoming her.

A monsterous hand, almost bigger than her entire body.

She drew out her swords as the hand flexed its grotesque fingers.

The monster, noticing her presence, immediately lunged at her. She barely had enough time to dodge or before the gnarled fingers could ensnare her. The hand instead grabbed hold of a solid wooden support beam directly behind her. Smaller tendrils unwind themselves from the fingers joints, constricting the beam completely until the pressure caused it to cave in. An entire, solid cylinder of wood, crushed by a single movement into dust. The hand, realizing it has missed it's intended target, reared around with gelatinous eyes protruding from its finger joints, searching for Twitch.

“Hold still.”

“How about no!” She yelled before jabbing her blade into its wrist. The palm of the hand writhed in pain, fingers bending backwards as it struggled to pull the foreign object out. The wrist was almost jammed like a metal rod between two gears.

Twitch grabbed the handle of the embedded sword and twisted it clockwise, separating the hand from its wrist. A spray of oily fluid landed on her optics, muddling her vision. The hand writhed in pain for a moment, finally curling up on itself.

A distant sound of pain could be heard, but Twitch felt like she had no time to celebrate as she went to join her family. The young bot slammed the vault door shut as soon as she made it to the bunker, not wanting to take any more chances. Nightshade has laid the siblings’ organic family into individual sleeping quarters.

“Twitch, are you alright?” Nightshade asked, concerned. Their sibling’s face was drenched in the black, oily blood of their adversary.

“Yeah, I just had my hands full.” she responded confidently. Though her words had the cadence of a joke, Nightshade didn't seem to pick up on it.

“Seriously, what happened?” They prodded further.

“That monster tried to crush me. Sort of like this.” Twitch crushed one of the emptied energy drink cans as a demonstration.

“But it doesn't know who they're messing with, and I manage to cut their hand off.” She smiled proudly, but residual unease from the near death encounter still hung to her tone. This bravado was an attempt to force her mood to improve, and it wasn't entirely working.

“Here, to wipe the oil off.” Nightshade handed her a large cloth.

“Oh, thanks.” She cleaned her face up, before looking down at the now dirtied rag. “Wait, isn't this Robbie's shirt?”

“Yes. I borrowed some spare clothing from all of the family and store it here, in case of emergencies.”

“Borrowed? He told me he couldn't find this shirt for months….” She held out the soaked t-shirt in front of her, rancid oily blood dripping onto the floor.

“Emergency preparedness is more important than a diverse wardrobe.” Nightshade took the soiled garment and threw it into a basket. “That'll come off in the laundry. Probably.”

In the corner of Nightshade’s sensitive optics, they picked up some movement on the now activated surviving monitor. The pair raced over to see what it was. Out of the darkness of the forest above, something jumped into fame. The figure startled Nightshade badly enough that they fell to the floor. After recovering from the near spark attack herself, Twitch realized what it was.

“Oh, it's just a deer.” She gave a sigh of relief.

Nightshade got a good giggle from the pair of them getting so startled by a cute little buck. Twitch had mentioned she cut off the monster's hand, right? Surely, it wasn't coming back…

Gazing at the screen, something reached out and snatched the poor animal. Their monitor’s audio played a sickening crack the moment after. It was the unmistakable noise of snapping bone.

The culprit emerged from the woods, towering above even the tallest of trees. In one gnarled hand, it carried the limp body of the deer, whose neck was now bent at an unnatural angle, clearly dead.

The other hand was missing, leaving a stub of black tentrals.

It was clear this wasn't some kind of wooden monster they had thought of earlier. This was far more alien.

This monster appeared to be wearing the outer armor of a Cybertronian, held together by mangled tendrils and rusted metal sheets. Its abdomen, neck, and joints were made of thick, wiry tentacles twisted together like ropes of licorice. Long, clawed fingers clutched onto the ragdolled deer. Its face, seemingly normal at first glance, appeared to have enormous spotlights for optics, surrounded by deep black rings. It was as if it had carved holes in whatever unfortunate mech’s face it was using to fit its massive eyes.

The abomination was mostly gray, with any remaining colors on its shell muted and drained. It reminded Nightshade when they learned from Bumblebee. When a Cybertronian dies as a result of having their spark extinguished, their body will lose its color. All that's left behind is a gray, empty shell.

The monster lifted the deer so that it was held directly in front of its ghastly face. Instead of simply opening its mouth, it split its own jaw completely in half. Row upon row of sharp yellowed greeted their prey, before sinking into the buck’s head. It antlers sloughed off and fell to the forest floor. The poor deer's head barely gave any resistance to the creature’s bite, getting chomped away easily as a stalk of celery.

Twitch immediately felt sick, the urge to vomit filling her despite not even having a stomach.

Nightshade starred, wide-eyed with morbid curiosity, unawall to tear away their gaze.

With one of its clawed fingers, it easily gutted and flayed the remainder of the deer with the precision of a surgeon. It swallowed each limb whole, not even stopping to back a breather between each bite. The deer's torso was impaled on the tallest tree around, seemingly leaving it for later.

Full enough for now, the metallic corpse leaned over, resting its damaged arm on the forest floor. Slowly but surely, the severed tendrils twisted and grew, sprouting forward from the site of the injury. Soon enough, it had a brand new hand, identical to the original.

All of the damage the siblings had inflicted on the creature was undone in a moment.

“This isn't happening…” Twitch’s voice was barely a whisper, her entire body fighting back the urge to retch.

“A Valiant attempt, little one, But not good enough.”

The creature's unnatural voice made the static on the monitor worse as it spoke. How it had heard her from so far away was a complete mystery.

The thing bent forward to show its back, smaller tendrils poking out of the monster's armor. They wriggled and writhed, pulling themselves from the beast's back. Falling out from the cracks in the metal, two smaller creatures collided on the ground before standing up. They superficially resembled Cybertronian protoforms, but were differentiated by the claws and soulless eyes of the original monster.

“Go get me the green one. The red one is yours… consider it a treat.”

It pointed towards the camera at the base of the tree. The pawn-like monsters listened, immediately making their way towards the barn.

“I'll be seeing you shortly, Maltos.”

It bowed at the camera, before walking backwards out of site, into the woods.

“We are sooooo screwed.” Twitch mumbled, once the whole ordeal had concluded. “How did it find that tiny little camera? And when did it learn our family's name?”

“Don't worry, we, um…” Nightshade’s usually calm demeanor was shaking, the panic getting to them as well. … ‘“We should be safe here.” They placed a hand on her shoulder reassuringly, metal clicking as they touched. Twitch immediately swatted their hand away, turning in place to face them.

“Safe?” Her optics went wide, sparking with a furocity Nightshade had only seen a few times before. “Safe?! You just saw that thing make more of itself, Nightshade! We are anything BUT safe right now!”

They knew she was right, and that their reassurance was an empty gesture she had easily seen through.

“I’m sick of this.”

She drew out both of her swords.

Nightshade looked visibly shaken from Twitch's outburst, justified as it might be. If they could cry, they would be tearing up.

“Twitch, I-”

Twitch cut them off again.

“I'm going out there to defend what I love!”

Even though Twitch was running off fumes, she would fight an army if it meant keeping their family safe.

Nightshade rubs their optics before putting a hand on her shoulder once again.

“Not by yourself. I'm coming with you.” Nightshade informed her with an uncharacteristically stirred tone.

“You need to stay here, with them.” She pleaded. “I've got more training than you. I can handle this.”

“With all due respect, there isn't a chance you'd survive going head to head alone with our advisory here. I doubt even Optimus could take that monster down by himself. I get why you want to me stay back, but we won't be of any use without each other.” They leaned in, giving Twitch a big bear hug.

“We're doing this together,” said Nightshade.

After a moment of hesitation, Twitch nodded firmly.

“Together.” she replied, hugging them back.

They made sure everything was secured before drinking what was left of the energy drinks in hopes of staving off the creature's parasitic exhaustion. Venturing out of the dugout, they double checked to guarantee the door was locked behind them.

The bots stuck close by to one another, Twitch leading slightly ahead. Just as Nightshade got an arm's length away from their sister, something jumped on their shoulders and wrapped its arms around their neck.

It was one of the odd gray things the creature had produced. The thing was about Twitch’s size, only barely taller than the average human. Nightshade was able to pull their assailant off them, slamming it against the dirt.

Cracks formed on the monster's armor, its left leg was bent in the opposite direction.

This seemingly didn't slow it down, however, as with a high pitch grunt it snapped its leg back in place before charging at the green mech.

“NIGHTSHADE! Go high, I'm going low!” Twitch changed her hand into a blaster before taking aim and firing. The laser shot hit the monster's bad leg, blasting it off from the knee down.

As the creature stumbled, Nightshade’s talons struck against its face. This almost completely destroyed one of its eyes, leaving a deep gash. They knock it back with a powerful upcut to its jaw, sending half of its pointy teeth into the air.

As it fell backwards, Twitch raised one of her blades. She sent an aggressive slash on its shoulder. The sword moves in a round arc, cutting its torso in two like a knife through warm butter.

Both halves of the body fell down. Horrifically, even though all the monstrosity had left was a single arm, it continued to drag itself towards them. The thing seems either unaware or unbothered by the fact that its insides were being scrapped across the ground as it moved.

Nightshade backed up a good distance from their pursuer before running back at it, full sprint. With one solid kick, they sent its head flying over the house.

“Goal!” Nightshade cheered, twisting around to check on Twitch. Their little joke seemed to have worked at lightening some of the tension, and she smiled back at him widely. “That was incredible, Nightshade!”

As the small monster's corpse finally fell still, the siblings celebrated by high-fiving each other.

Their victory was short-lived, however, as an enormous hand rapidly grabbed Twitch from around the house. Nightshade ran after it, coming to stand in front of the Goliath.

“Let me go!” Twitch demanded, taking a shot at the thing’s chest, leaving nothing but a small burn mark. It retaliated by squeezing her tighter. With its other hand, it picked up her swords before tossing them away into the woods.

“You! After all this… chaos! What more do you want?” Nightshade yelled as loud as their vocal processor would allow.

The creature flexed its long neck towards the ground, gargantuan eyes boring holes into Nightshade's very being.

“It appears your human masters didn't raise you with any manners, child. But for future reference, it's not considered polite to ask such questions before being given a proper introduction.”

It gave a devilish, cocky smirk. The sickeningly smug expression of a creature who knew it had already won. It was just toying with its prey now, watching them squirm and suffer for its own amusement.

“You may call me Exquisite Corpse. I've seen how smart you are, I assume you can guess how I earned such a title.”

Nightshade wasn't even sure how to respond. This thing's manner of speech was infuriatingly civilized, clearly in an attempt to further provoke them.

“As for your question, I am after you in particular, little owl.”

“Me?!” They blurted in response. “And what makes you think I'm going to go along with this?” Nightshade challenged, trying not to let their confusion and fear show.

The haughty grin on Exquisite Corpse’s face never faltered.

“Oh, I suspected resistance from you, child. There's a good reason I made my powers known to you from the start.”

It leaned in even closer, its massive face just inches from Nightshade. Bits of blood and refuge from the deer it had previously consumed clung to its metal fangs.

“You know what I'm capable of. You know what I could do to not only her,”

It shook Twitch around in its hand, causing the red bot to yelp in shock and discomfort.

“But to your entire clan if I wanted. So now that you're aware of what's at stake, I don't think you'll put up any more struggle when I tell you to come with me.”

“Don't even think about it, Nightshade!” Twitch barked.

“I didn't say you could talk, fly!”

It screeched, pressing its claws against her even further. Twitch's body creaked as she tried not to scream from the pain. It was clear that if Exquisite Corpse's grip got any tighter, those claws would rip right through her.

“Stop!” Nightshade begged. “Please, just put her down…”

“Oh, I'll do a lot more than that. Do as I say, and your entire family will get left out of this unfortunate little affair.”

It leaned its empty hand in front of the bot.

“How does that sound, owl?”

The lights in Nightshade's optics streaked, making their vision go blurry. Tensing up, they reluctantly grabbed a finger of the giant hand back, shaking it.

“I accept your terms.” they solemnly said, biting their lip in anguish.

“I knew you were smart. Very good.”

It tossed Twitch to the ground, the minion pawns standing behind her with baited breath, held back only by their obedience to their master like a dog on a leash.

Exquisite Corpse gently picked up the owl, exhaling a deep purplish smoke in their face. Nightshade immediately felt more tired than they ever had in their life. As their body went limp for exhaustion, they heard one final exchange from the monster to its servants.

“She's all yours.”

As they walked off towards the woods, the last thing Nightshade could process was Twitch's voice, violently screaming out for their sibling to help her.

Act 3

The cold, metallic clicking of leaking rainwater rose Nightshade from their unconsciousness. They managed to pry their optics open, the young bot's vision blurred from exhaustion and their injuries. Nightshade silently prayed to whatever might be listening that all this had just been some sort of horror movie induced nightmare. That when they got up, they’d find themselves awake in the cozy dugout, surrounded by their siblings. That they could go on and have another fun, peaceful day with those they loved.

But they were met with no such luck. They were lying on an unfamiliar rusted floor, faint light leaking in from a hole above them. Scattered drops of fresh rain pattered down, keeping the air around them cool. It was a sound they usually quite enjoyed, under happier circumstances. With no idea where they were, however, it only brought them a further sense of alienation.

As they tried to gather their thoughts, a voice they had gotten to know far too well over the past few hours made itself heard.

“Rise and shine~”

The voice called from a pitch black doorway, only the speaker's white eyes indicating someone was there. Nightshade tried to change forms, but residual weakness kept them barely able to move. Honestly, they were surprised still able to move at all, being so drained of-

“Energy” it said.

“You need it to survive like all things do. It will not be good if you're too weak to stand.”

Its eyes narrowed to pin pricks of light.

“Lucky for us, it seems like your kind is able to process organics. Looks like we have something in common.” A wheezy laugh escaped the beast’s mouth.

“Unlike your inferior kin.”

It tossed a plastic-wrapped packet into Nightshade's cell.

“Is this Jerky?” they mumbled, looking over the bag with bleary optics.

“Better than rats, I suppose. Or do your animalistic instincts crave raw vermin?” It tilts its head.

“How would you know my body can process organic material?” Nightshade questioned, weakly.

“You and your sister seem to process those caffeinated liquids just fine. Besides, I can't see it being possible for a techno-organic species to survive solely off of polluted water.” It leaned its metallic face closer, its nightmarish grin now barely visible in the pale light. “You mean to tell me that in the year or so you’ve existed, you never bothered trying any food?” Its smile somehow grew wider.

Nightshade cut the side of the packet, pulling out one strip of dry meat. They placed it in their mouth and chewed a bit. It was pretty good, surprisingly. Under different circumstances, they'd be excited to try out other human foods. After swallowing it, they still felt off, like there was a hollow feeling in them that the small piece of nourishment slightly filled.

The beast spoke once more.

“I will return when you recover your strength. Until then, stay here.” It taunted, knowing damn well they weren't going anywhere.

It shut the thick metal door behind it with a cold clank. Alone and in the dark again, the green bot pulled out another piece of jerky.

“I hope Twitch is ok.”

---

Sharp claws rendered the air next to Twitch, the red bot barely managing to dodge the swipe by a hair. She reared in for a punch to its face, but was instead met with a monstrous knee to the abdomen. She failed to stop her battered fame from involuntarily folding up like a lawn chair from the pain. Orange, shaky optics stared down the approaching behemoth as it made its way to the barnside.

Twitch managed to activate the fans on her circular wings, blowing the monster back as it lunged directly towards her. The thing yelped as it was knocked backwards, but didn't remain stunned for long.

With her processor still hazy and her movements sluggish, Twitch knew this wouldn't be an even fight. She'd need to end it quickly, because there was no way her stamina would keep up for long.

As the husk made its way towards her once again, Twitch used what little remaining energy she had to back herself up into the garage. She frantically slammed her fist down on the button used to close the garage's metal door, hoping it would buy her a little more time. As the husk lunged at her again, she raised her arm, with just enough space between them to take a clear shot.

In less than a second, her laser blew a hole directly into the monster's head, sending it flying backwards. The garage door slammed shut right as its body was about half way through the exit, moving quickly enough to bisect the creature horizontally. The thing’s lower half laid on the garage floor, legs violently jerking one last time before going still.

After a moment's hesitation, she carefully moved to get a better look at the split torso. Oily black ooze and wiry threads leaked from the opened wound. Inside were tightly wrapped threads, somewhat resembling muscles, clinging tightly to shiny silver bones. The red bot hesitantly nudged the tattered mass with her foot. Satisfied when it didn't move, she let out a sigh of relief.

She decided to inspect the garage doors, wondering how they had closed so fast. It appeared that Nightshade had added some sort of speed adjuster, currently set onto “Turbo”.

“Nightshade’s going to get one of us killed these days, if they keep messing with electronics like this.” She mumbled. “Oh no, Nightshade!” Twitch's mind was flooded with thoughts of the monstrosity dragging away her sibling. Panic surged through her circuits, making her trace the room in circles, cradling her head in her hands. If she could barely take one of its minions, she wouldn't stand a chance against the creature alone. That's when her optics landed on a car battery and jumper cables.

“What would Nightshade do…” Twitch pondered aloud, gazing over the batteries with inquisitive optics.

_ _ _

Nightshade had just barely regained the strength to stand when their host decided to return.

“Please, follow me, honored guest.” It gestured, holding a slender hand behind itself. Not seeing any other viable options, Nightshade did as they were told.

As the young bot trailed behind their captor, it became apparent to them that they didn't even reach past the monster's knee in height. Wherever they were, the quiet halls of this place were clearly designed to be occupied by beings of immense stature.

Nightshade decided now would be as good a time as any to ask the burning question on their processor. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Blissfully foolish little thing. If I planned to kill you, why would I have kept you alive this long?” Seemingly just to taunt Nightshade, it dragged its claws against the stone walls, leaving shallow marks and a grating noise as they continued.

“I don't know. You could have plenty of reasons. That's why I asked.”

The monster looked back at Nightshade incredulously, only to be met with a sincere expression from the green bot. It was genuinely a little surprised at how curious their captive was. If anything, they seemed just as interested in the logistics of this operation as they did their own fate.

“I want you to join me… Nightshade.” The thing’s smile grew to enormous proportions, only to fade as they realized Nightshade gave no visible reaction to having their name used.

“Aren't you curious how I knew your name?” It tried to sound intimidating, but the bot just continued to stare at them with a wide eyed, yet steady expression.

“I just assumed you overheard my sister referring to me as such.” They answered. “Is that not the case?”

“Uh, no, I… Nevermind.” It seemed embarrassed of all things, not getting to use its usual mindgames. “Scrap, I lost my train of thought. Where was I?”

“You mentioned you wanted me to join you in something?”

“Oh, right, thanks.” It coughed awkwardly. “Ahem. Anyway, my kind has a unique way to produce more of our species. It all starts with a small injection.”

Its tongue formed into a sharp, needle-like point. Nightshade's optics went wide, nervously taking a step back.

“Your body will undergo a beautiful transformation. You'll be stretched, strained, melted. Your insides will dissolve and reform into divine fibrous threads, while keeping your outer casing mostly in tack.” Having regained its sinister mojo, it leaned in menacingly.

“And most importantly, you will be able to spread your variation of life to all that you see. Your unique biology, I believe it's called your alt mode… it's the perfect blend of organic and inorganic material.”

It gestures to the room in front of them.

Inside, dozens of stasis pods filled with an odd silver liquid Thing against the walls, each with a glowing ball of light in their chests.

Nightshade peered in, before being struck with dreadful recognition. “No, those aren't-”

“Oh, but they are! Protoforms, just for us. You can think of them as our new family.” It laughed, a sound like metal scraping against itself.

“Your techoraganic DNA will make them perfect hybrids between you and I.”

“And why was I chosen for this?” Again, Nightshade’s tone, while clearly uncomfortable, also was bizarrely curious given the circumstances.

The monster scratched at its eye socket, as if it was getting bored.

“Your alt mode, little owl. Strong, swift, and capable of flight. None of your kin can compare in potential.”

“And why can't you just make your army on your own?”

Their bright-eyed, inquisitive questioning seemed genuinely rooted in fascination with this process, which was almost annoying to their captor. It sighed, and begrudgingly answered.

“My body is beyond repair, as you may have noticed. Its previous occupant was gravely injured when I took their place. I was going to just scavenge for more parts… but upon picking up signs of unique, *living* biomechanical parts nearby… Well, that gave me a better idea.”

The two of them continued their walk, finally ending up in an enormous room.

Trashed control panels for an unidentifiable drive and gnarled viscera littered the floor. The foul stench of copper and rot emanated from a tub in the dead center. The beast pushed a reluctant Nightshade towards it.

The scared bot hesitantly peered over the vessel, only to be greeted by a viscous red liquid.

Nightshade nearly gagged upon recognizing the horrific sight in front of them, stumbling backwards away from the blood. Their captor, apathetic towards their discomfort, grabbed the young bot with a single clawed hand.

“But before we comment, I will need approval from a higher power.”

It dipped its free hand into the blood, and began to paint a sigil on the wall.

It licks its filthy hand clean before hovering a clawed finger over Nightshade's face.

“I require one last ingredient to achieve communication.”

Nightshade tried to squirm away to break free as the point of the monster's claw made contact with their cheek. Searing hot pain engulfed their entire face.

The young bot desperately tried to hold in their screams, not wanting to give their tormentor the satisfaction. Having never experienced anything like this, anything this unbearably horrible, how very, they gave in, screeching at the awful sensation. The whole ordeal lasted only a moment, and the monster revealed to them a luminous green liquid on its finger tip.

For a second, Nightshade was confused in its origin. Realization dawned on them as they felt the liquid trickle onto their chest.

“I'm bleeding.” They stated, their tone cold and grim from shock.

“A nice pretty green.” It laughed, mixing Nightshade’s blood into the sigil.

Nightshade watched in helpless horror as the blood twisted and moved upon contact, changing colors until eight white, luminous eyes took form.

_ _ _

Twitch shakily touched the two ends of the jumper cables together, watching with wide optics as they sparked at the contact. The jolt nearly scared the sprockets out of her, but she managed to take a deep breath to steady herself again. She stood over her unconscious younger sister, attaching the cables with an uncertain hum. A zap of energy filled the air before the car battery made a “pop” and went stone dead.

Twitch clutched her fists tightly, heat welling up in her face as her desperate attempt to wake Hashtag failed. She felt her knees go weak, and a strong urge to curl up into a ball and cry. Before she could give in, a faint whirring noise caught her attention. It was Hashtag's optics, groggily prying themselves open.

“Twitch? What's going on-”

With her energy revived by hope, Twitch rushed in to give her sister one of her famous bear hugs.

“Uh, good morning to you too.” Hashtag said awkwardly, patting her on the back.

Twitch grabbed her sister's hand, desperately tugging it as she tried to pull the larger bot up.

“We need to go, now! Something horrible took Nightshade and-”

“Whoa, slow down, Twitch. I just woke up.” Hashtag stood up, feeling the odd cables attached to her neck.

“I didn't go to sleep with these on, right?” She questioned.

“There's a giant monster keeping everyone asleep! I had to jumpstart you awake with that.”

Hashtag narrowed her optics incredulously.

“Giant… monster?” She parroted back.

“Yeah, the thing is probably twice the size of Mr Prime!” Twitch was practically dragging Hashtag outside at this point. “It sent creatures to attack us. But me and Nightshade destroyed one and I took care of another myself.”

Now outside, Hashtag didn't see anything out of the ordinary.

“Really?” Hashtag rhetorically asked. She thought this had to be some kind of poorly planned joke.

“Yes, really!” The smaller answered, frustrated that she wasn't being taken seriously. “Look, its remains are over here-”

The bisected upper half of the monster was gone, only leaving a puddle of oily blood by the opening of the garage.

Before Hashtag could react, her sister let go of her arm, frantically looking around the building’s exterior for any signs of the missing body.

Hashtag did her best to keep up with her, eventually finding Twitch directly behind the barn, seemingly frozen in place.

“Hey, what's wrong? You're acting-”

The upper half of the creature that Twitch fought previously cut Hashtag off. The two sisters watched in stunned silence as what should have been a corpse pulled parts of the other slain monstrosity into itself. Threads from its wound skewered and pulled scattered limbs, bones, and plating together to reconstruct itself. The final result took the form of a metallic homunculus centaur.

“So that's what you were talking about.” Was all Hashtag could say before the beast spotted the pair, instantly lunging for them.

They both were barely able to dodge the strike, causing the centaur’s arm to slash at a nearby bench, slicing it in two. After realizing it had missed, it started galloping on clawed legs in another loop before heading towards Twitch. She didn't have time to get up before it was upon her. Its front legs, the former arms of its lower half, held Twitch down as it prepared for a devastating swipe.

Hashtag took a moment to recover, before her optics lit up. She was right next to the family grill’s propane tank.

She ripped it out and triumphantly held it above her head.

“Hey, freak!”

The thing turned around just in time to have the tank smash its face in. Twitch scrambled free as it loosened its grip. She zipped away as the monster's head weakly turned to face her, its jaw hanging on by a few sinews.

She aimed her blaster at the propane tank.

“Yippee kayak other buckets.” Hashtag didn't get the Brooklyn 99 reference.

The tank exploded into a huge fireball. Chunks of the creature’s flesh and limbs flew all over the place. The sisters didn't have much time to celebrate before panic set back in.

“That thing must be doing something horrible to Nightshade!” Twitch belated frantically.

“Twitch, I mean…” Hashtag loosely kicked one of the detached parts. “It looks pretty dead to me.”

“No, a much bigger one got them!”

“Oh…wait, I've got Nightshade's signal! We can track them!” Hashtag said cheerfully.

“Wait, what?”

“What do you mean, what? Did Nightshade not tell you about those tracking implants they put in us? I can follow them.”

Twitch decided this wasn't the time to question that. She picked up her swords and gave her sister a solid nod.

“Let's get ‘em, Hashtag.”

_____

The bloody figure in the mural was similar to the monster’s minions, except for the enormous horns and eight spider-like eyes. Nightshade looked towards the thing to see a snarl replaced its grin.

His captors began, furious. “Where is SHE! I must speak with her you-”

“How rude of you to yell at your superior. Besides, she is busy at the moment. You should know that better than anyone… leach.”

The painting could somehow move, as if each brush stroke independently changed on their own.

“If you're asking to start your own colony, then the answer is still no. Even if she was here to allow it.”

“Why not? This one has the potential to bring a new generation into being. Plus, I have the strength and knowledge to lead the way to greatness.”

It pushed Nightshade forward like it was showing their teacher its homework, with a tinge desperation is in its voice.

“For one, you think you're anything special because you fused to a cybertronian body? Any brain dead husk could do that. Second, you are considered on line for execution for abandoning your duty and attempting to start a hive. Third, my lady wouldn't like to see this poor child be subject to your will.

So I suggest you just save us all the trouble of hunting you down, and end your life before we can.”

It finished with a scrap-eating smile.

“Leach.”

The beast's eyes narrowed, it's expression morphing into pure anger.

“You ugly son of a-” A barrage of swears and curses that Nightshade only heard in the movie came out of its mouth. Some of them were for languages they couldn't even begin to understand.

This gave Nightshade the chance to sneak away while it was distracted. When they were sufficiently far enough, they ran down what they thought was the outside door. They were met with a control panel that required a code to progress. Completely over this scrap, Nightshade just ripped the panel off.

After a bit of fiddling with the wiring, the door swung open. Nightshade sprinted into the cool night. They looked behind them to see their captor had apparently kept them in a crashed alien ship.

“Look, they're over there!”

A wonderfully familiar voice rang out of the forest. Not a moment later, Nightshade recognized the bright headlights of Hashtag’s alt mode, with Twitch, curiously, riding on her back.

“Hashtag! You're awake! Twitch, did you-”

Of course, they were interrupted by Twitch ramming into them for a hug. Nightshade awkwardly patted their sister on the back.

“Woah! Were you in there, Nightshade?” The largest of the siblings eagerly drove up the entrance of the downed ship. She was knocked backwards as the monster reared its head out of the entrance.

“YOU!” It bellowed, fangs bared. It reached towards Nightshade with feverish rage, clearly infuriated that it had been cheated.

Hashtag, still in her alt mode, took the initiative to drive at the monster's leg at full speed. Having taken it by surprise, it was off balance enough that she managed to cleanly snap its calf from its thigh. The leg went flying, and the monster screeched in pain.

“Wow, that actually worked?” She seemed genuinely surprised.

Twitch grabbed Nightshade and the satellite of Hashtag's alt mode, attempting to yank the two forward. “It's not going to stay down for long! We need to get out of here!”

“Aw, really? I mean, we took out its leg, right? That's gotta be enough. Can't I atleast get to check out the spaceship?” Hashtag pleaded.

The monster screamed again, rearing up to charge at them on its three remaining legs. “INSOLENT CHILDREN! I'LL WEAR YOUR CADAVERS AS NECKLACES WHEN I'M DONE WITH YOU!”

“...Nevermind, I want to go home now.”

With Hashtag having the most energy of the siblings (and being the largest), she stuck to her alt mode with the other two on the roof of her van, racing through the woods with the alien on their tail. Having removed its leg had slowed it down, but not enough that out running it would be easy.

Twitch was using what little strength she had to fire lasers back at their pursuer, to little avail.

“Hey, I probably should have asked this earlier, but where are we going?” Hashtag's radio called out.

Nightshade glared daggers through the window of their sister’s alt mode. “What?! Hashtag, you're the one driving! Are we just headed in a random direction?”

“I panicked! This is terrifying! Just be grateful I'm not leaking oil or anything!”

Before Nightshade could respond, they heard the familiar chugging of a train. Sure enough, just up ahead was one of the unmanned Ghost trains. Finally, a fighting chance.

“Is that a train?” Twitch took a moment's break to look behind her. A flash of recognition in her optics told Nightshade she had just gotten the same idea they did.

“Hashtag! Can you control the-” She began, but it seems her sister was also on the same wavelength. Using her remote hacking abilities, she had the cybernetic train slow down, allowing her to drive across the track. “Hold on, I'm going to make a hard left!”

The monster, clearly not giving it the human made locomotive a second thought, turned around to continue its chase. The nanosecond it stepped foot on the tracks, Hashtag had the train pull forward at max speed, obliterating its remaining hind leg. With a hellish roar, their pursuer fell to the ground, where Hashtag preemptively ran its torso over and over again with the train until she was satisfied.

“I saw that in a movie once, it's called double tapping. You don't stop until you know it's dead.” She chimed, seemingly happy with the results.

Shifting back to bot mode, all three siblings cautiously approached the slain beheatmoth, its nightmarish body splayed in half. Oily guts coated the tracks and train, leaving a thick smell of burned rubber and iron in the air.

“...I think I'm going to pass out.” Twitch fell to her knees, exhausted, clutching her forehead. Both Nightshade and Hashtag ran to her side, picking her up by the shoulders.

“Woah, hey, Twitch, you're good, you're good. That was the main monster, right, Nightshade?” Hashtag's big blue optics glittered with hope in their sibling's direction, waiting for a positive response.

“Well… yes and no. From what I saw, this creature is part of some alien society with others if it's kind. However, it seems its… higher ups, for lack of a better term, don't have much interest in coming to earth.”

“So… it's working alone, right? We're done?” Twitch pulled herself up, gaining a bit of balance.

“For now. This is something we'll have to discuss with Optimus Prime and Megatron.”

“Oh man, Optimus… are we going to get in trouble for destroying this train?” Hashtag worriedly looked over the damaged Ghost train. Unsurprisingly, repeatedly ramminging it into a giant alien had done a significant amount of damage.

“I think they'll understand.” Nightshade reassured her.

“Are we… we need to check up on the others at home.” Twitch began hovering back to the direction of the family house, still determined as ever to keep her loved ones safe.

A giant claw smacked her out of the sky without a moment's notice, breaking both her wing and the eerie silence of the forest.

It wasn't dead. Not completely, anyway.

The monster's head and shoulder were still loosely held onto its right arm by a few mangled tendrils, allowing the wounded creature to drag itself slowly across the grass.

“Nightshade, we aren't done. Please, listen to me. I can promise you-”

Nightshade noticed a glowing orb hanging on to the lower part of its neck, appearing to be some sort of power cell.

They walked over as the creature continued its monologue. It seemed to believe the green bot was considering its offer.

Nightshade stomped on the power cell repeatedly, until it exploded into a pile of azure sludge. As they had predicted, all life signs from the creature faded, and its tendrils loosened their grip on its body completely.

“I am so tired of that thing.” They sneered, unusually bitter. Their facial expression softened as they turned back to their injured sister. “Are you alright, Twitch?”

“Ugh, I'm… yeah, I'll just need to get this fixed.” She confirmed, shaking her loosened wing to test its durability.

Hashtag transformed, honking her van’s horn. “Ok, you guys need to tell me everything on the way back. I'm so confused right now. Hop on already!”

---FIN—

28 notes · View notes

towriteloveontheirarms · 8 months ago

Text

You know I have no choice (JJ Maybank x Kook!Reader)

synopsis: You love him more than anything or anyone, but no matter how much you wish you could stay with him, it can never be. Not like this.

warnings: angst, break up, mentions of weed, mentions of difficult relationship with parents, afab reader

word count: 1.6k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

A/N: Thank you @valeskafics for making me cave and finally start watching obx, simply by posting your Rafe stories. I love you babes!💜

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

It had been the longest week in your life, you think as you plop down on your bed after coming home after a very tense dinner with your parents. Not that things had been any different ever. Especially after they had found out your friends were poor, because God forbid you had friends you liked. Everything sure did a turn for the worse when your mother found the smallest amount of weed and the pill, as well as some condoms hidden away in one of your drawers. What followed was a catastrophic afternoon that ended in you being grounded like a small child “Until you learned to behave and found friends that were fitting of your social standing.” Your fathers’ words not yours, obviously.

´I miss you so much. It´s so boring here without you and the others around.�� Your fingers fly over the keyboard of your phone to send a message to JJ. He had snuck into your room every day for the past week, but it just wasn´t the same as hanging out with him, Kie, Pope and John B all day doing whatever.

´I miss you too, pretty girl. It´s not the same without you here.´ Came his answer in a matter of seconds. Making you wonder once again how he could answer you so fast every time, yet loving it nonetheless.

´Are you coming by again later?´ You ask him hopefully, though the answer was already clear.

´Wouldn´t let you go to bed without a good night kiss, would I? You chuckle at the text, practically being able to hear him say the words in that teasing way only JJ could.

´I´m already counting the minutes.´ You add a mouth emoji before sending the text, biting your lower lip at the thought of laying in JJ´s arms, even if it was only for a couple of hours. Ever since you couldn´t hang out every day anymore your body began to crave his touch like nothing else and without the chance to always have at least one of his arms around you… it would be a lie to say it wasn´t becoming a problem.

With a huff you turn around in your bed, to face the window, with no idea what to do to kill the time until your parents went to bed fastest.

In the end you settle for mindlessly scrolling on your phone. A state that is broken by a few pebbles hitting your window. Finally. He was here. You open the window and watch the messy blond hair of JJ appear in it, seconds before the golden retriever of a person lands in your room.

“Jayj…” You whisper and fall into his already open arms, hugging him as tightly to you as humanly possible.

“Hey, pretty girl.” JJ rasps in your ear and kisses the crown of your head.

Without leaving his grasp for even a second, you manoeuvre the two of you over to lay back down on the mattress and bury your face in the space where his shoulder and neck met.

“I missed you so so much. You have no idea.” Your words are muffled by the pale skin.

“I might.” The blond chuckles lightly.

“You have to promise that you´ll never leave me alone again. Not even for one second.” You are dead serious in your words, even thought that could never come true as long as you lived with your parents.

“I promise, doll.” The air that releases from his lungs as he makes the impossible promise moves hair that is mussed on the top of your head from cuddling so close.

You fall into a comfortable silence. However, the peaceful moment between the two of you doesn´t last much longer than that. Your parents must have been awake still or somehow you were too loud and woke them up. You can´t explain how it happened, but only moments later the door to your room bursts open to them staring daggers into the two of you.

You don´t have to look up to know that you are royally fucked. Yet you are still surprised by how truly fucked you were. What you had thought they would give you as a punishment was more grounding and their usual bullshit about how the pogues weren´t the right people to associate yourself with. Well, at least you´re only half wrong about that one. Your mother pulls you out of bed and away from JJ, downstairs to the living room, but even from there your voices get transferred upstairs to a very confused and quite frankly scared JJ. And though he doesn´t understand every single word that is being said, the blond knows there would be nothing good coming out of this.

Downstairs you have a hard time fighting the scalding hot tears that burn in your eyes, sitting across your parents with crossed arms and a restlessly bouncing leg as they go on and on about your poor choice in company for the thousandth time. This time something is different though. You feel it before they say it and then your mother makes the outrageous demand.

“You will break up with that boy now and you won´t ever see any of them again!”

“Or what?” You yell back at her. “What do you want to do? I´m old enough to decide who I want to be friends with on my own.”

“You may think you are old enough, but you know nothing of the world. So, either you do as we say or you are no longer a child of ours. Do you understand me young lady?” Your mother´s words are a kind of cold that sends a shiver down your spine. She and your father look at you like they never have, and it hurts like a knife to the heart. Your mother raises a questioning eyebrow at you, waiting for an answer of any kind. Either decision would seal your fate to a path of hurt and unluckily for JJ, your parents were years of manipulation ahead of his positive influence.

“Can I at least do it outside, in private?” You sigh, reverting your eyes to the ground as you give in to the outrageous demand. A stoic nod of the head was your only indication that your request was granted.

Leading JJ outside by his hands and sitting down with him on the step to the front porch, has your stomach swirling with something akin to the feeling of leading a beloved dog into the yard to throw it´s ball one last time as a distraction before having to shoot it. Like in the movies.

His large hands holding yours feel so bittersweet and you don´t even dare to look into his eyes in fear of what would come from it. It feels like eternity that you struggle to find words that would hopefully hurt him the least, but in the end, you just blurt out a weak “I´m sorry, Jayj.”

The first tears spill over as you do so, burning their way down your cheeks.

“Don´t say you´re sorry, please. Nothing good ever comes after I´m sorry.” JJ´s own tearful voice quietly rings through the night.

You lean your forehead against his, like you so often had before, feeling him near for probably the last time ever.

“Please don´t make this harder than it already is. You know I have no choice.” Your voice breaks miserably as you try to hold yourself together as much as possible. An intention that fails just as miserably as your voice does, when he cups your burning cheeks in his warm hands.

“We can make it work. We always made it work so far.” JJ tries to bargain. Placing little, pleading pecks to your lips and all over your face in the hopes of changing your mind.

“How could we possibly? We got lucky with how things turned out this time. I don´t want to know what would happen the next time we get caught.” You hold onto his face too now. Daring to look up into his wet puppy eyes and your heart breaks into a million little pieces.

“But… I love you, pretty girl…” With every word exchanged between the two of you, the grip on each other’s face turns more desperate. Eager to ingrain the feeling of the other into your mind. Every little detail about the other every little feeling you felt while you held each other, even if it had turned bitter now. Even if you hated yourself more than ever for doing this.

“I love you too, Jayj. I will always love you, nothing and no one will ever change that. But I… I just can´t keep doing this to you. You deserve better than to be forced to sneak around and only have a few limited moments. You deserve everything. You deserve the world and I just can´t give that to you like this.” As much as JJ wants to beg and bargain with you, he knows that you are right. As long as you were in this situation, there would be no way for you two to be together in peace. And it wasn´t fair, but when was life ever.

The two of you are silent as you let the harsh reality set in. The sounds of your sobbing and the occasional car driving past are the only sounds around you two and for the fist time since you had met the blond, time seems to fly in his presence. There was no longer a bubble shielding you from the world around, only harsh reality all around you caving in steadily and robbing you of your last breath.

In the end there is nothing left to do, but to share one last kiss. One last lingering proclamation of love to seal your betrayal to the one person that truly loved you and the only person you would ever love. You don´t even get granted the relief of all-encompassing numbness as JJ slips from your touch.

#jj maybank #jj maybank obx #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x kook!reader #jj maybank x you #outer banks #obx

63 notes · View notes

satlun · 5 months ago

Text

The Deep End | John Constantine x you

Genre: heavy angst, emotional hurt

Trigger Warnings: depression, committing suicide, death of y/n’s mother, blood, divorce, emotional hurt and supernatural

Summary: just take his hand and let go of your guilt

A/n: As you see at the trigger warnings, this fiction is quite sensitive. The death part is the main point of this plot as well, so it is important to have it. I’m really concerned about this one. So, if it might make you feel uncomfortable in any way please skip it. Don't read. Even if it's just fiction, I don't want to hurt your feelings that much. So, your consumption, your own choice and responsibility. Lastly, English isn't my first language

Army Dreamers (Instrumental) by Kate Bush

…

For twelve years since you lost your beloved mother, she died from committing suicide in the bathtub back in December, 1993. You are an only child who grew up with her alone, without knowing your real father since he left your mother before you even saw the world. Your mother was a strong woman, she could handle things really well as a single mother. She always kept things in her mind without telling you anything, made everything feel alright as if this was a perfect life until one night when you arrived home later than usual because you hung out with your friends earlier. For five times that you called her and there was no any sign of her answering at all. You walked around the house from the living room to the bed room before stopping at the bathroom door. “Mom? Are you here?” You called her before slowly opening the door since there was no one to answer.

You collapsed on the bathroom floor with an unbelievable expression on your face. She was dead, already dead. No sigh of breath since her red blood flew down from her wrists to the floor which became red all over the room. You screamed her name out loud as if you were going to die from it, both hands of you reached out her face which rested on the edge of the bathtub. As if she was sleeping, having a sweet dream with the fact that she wouldn't wake up anymore. She was pulled into your embrace as your heart sank into the deepest pain. She is gone and she won't come back anymore, no matter how hard you try, it's impossible.

For years you have blamed yourself for her death. Perhaps, she wouldn't die if you just came home earlier for an hour, just an hour would be enough for saving her in time. You have felt the pressure of guilt in your mind, weighing heavily in the bottom of your heart for not asking her if she was alright, for assuming that everything was perfect all the time, for not knowing that she went to the therapy every Friday. You blame everything that makes your beloved mother die, but you blame yourself the most. Back then, it wasn't easy for an eighteen-year-old-girl to handle this kind of thing alone. You felt so lost after her death since she was the only one you have in your entire life. You didn't expect this before, you thought you were going to get older with her, but no. The dream was ruined by only one night that you came home late. You lived your life as the world was going to end every night, your heart sank as you cried out loud alone in your bed. All you wanted was someone to hug you, a big hug to embrace you until the grief was gone but the fact that there was no one there for you when you cried your heart out.

The scars slowly fade when you get older. However, they're still leaving marks on you. The pain becomes part of yourself as you live your daily life. However, it's not as bad as it used to be and you think that you're good at handling it now. Your mother never made you feel like you really want someone, she didn't teach you that maybe it was better to have someone by your side. Not only now but also when you get older. So, your whole life was you alone with the pain that weighed in your mind. You didn't realise that you wanted anyone to be by your side since you believed that you could handle it better than before. Until one day you met a guy named John.

John slowly comes into your life until he becomes a part of you. As if he has been the other half you always find, the missing half that has been lost until now. Since then, he has always been the only person you can rely on. As if he is a big tree for you to sit under on a rainy day, for you to hide and relax. To make you feel that the rain isn't that bad if you have a big tree for you to stay under. The grief of your mother's death slowly fades away from your mind. The weight that was heavy earlier seems to be lifted and lighter. In the meantime, when your grief fades away every day as the time passes and the weight that John helps to lift it up, you barely remember her face anymore. It slowly turns into a blank space on your mother's face from the last memory of you.

…

An apartment in the middle of Los Angeles, California where you settle down with the love of your life, John. The smell of musty and smoke clinging within these walls. The light that can barely reach into the room. The sound of traffic coming from the street. Your memories of him and you start here, in this old apartment.

The mattress was subsided by the presence of the both of you. You are sitting on the edge, having a conversation with him under the dim lights. Today is the day your mother died twelve years ago. You will never forget it. You went to her grave earlier in the morning with John. You also brought her favourite flowers there, for her to hold in another life. You feel more emotional than usual tonight, since the atmosphere is dark and humid. It reminds you of the old days when you stayed alone in your room, crying so loudly but no one heard.

Your hands are placed on the mattress while your eyes are on the bedroom floor which is old and stained. “I miss her, John…” Your soft light voice makes John worry about you. “Can I see her? I need to see her… please…” Your gaze turns to his direction, he is already staring at you with an expression of worry and sorry for your pain. You are not asking, instead you are begging him to see her again since her face slowly fades away from your memory.

John pulls you closer to give you an embrace, a warm embrace that makes you feel better in this atmosphere. “Are you sure?” He says softly to your ear as you bury your face on his shoulder. The smell of him makes you feel comfortable and relaxed. “It means you will see her–” Going to hell is like going back to your bad memories. You will see the scene once again when you should forget about it all. He doesn't want to hurt you by your own decision that he supports.

“I know…” You interrupted him with your eyes that were on his face. “I will be back before she does. Please…” Your teary eyes that are looking at him makes him feel weak and vulnerable. His hands trace down to your back, rubbing it for a moment before losing in his thoughts. He doesn't want you to go at all because its consequences are not easy for you to handle with your vulnerable self.

Finally, he speaks. “You do this, there's no turning back.” He is trying his hardest to explain that it's totally a bad idea. If you go to hell once, your life will be changed forever. “You see them… they see you. Understand?” Tears running down your cheeks as you look at him with hope in your eyes.

“Yeah… if that can make me see her again…” You said it desperately. That's all you want right now, he can sense that. Since you insist on going then he has no choice but to go with you, to assure that you will be alright and come back on time.

“I’m going with you.” He hates this part the most, going to hell is like going to a nightmare but he loves you more than anything else. He can't just let you go to a place like that alone. Never.

Your cold hands reach out to his hands and hold them tightly. “You don't have to do that… really.” You know how much he hates that part. He always tells you about it and when he comes back to this world, his body and his skin is hot as if they are burning under his flesh. You hate to see him like that as well because he looks painful.

“I will. To make sure that you will leave on time. I don't want you to see that again.” The love of you both fight for each other. He doesn't want you to go alone since it is a terrible place. Meanwhile, you don't want him to go either because you know well that he hates it and you don't want to see him like that anymore.

John insists no matter how hard you try to make him stay here. He really doesn't want to let you go alone, he is worried about you so much that it can be seen on his face. His face is usually hard to read but this time it's really clear.

...

He leads you to the bathroom before opening the faucet to let the water fill the bathtub. It made you think about the first time you told him about your mother's death. He insisted on removing the bathtub off of the apartment. However, you rejected it. The main reason for that is, you want to create a better memory of it. So, you both usually take a bath in this bathtub together, spending time in there talking, kissing for an hour. It helps you feel better about the bathtub than you actually thought. Your good memories of you and him are in here, actually every corner of the apartment. It is your home that is full of love from him. The apartment might look lonely to the outsider, but for you it's not at all. The love from you both makes this old apartment feel special, feel comforted.

His hand closed the faucet since the water fills the bathtub already. John faces you as you take off your tee except your underwear. “Do I have to take the rest of my clothes off or can I leave them on?” You asked while you were busy sliding your shirt off. His gaze is on you, he seems more worried than before. He is quiet as if there are many thoughts in his mind. It is dangerous, you know. But as long as he is here with you, nothing scares you anymore.

“On is fine.” He grabs your shirt before putting it down somewhere in the bathroom. Your feet slowly get into the bathtub before sitting down in the cold water. He walks over to the bathtub without his shirt on. He took it off earlier. You move for him a little so he can get into the same bathtub with you.

As he sits down with the same expression on his face. Your mouth is about to say that it's alright to let you do it alone but then he interrupts before you can speak. “Come here.” He said as you moved closer to him. His arm constantly wraps around your back while the other hand is placed on the back of your head. His hot breath gently brushes on your shoulder. The silence slowly becomes clearer. His warm touch tightens your skin. “Do you trust me?” You don't see his face but there is a hint of worry.

Of course, you trust him with all your heart. “I do…” You're not sure why he even asked that. Your arms slowly wrap around his shoulders before tightening your embrace. There is pause after the word. You can't read him anymore since you don't see his face or any signs of his emotions. The water is still around you and him, this moment is peaceful and quiet.

“Take a deep one.” His low voice broke the silence that slowly formed earlier. Before you can even ask him further, he already leans your back down to the water, putting your head down to the bottom of the bathtub. The second before you nose down to the water, you take a deep breath like he said.

The silence under water is louder than before. His face is now under the water as well. You can't hear anything except the sound of water flowing around you both bodies. His face is away from yours, you can't see him. You blink your eyes slowly without any clue how it's going to happen or to end. How long you have to stay under the water. John didn't explain about it.

His body is close to you while you're in his embrace. He stays still like a statue which sinks down to the ocean. The bubbles slowly come out from your nostril, the air in your lungs is almost out. How long is it going to take? You think. There's no sign of him bringing you up to the surface while the water slowly makes you feel like you're suffocating. It's like you're drowning to the deep end of the ocean. Silent and also dark since your eyes are closed in order to maintain your calm, to control your breath.

You're drowning, that's what your brain reminds you. Both of your hands grab the edge of the pool to bring yourself up to the surface but he doesn't let you. His shoulder blocks your body from moving to the surface. You feel like you're dying. Perhaps, you're going to die. However, the thought was kicked away since your heart trusts him. You trust him with all your life, he wouldn't let you die like this. Why would he even do that? Your mouth is open as if you want to scream but you can't, it's like you're in a dream where you want to call out for help but there's no voice coming from your mouth. Your hands constantly grab everything around and even try to push his body away. How could he still stay still as if you're the only one who is about to be out of breath.

The water spreads around the bathtub, making the bathroom floor wet. You're dying, dying in a bathtub like your mother. Your head starts to rerun all the memories you have in your life since you were born. This is a sign of people who are going to die, you read about it once on the internet. Your memories rerun from the start when you first time open your eyes to this world, it keeps rerunning your memories really fast, you barely catch them until the last scene stops at the bathroom where your mother died, the scene where grabs the knot and about to walk in. The silence completely dominates you, you can't hear anything, not even the water. Your head is blank like a white paper. The world seems slower. His touch slowly fades from you as if your body is about to fall asleep forever.

…

Hot breeze hits your face, that is when your consciousness is back. You're not drowning anymore, you're completely in hell.

Your eyes look around there to see what it's like in hell, you haven't been here before of course, and you don't want to be here forever either. Things around you are familiar unless it's like an apocalypse version of the world where you come from.

The smell is obviously not usual, it's like the smell of Sulfur and burning. Your eyes keep looking around, losing in your thoughts before John interrupts you. Your consciousness snaps back to reality, you finally recognize the place.

The sight in front of you is the old house where you lived before the incident. You haven't visited here until now. It looks almost the same as your last memory. Your heart is pounding faster, you're not sure if this dreads you or terrorises you. The touch of his hand makes you feel safer since he notices your expression. “If you change your mind–”

“I’m gonna be alright, John.” You gave him a quick smile before walking into the house with him. John knows damn well that you're not alright, even the quick smile of you for trying to make him feel better. He didn't say anything except follow you into the house. He hasn't seen them before and only has heard about it from your story.

As the door opens, you can hear the sound of growling from the outside. John hears it too, so he shuts the door as your eyes notice many ugly creatures outside, slowly crawling to both of you. Maybe, you should hurry. John doesn't have to tell you because you can see his expression which is worrying about the creatures very clearly. Even if you have no idea how those creatures can harm you, it would be a good idea if you leave here as fast as possible.

The door was shut and the sound of someone walking makes you turn back. It's her, your beloved mother. She's walking into the living room, perhaps this is the moment before she commits suicide. As you follow her and notice her reaction, you can see that her walking seems a bit stumbling. Her hands trace on the walls around her as if she wants to balance herself. Your eyebrows frown as your eyes start tearing. You didn't know that she had medicine until you saw her open the drawer. She grabs some medicine before taking them all in once without sipping water. Her hands are also shaking a bit while she grabs a picture of you. Her finger tracing your picture with love as her eyes are full with tears.

“I’m sorry, sweet pea… but mama can't handle it anymore… it keeps… getting worse… mama can't fight with it… so don't blame yourself, honey… it's not your fault at all.” She kisses and places the picture of you down to the cabinet as her body almost collapses on the floor. John tightens your hand since he sees you cry. You never knew that her symptoms are worse like this, you had no idea. You immediately wrap around him as he holds you into his chest. He hates to see you like this but it doesn't help.

Your mother slowly walks into the bathroom with an expression which is hard to understand. You don't know what she is thinking, her face is too emotionless to find any emotion on it. It's scary how fast her mood changes. You decide to follow her into the bathroom while you're under his embrace.

She gets into the bathroom while you both are standing at the door. The same feeling hits your head, the same standing position where you see her dies, the same crying you had when you saw her. Her hand grabs a blade nearby as the sound of the creature destroys the door and walks in echoing from the front door. Your eyes look over there while your mother cuts her wrist. John sees it now, the incident that always haunts you, he blocks you from the scene immediately. As your eyes turn to his direction, he can see that you're hurt, hurt from the inside. Your tears don't stop flowing down your cheeks. “Let’s go now.” He grabs your hand while the creatures almost catch you.

…

Suddenly, your vision turns to darkness. Only in a second before you can hear the sound of water again. The loud gasp comes out of your mouth, you finally reach to the surface of the bathtub. Water spreads all over the room. Your body is hot like hell, as if it's burning from the inside. John immediately pulls you into his arms, wrapping around you, trying to comfort you while you're crying out loud. You're not sure if you're crying of your mother or the feeling of skin burning from the inside. You breathe heavily as you cry your heart out. Both of your arms unintentionally wrap around him before you rest your head on his shoulder. “You're here.” John kisses your temple and rubs your back gently. “You're back.” His soft voice can really make your heartbeat slower.

A moment of staying in the position, trying to calm yourself down. Your head can't stop thinking about what you just saw earlier, you just know what happened before she died. You just know that she always loves you and she didn't mean to leave you alone at all but she just can't fight with her depression anymore. She tried her hardest, that's what you believe. And the fact that she said it is not your fault at all, she said as if you would know. And what if you didn't meet John what's it going to be? You would live with guilt until death takes you. You would blame everything or yourself forever. John is like a key for you to meet the truth, to release you from the darkness that doesn't stop haunts you. “It's not your fault anymore.” John whispered to your ear as his hand didn't stop rubbing on your back. “It's never been your fault…”

The smoke still floats up to the air, but your body seems to be cooler. Your tears start to dry but you don't have a sign to let go of him. You want a hug from him in this situation. It's really hard to forgive and forget when you have always taken them on your shoulder. “Thank you…” Thank you for taking you there to meet her again, to remember her face, to block you from the scene. The blank space of your mother’s face slowly turns to her exact face.

“Don't blame yourself anymore if you really want to thank me.” John made a joke for you, the fact that it always works. His dry sense of humour always makes you smile. Perhaps, it's time to let them go, all your guilt. Then, move on, have a life you want, stop clinging to the past you can't even control. It's time to fully forgive and understand yourself. John is always right here with you, you can even go on easier. Nothing can scare you. He is here, right here, holding you in his arms. “I promise…”

END

…

Inspired by

Like, reblog and comment are appreciated

#keanu reeves #keanuverse #my post #constantine 2005 #john constantine 2005 #john constantine

40 notes · View notes