#im gonna beat him with a lead pipe

[wafferreyes]

hes so funny

[shurisneakers]

Are we gonna get a drabble/additional scene of the laser tag game mentioned in ch 17?

UNEDITED GARBAGE SHIT DRABBLE ON THE HOUSE BC IT’S VALENTINES DAY AND IM RUSTY BUT I MISSED THEM

it’s not exactly that specific game but one of the lazer tag games in the future!

Catch up with the rest of the series here!

“Alright. Look at me.” Clint drags his fingers towards his eyes. “Grandpa Frisbee. I’m talkin’ to you.”

Steve doesn’t look too impressed.

“We got one shot,” he continues. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“Applies to you all too,” Sam repeats to his group. Clint glares at him as if he’s stolen strategies hidden deep in his archive. Having Sam’s nonchalance balanced out Clint’s annoying competitiveness, but only to a certain degree.

“You heard him Bucky,” you pipe up. “Don’t fuck it up for us.”

Bucky’s nose twitches but he doesn’t give you attention, knowing fully well it’d fuel you further.

“We’re not on the same team,” he replies instinctively, voice robotic.

“We literally are.” Not that he could help it. It’s not his fault that the team didn’t have any other friends to balance out the number of members needed. Losers.

“Not my choice,” Bucky grumbles.

“Shut up, the both of you,” Clint barks. Bucky can’t wait for the game to start because he’s about two seconds away from beating him over the head with the laser gun. “Alright, team. Let’s get their ass.”

“Please don’t break anything,” the guy from the reception says timidly. “Again.”

____

Bucky doesn’t bother flexing how good he is at the game because everyone knows. Decades worth of stealth training leaded up to this moment in his life.

He fires a quick shot off, getting Tony right in the chest. He whips around wildly, giving a string of curses in perfectly accented Italian before storming off.

Bucky relaxes, partly because he’s already hit each member on the opposite team at least once and his own group members were nowhere to be seen.

He stalks through the arena, dodging shots that come out of seemingly nowhere, just because someone breathes a little too loud or he sees the fraction of a reflection off the plastic.

He’s long given up on trying to find you. He hasn’t seen you since the game started and he’s convinced it because you’ve somehow left the arena to preserve your points.

“Rogers at ten o’clock,” Sam’s disembodied voice calls out from behind a giant foam wall and Bucky whips around, silent as the night as he fires a shot before Steve can even step out. 

The sly smile on his face has Bucky narrowing his eyes.

It’s too late to figure out it’s a set up when someone noisily jumps out from where Bucky was facing just a few seconds ago.

Bucky has his gun raised in defense but in a flash, the lights on Wanda’s suit goes off. She’s been hit. Her face twists into one of annoyance as she stalks past him.

It’s a great plan unfortunately foiled. But not by him.

He waits until everyone clears from the area and a flash of light from the other end of the arena lights up Vision’s face.

“Look how the turn tables.” It’s followed by the sound of you mimicking the cocking of a gun, laser gun falling to lean on your shoulder. “I just saved your life.”

“I had her covered,” he grumbles.

“Sure you did.” You grin at him. “Gold star for you, baby.”

“You hiding there instead of being out on the field?” Bucky does a quick sweep of his eyes around the area to make sure no one else was around. “Didn’t take you for a coward.”

“Cowardice is hardly the same as hardcore strategy, Barnes.” You tsk. “You know, If you’re nice to me, I’ll let you share my super secret vantage point. I’ve been offing people this whole time and no one’s got me even once.”

“Woah, no way,” he says before clearing his throat and calling out loudly. “Hey, guys. Look who I fou-"

You hiss at grab at him, muffling his voice and pulling him to the corner. If he wasn’t dressed in his usual vintage emo attire of all black, he’d probably be visible from half the block.

“If you wanted to be all pressed up against me, you just had to ask, Bucky,” you mock, and he recognizes it from an era that seemed too long ago.

“Y’know, this is a decent point to keep watch,” he mumbles instead.

It’s not to keep his voice down, as he comes to learn, when he realises how close you are to him. Hell, you were right. One arm‘s worth of distance away, he can hear everything in stunning clarity; right from your heart beat to the shifting of your balance to another foot.

“I know.” You beam at him, looking around. “Impressive, right?”

“Wouldn’t go that far.”

“That’s just the jealousy.” Your voice is nearly drowned out by the cacophony of pew pews as Steve curses loudly. 

He’s supposed to be covering someone. It escapes him now, he’s too transfixed on something else entirely.

"Well, would you look at us?" You wiggle your eyebrows. “Dark corner, total privacy.

He’s very aware of Clint screaming in the background but no one cares about that.

"Mhm." He's trying to save up on his words before he loses all of it.

"What if I was double-crossing you, huh?"

"Imagine that," he says, humouring you.

"Hm." You cast a glance over your shoulder. "This is real saintly of you, Barnes."

He snorts. "This was your idea."

"Maybe so." You take a tiny step closer to him, hand finding a place on his chest. "You're not supposed to be going along with it."

"Funny how things work out, ain't it?"

Someone shouts in the background again. He wants to kiss you, hard.

You press the gun into his chest. "I could pull the trigger."

"S'ppose you could." Bucky stares right into your eyes.

"And then what?"

"And then what?" he repeats.

"And then I make a lot of people mad."

"As always."

"Yeah, but these are your friends." You sound conflicted. "What if they hate me afterwards?"

"They like you better than me." He closes the rest of the distance between you, reducing it down to the size of the barrel. "Shitty judgement."

"It's called taste." You can't stop yourself from smiling. "D'you think it's worse to have Clint be mad at me or Sam?"

"I hate both of them."

"That's not what I asked."

Still, he thinks it's important for you to know.

"We gotta go," he whispers, face inches away from yours. "I'm their best marksman."

"That'd be me actually," you contest but shut up when you feel his lips ghost over yours.

You can tell why they consider him a good strategist, because you’re only about two seconds away from just saying fuck you to the game entirely and carding your hand through his hair.

Until there's a zap and the lights on your suit go off.

You look down at where his gun points to your stomach. Shot.

When you look back up he's smiling wide, already a step away.

"Did you-"

"Imagine that."

"I'm on your fuckin' team." Your jaw drops. Motherfucker.

"Eh." He gives you a quick kiss because he just can’t help it, before sauntering off to find Sam. "I like it better when you're not."

[tparker48]

Credit for photo: one-inch-chick

"Alright you spooky folks. Here are the rules for this Halloween game. You simply have to travel through this maze and cross on the other side. But if one of our scarers catch you, you minimize your chance of escape and they have to escort you to the exit. Got it? Good. With that said, let the game begin!" As the bell rang, the participants ran ito the maze as their figures disappeared into the the night. Among them would be two friends as one gained ground quickly than the other.

"Ease up will ya! Not all of us are track stars you know!"

"Come on slow poke, at this rate im gonna beat ya to the finish line" they ran faster into the dark path ahead as his behind saw his body fade into the darkness. Nothing but their white shoes would signify their form before the sudden crop covered them.

"Hey! Wait...wait up" he yelled behind as his friend got farther ahead. There was a sudden rustle just in front of him as he heard the sounds of his echoed.

" hey what's the big idea. Get off me..." A sudden flash lit up ahead as before it dampened into the night sky. The sound of his friend voice couldn't be heard as the field went silent.

"Buddy?..." He yelled to the area ahead. Slowly, he made his ways towards where he last heard his friend. The path was dark as the fallen crops cracked underneath each step he'd take. The sounds of the other contestants also echoed into the night sky, but they seemed more distant. "He just had to leave me behind. Now he went and got himself caught" he groaned to himself "i'd better get a move on before i'll be next" he shook his head as he turned around to find another path. But a solid surface soon crashed into him as he stumbled backward. As he looked at what hit him, he caught a glimpse of a very tall figure with a hockey mask on his face. "Aaah! **ahem**I mean..ah, you almost...had me...there" he sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his head. "Well, i guess i that im out then huh?" He asked up at the tall figure. But they said nothing as they stood there. "Keeping character huh? Right, well this going to be a long night. Well then, lead the way" he ushered at the tall figure, but even that didn't get a response. "Man you're a stubborn one. Well, if you won't lead me i guess i'll-" he felt something clench along his rear as his body tightened. As he looked behind, the hand of the tall figure would be squeezing a cheek as it applied pressure.

"Well, im not one to turn down a good squeeze, but at least take me out to dinner FIRST" he felt to the ground from under him disappeared as his size reduced. As he looked down, the ground would star farther down below as he flailed to catch himself. But he wasn't falling, he looked up to the now massive figure holding him from the cheek he grabbed him at as his fingers pinched around.

"As i thought, you're a roudy one alright"

"You can talk?! Why didn't you before"

"I was bout to til you called me stubborn. You and that other one really seem to be loud mouths. But i got something for those type" the figure dropped his sword prop as he stretched the front of his pants outward. Dragging his briefs along with them, his shaft inside would reveal itself. Its form was large but chubby as it length curled over their balls. But with a sudden clench, they opened a space just along the side of the pouch as the tall figure held it still. With that, he inserted their body to fill the emptiness inside as he stuffed their legs deep but their upper hanging off the length of the shaft.

"Wait a secon-" Snap!

"That's enough out of you for now. Got a lot of ground to cover before we reach the finish line. Perfect for you to learn some manners" the figure snapped his pants back his waist as he groped his crotch slowly. Massage around the thick bulge of his shaft as he fondled along the lump of the participating inside. Their voice barely audible as they smother between the thick muscle and layers of fabric. "Pipe down already. You're not going anywhere" the figure says as they walked off.

An hour later, the remaining contestants would be making Their way out of the maze as they cross the finish line. The announcer waiting for them on the other side as he congratulated them. And from the crops, the scarer appears from with the brushes as each help the ones they capture. Among them, would be the tall figure as they stood in a single file lime. "Thank you for your helps scarers, i hope you had as much of scarey time with the ones you captured. And now that the game is done, tis time for them go" the announcer claimed as the each placed their captives on the ground. Their sizes returning to them as they as each walked off. But with the tall figure, it took him longer than the others as he unfastened his pants. Struggling flourished around his crotch area as it kicked and turned in place. But he opened it, the participant inside would pop out from its heated environment as he hung of the edge of the taller figures briefs. The tip of Their shaft slouching along their back as they struggled to get out.

"Get this thing off me" they said as they wrestled under it. The taller figure would merely huff in laughter as he plucked them from his crotch and to the floor. Their returning to them as he fumbled onto his rear. The taller figure then turned towards the break lounge as he snapped his pants back on.

"Hey! What about my friend?!" He yelled at them as the figure looked back.

"Hmm?..oh yeah" he grumbled under his breath. He reached into the back off his pants as he fished around his in crack. But a single scoop, a muffled voice would linger from the fabric before his friend was pulled out. Their buddy almost drenched with sweat as their shirt had a damped stain. Without letting them recover, the figure tossed them towards his friend as his size returned to him while he fell to the floor. Their landing less graceful as they rolled along the floor.

"You...giant bastard you...have a major sweating problem"

"Only the better to you punks like you a lesson. Better think twice next time before ya get more than just sweat" the tall figure wiped his fingers along the lengths of his pants before he walked off to the break room. Leaving the two im the grass as they as they both stared at him unamused.

"You're gonna need a lot of detergent to get that out you know. Along with a heavy duty wash"

"Ah shut up will ya"

[hargreef]

Ohhh really? Could you do five having sn anxiety attack and deigo helping him out? (Because hes helped with klaus before)

Btw i cant wait to read so be it, im just waiting for it be finished!!

hello!! thank you so much for the prompt :)

i hope you enjoy ;) <3

There often comes times where Five can’t catch his breath.

Sometimes, on the rare occasion, he can identify the reasons, and therefore overcome the irrational sensations of smog dusting his lungs, of phantom fingertips picking at his throat, of pipes puncturing his airways where he has been completely succumbed to the depths of suffocation.

Other times, not so much.

Other times, it’s a trigger out of nowhere, a blurred line that can’t decipher the distinctions between reality and make-believe, a cross junction with roads leading to nowhere but the sour stems of his hurt. And then it becomes so loud and overbearing and the thrums of his heart and the beats of the corrupted sun become the symphony of his soul and he can’t hear the real world anymore.

It happens more now than it did before. He isn’t so sure if it’s because he has more time to fall apart like this, the lack of focus towards an impending apocalyptic future catering to his spare schedule to stop and consider the destruction of his own mind.

It could be that. It could be his brain rotting and eating the leftover flesh of his sanity, pulling apart the thinnest of strings that ties the box of stability together. His own justification for his madness sounds almost as absurd as the experience itself, and yet there isn’t an alternative that exists sensibly even within the coherency of his intellect. Nothing of what else he can come up with rationalises these ridiculous episodes, and so dedicating the root of his issues to the matter of simply having too much time on his hands, will have to suffice.

Except, now is one of those times. One of the other times. The kitchen, where shards of glass have scrambled out of his twitching fingertips and scattered across the floor, has become the new host of his latest delusion, sharpening the edges of the table to carve out the illusion of burning rubber and flesh. He’s standing, he thinks, amidst the flaming chaos, the once intact cereal bowl translated into glinting green-bottle waste at his feet.

Five can’t see past the ash-filled fog and everything smells like death. He’s moving—should be moving—or is he standing still in place, breath caught in his lungs and heart gasping for a slower motion, thrusting against his chest from where it begs for redemption.

“Five?” A voice sings in the air, a faraway echo just distinct enough to be understood.

Something touches Five’s arm, something solid; warm.

“Five,” the voice calls again, urgently this time. “Hey, buddy, you listening to me?”

Five chokes on his own spit in a feeble attempt to respond, swaying softly on his toes from where they’re buried in the soils of his siblings’ putrid corpses. “Wh—go’way.”

“What’s that?” The voice, the body, the warmth is nearer, closer, bigger. “Hey, hey, you’re hyperventilating, alright? Can you hear me at all, Five?”

“Buh—hel—h’lp.”

“Five, bud, you gotta look at me,” darker, huskier tone. Croaky, sort of. “See my face? Can you—fuck, okay, I’m gonna touch you, okay? ‘Cause I don’t think I’m getting through to that big brain, alright?”

Something—something—soft, solid, warm—hands, on his face. Large and kind, gentle pads scrubbing the tender flesh of his cheeks. The haze begins to fade, the scent begins to wane, the wilt of his body enriching with the sag of his bones, and he is exhausted. Oh, god, he’s exhausted.

“Can you breathe with me, Five? In and out, count with me, okay? One . . . two . . . ”

In and out, slower, slower, slow, slow down. Slow down. Slow down.

“That’s it, buddy, slow it down, easy, easy . . .”

“M’,” Five burbles, reaching out suddenly to latch onto the soft-warm-safety in front of him. “M’Sorry, I can’t—I can’t—”

“Of course you can,” Diego, Diego, whispers. “Of course you can, Five. You can do anything.”

I can do anything.

“Gentle, gentle, easy,” Diego instructs, calmly, quietly. Five blinks his vision back to reality, the materials of his make-believe evaporating into the mists of oblivion as he refocuses on his brother—authentic, alive, big brown eyes and hands on his face, on his hair.

“F-fuck,” he gasps, a choked baby-wheeze that whispers rows of his woes, decades of devastation and grief uttered through the face of a boy who has seen too-little, too-much.

“You’re okay,” Diego murmurs, so close, so warm. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

“Nuh—” Five pants, and then he howls.

“Five,” Diego’s voice cracks, eyes flashing with the kind of heartbrokenness that is too big to disguise, his entire face twisting into an expression that no amount of pain could ever describe.

Five’s wails are loud and unforgiving, sailing beyond the seven seas of his suffering, where the ship that sails him home lies in a sunken wreck down in the depths of the green-blue Atlantic. His heart is descending to the pit of the oceans, finding a disastrous habitat amidst the rotting ship-wood—accepting his new home upon the remains with the once-upon-a-time wind filled pillows of white anchoring his heart to the seabed.

“Five,” Diego whispers, the slightest tightening of grip manifesting through his fingers. “Five, it’s okay, it’s okay buddy, you’re okay.”

“M’not,” Five mumbles, through a series of choked breaths as he desperately attempts to collect himself. “M’not.”

Diego adjusts a hand cradling his cheek to cup the back of his neck, bringing their foreheads together. “Maybe not,” his voice stays low, gentle. “But you’re gonna be, okay? We’ve got you. I’ve got you. And I’m not gonna let you go, alright?”

Slumping into the hands of his brother, Five’s knees buckle as he gives away to the floor, fully permitting Diego to catch and steady him as he lowers the two of them to rest on the kitchen tiles. He’s propped doll-like in his brothers lap with a vision too blurred to really care, head positioned securely beneath Diego’s chin to fit into place above his heart, where Five can hear it thump-thump-thump.

“Alive,” Diego murmurs, once he grasps the notion of what his brother is doing. He cards his fingers through Five’s hair, simultaneously shocked and a little disorientated at the fact he’s allowing himself to be held like this, to be vulnerable like this. To be comforted, like this.

“Mhm,” Five says, opting to close his eyes, soothed from the steady, soft breaths withdrawing from Diego’s mouth. “Alive,” he repeats, as a confirmation for himself.

“That’s right,” Diego says, slowly starting up a gentle, rocking motion from where he’s flat out against the counter, swaying them side-to-side. ��Right here, kid.”

Five nods again, drifting off to the kind strums of sunshine spurting from Diego’s soul, engulfing him in a striking warmth that he certainly hasn’t felt for a while.

“Got you,” Diego repeats, to his mop of hair. He presses his mouth against the crown of Five’s head, a tendered kiss left to linger long after he’s gone, a phantom touch of mellow comfort to be remembered during these times, where hopefully, Five can wrap this moment to store away for later. A touch of the simplest form of love, to be reminisced and recognised and understood.

“I love you, Five,” Diego says, then, just in case he forgets.

And the words hang in the air, skinless and delicate and openly raw, left to process by the littlest Hargreeves in a memory Diego hopes he keeps forever.

“Love you too,” Five murmurs, after a beat, and Diego knows he’s been heard loud and clear.

[emperor-palpaminty]

Heart Song

Part 1: In which Tech meets his soulmate as a cadet. I like soulmate AUs. Yes, there will be lots of parts to this. Forgive me.

As far as the young clone knew, the clones had gone through specific DNA alterations to ensure they wouldn't hear the voice of their soul mates. They were soldiers, not lovers. They were told as soon as they began training that if they heard an unfamiliar voice to report it to their supervisor.

The child wasn't necessarily concerned with this- he was only a cadet. War and training were the only things he was concerned with.

He laid back in his bunk, eyes squeezed shut with pain. Trying to see from far away hurt his eyes, but he didn't want to say anything. He didn't want to get in trouble. People already made fun of him and his brothers. The biggest out of all of them already had selected a name- Wrecker- and it fit him. The other boys, the normal boys, had used his name against him. Wrecker didn't seem to care, though, and he stayed confident in his skills.

He breathed deeply, rubbing his bleary eyes, trying to calm himself down.

A voice broke through his head and jarred him. It was sweet, feminine, and melodious. Was it... singing?

The boy sat up abruptly, head smacking the top of his bunk. "Ow!"

The voice in his head went quiet. "Who's there?" She whispered.

"Uh." The boy coughed. "Hi."

She gasped. "Are you my soulmate?"

"That's not possible. I don't have one."

"Everyone has a soulmate, silly!" She giggled.

The boy's heart thumped. Her voice was the prettiest voice he had ever heard. "Wow," he breathed. "Your voice is..."

"Awesome?" She laughed again. "Thanks. I like yours too."

"Was that you singing?" He whispered, laying back down, slowly. He didn't want to wake anyone up.

"Yes. I have voice lessons tomorrow, so I was practicing. I like singing." There was a pause, and then she said, this time matching his whisper, "Can you still hear me?"

"I can!" The boy whispered back, hardly able to contain his joy. "I have a soulmate!"

Her giggles filled his head, and he hugged his pillow (just the one he had) tightly. "What's your name, soulmate?"

"I, uh..." he frowned. "I don't have one."

"But... everyone has a name."

The boy's face warmed in the dark. "I haven’t picked one yet. My brother has! His name is Wrecker."

"You get to pick your own name? Oh, I love that."He heard a muffled squeak, and his heart fluttered again. "What will you pick?"

"I don't know yet," he confessed. "When I know what I'm good at, I will."

She yawned, sweetly, and the boy could imagine a little girl in bed. Perhaps she was with other people, like he was, or alone. He had thought about having his own room, especially when Wrecker scored. "You need to sleep." He said quietly.

"May I talk to you tomorrow?"  She yawned again.

"Yes!" The boy agreed. He watched his brother, the one with blonde hair, shift in his sleep, and he lowered his voice. "I may not be able to talk back a lot tomorrow. I have training."

"What are you training for?" She mumbled.

"I'm going to be a soldier." He said, quite simply. "I believe tomorrow is flight simulation." He hugged his pillow gently, exhaling. He pressed his face in it. "Can you sing more?"

"Of course. Goodnight, Soulmate." The girl began to hum softly, singing lilting words. "Come guess me this riddle, what beats pipe and fiddle..."

The cadet was asleep, soundly, within the minuite. He wished he had some way to remember her voice and listen to it through the day.

___

His eyes hurt through the day again, but his little heart was soaring in joy as his fingers moved quickly on the keys. He had no issue seeing in front of him, just further away.

His number was called, pulling him out of his mind replaying the lullaby from last night. He rose, trying to not be shaky, walked to the Sargent, ignoring the other boys glaring at him. "Yes, sir?" He ignored his leg bouncing, trying to not reveal his nerves. Did the older clone know he had a soulmate? That he heard a voice?

"Come with me, CT-99-403." The Sargent in charge lead the boy away. The cadet glanced back at his brothers, their faces standing out with worry and different from the identical sea of clones.

The cadet followed, quietly. He avoided eye contact at the kaminoian female who was leaning over the holopad, eager. "Thank you, Sargent." Nalaa Se stood, turning to the boy.

"Yes, maam?" The cadet stood at attention, thinking back through everything he could possibly be in trouble for.

The Kaminoian waved, lowering her datapad. "At ease, CT-99-403." She traced the room slowly. "I wanted to speak to you and your batch. Individually."

The boy shifted, quiet.

"You and your brothers were made with individual purposes in mind. We believe that the four of you will fully grow into a special batch." Her insectoid eyes scanned him, and the cadet did his best to stay neutral in face. She continued speaking. "Your scores in the flight and mechanic simulation are one hundred and thirty five percent higher than average." She folded her fingers, long neck craning. "Your mathematical and quantitative skills are... maturing quickly." Nalaa Se picked up the holopad again. "Your mind is technologically advanced. We'll be specializing your training with additional combatative skills and technology or engineering, as with your brothers. You will all specialize in different fields."

The boy's heart fell. "Will I still get to see my brothers- my batch?" He said, soft. He was almost frightened to ask.

"Yes. You'll all train together in combat." The kaminoian waved a hand dismissively.

"Um... actually, I wanted to ask," the boy said quickly, and the insectoid eyes peered up again. He half-shuddered and spoke. "My eyes... it's hard to see."

She frowned at him, comprehending, not judging. "Stop at the medical bay. I'll have them create some lenses for you."

The cadet's heart had fallen before, but now it plummeted. He would be the only clone with glasses. He gave a half-hearted "Thank you. Maam." Before hurrying out, towards the medbay.

___

"Soulmate?"

Tech gasped, glancing up from his glasses, which he was examining in his hands. "You're here!" He whispered, delighted.

Her laugh brightened his day. "Have you picked a name yet?"

"No, but I think I have an idea." He tugged the regulated blanket over him, rolling over and hugging the pillow again. "I met with my maker today."

"Maker? You mean... your parents?"

"Er- yes." He coughed quietly. She wouldn't understand. "My... parents, they said I was advanced in technology and scared high in engineering fields."

"Oh! My soulmate is smart!"

The boy's heart soared. On a planet where he was reminded that he belonged to the means of war, it was nice to be called someone's 'something'. "I... yes," he cleared his throat. "I want it to be something like that."

"Smarty-pants," She teased. Her laughter followed.

He smiled, squeezing his pillow, happy. "Song bird."

"So what is your name gonna be?"

"I don't think I can say," he said, quietly. "Doesn't that... go against the rules?"

"Well, we can try!" She declared. The cadet sighed happily, snuggling his face im his pillow, heart tumbling between his ribs. "My name is-"

Static. Nothing.

"I didn't hear it."

"Oh. That does make it complicated, then." She mumbled, significantly more down cast.

The cadet yawned softly, tucking the blanket around his shoulders. "I'll find you some day, soul mate."

"I thought I was song bird, smarty-pants.'

He giggled, unlike himself, and nestled into what warmth he could find. "You are, song bird. And I'll find you.' He yawned again, then rubbed his face. "Can... can you sing again?"

"Sure! The same song, or something else?"

Oh, he wanted to memorize her song. Every word and every melody and every note of the lullaby, all the songs she could ever sing. "I liked the one last night. But what's your favorite one?"

There was silence, and then she spoke softly. "Are you in bed?'

"Yes."

"Does no one come tuck you in?"

The boy's face emblazoned with red, and he, remembering she could not see him, spoke. "No."

"Then I'll tuck you in some day." She said, gently. "And I'll sing you to sleep."

The boy's heart imploded, and he curled up in bed as she softly sung. "I saw the light, fade from the sky..."

As he closed his eyes, the boy whispered, "Tech. My name is Tech." He doubted she could hear him, but it felt good to say the name he claimed to be his and no one else's.

[hotchseyebrows]

it's a matter of seeing

a derek morgan x penelope garcia fic

a/n: hello again beloveds !!! today i present to you Another derek and penelope are kissing for the first time fic. what can i say, it's simply the best. thank you as always to the spectacular @blkantigone for being my supportive and helpful first reader and editor, love youuu! thank all of you for reading (im getting faster between uploads, have you noticed?)

title is from emily l. by marguerite duras. full line is "I don't know if love's a feeling. Sometimes I think it's a matter of seeing. Seeing you."

rating/warnings: gen audiences :) two vague allusions to sex but nothing even close to explicit, its more just in the way it exists in the background and derek is injured but it's superbly minor

read it here on ao3!

Derek steps closer to Penelope. “You had to see me. With your own eyes.”

Penelope rolls her eyes. “Yes, silly goose, that’s the usual way of seeing.”

-

Derek gets hurt on a case, and Penelope worries. He's fine, but she still worries.

word count: 2028

Derek glances at the time on his phone. Almost midnight, though it could be closer to 4 a.m. for how tired the team is tonight. A long case in Colorado kept them away from home for almost two weeks, and all Derek wants is to pet his dog and sleep in his own bed.

“Could this elevator ride be any slower?” Emily groans from where she’s leaning on the wall behind him.

“You know, Prentiss, I could have just gotten a late night taxi or grabbed one of the last trains.” Spencer is rocking back and forth on his heels next to her, a yawn growing on his lips. 

“Nuh uh, kid, I’m getting you home whether you like it or not. I just wish you didn’t need that notebook from your desk tonight.”

“Sorry,” Spencer says, cringing slightly. Derek looks back to see Emily nudge his shoulder with a fond grin. Spencer’s shoulders relax.

“Why are you coming up, Hotch?” Derek asks the man in the opposite corner from Emily.

“Files.” Hotch stays facing the elevator door, only glancing at Derek.

“No way are you planning on staying here and working tonight– Hotch. We’ve been gone for two weeks–” (“Almost two weeks,” says Spencer. Derek waves him off.) “– you should be going home.”

“I’m just grabbing a few things. I’ll get back on this elevator with you.” Hotch glances at the time on his own phone then, unlocking it to open a text message from Jess. Derek sees a picture of smiling Jack for a split second before he looks away. “Jess is already expecting me.”

Derek hums in acknowledgement. He rolls his shoulder as the doors open and they walk towards the bullpen together.

“Shoulder still hurting, Morgan?” Emily asks. The day before they came home, one of the unsubs got the jump on Derek, tackling him to the ground. Emily easily subdued him, but Derek landed funny on a wayward pipe. His shoulder has been bothering him ever since. He nods in response.

“I’ll be fine.” Emily scoffs at him, but says nothing. He will. Eventually.

Spencer holds open the door for Derek. “Here, Morgan. So you don’t aggravate your injury.”

“Hilarious. Ha ha. When’s the stand-up tour? Have you been moonlighting at comedy clubs, pretty boy?”

Spencer sticks his tongue out at him. He quickly pulls it back in his mouth when he catches Hotch looking at him. To their surprise, Hotch cracks a small smile. “Reid has a point, Morgan.” Emily lets out a laugh that is more a cackle than anything.

“Evil. You’re all evil.” He walks through the held open door anyway.

Most of the desk lamps are off, the bullpen empty this late. But his chair is spinning slightly and his light is on. A mop of blonde hair, today a mess of curls with a large sparkly flower pinned at the top, bounces as the chair spins.

“Baby girl, what are you doing here?” Penelope spins to face him, a brilliant smile flashing onto her face immediately. “It’s late. You could have gone home hours ago.”

“Where’s JJ and Rossi?” 

“Already in their cars on the way home. We all needed something from up here first.” She’s standing now, and he steps in front of her. “Don’t avoid my question, Mama,” he says, lightly tapping the tip of her nose.

Her smile falters, worry breaking through. “You got hurt.” Her eyebrows crease as she looks him over.

Derek raises both eyebrows. “Yea, but I’m okay. A little injury.”

The crease does not go away. “You got hurt. I don’t like when you get hurt.” He uses his non injured arm to pull her in for a hug. She wraps him in her arms immediately, her face pressing against his chest. The usual private shiver dances down his spine at the feeling. He rubs a small circle on the middle on her back as the tension bleeds out of her.

“See, baby girl? I’m fine.” Penelope picks up her head and looks at him. “Heart’s still beating. Blood’s still pumping. It’s just a little booboo.” She laughs at his word choice. “I’m okay. Promise.”

“You’re gonna rest at home? Ice it, or heating pad it up, or whatever you need?” He nods. “And you’ll call me if you need my help?”

“I promise.” She pops on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “You’re cute when you’re worried.”

Penelope tilts her head back and laughs. “I’m always cute, Derek Morgan. Don’t you forget it.” She never looks more beautiful than when she laughs. 

“I won’t,” he says, moving his arm to her waist and walking them both to his desk. Spencer is closing his bag at his desk while Emily leans back in his chair, eyes closed.

“Okay, I’m ready,” says Spencer, nudging the chair with his foot. Emily blinks her eyes open, sitting up. “And I can drive, Emily, you’re more tired than I am.” She opens her mouth to argue, but a yawn comes out instead. She hands Spencer the keys without a word.

“Why are you here, Garcia?” Emily asks.

“Had to see my sweet love in person as soon as you got home.” Derek’s heart flips in his chest. “I worry,” she says simply. Emily nods, giving Derek a long look.

Hotch appears at the top of the stairs next to his office. “I’m leaving.” The unsaid addition of that means you are too rings out from the eyebrow heavy look he gives them all.

Derek grabs the file he needs and a novel his sister sent him from his desk drawer quickly. “Come on baby girl, I’ll walk you out.”

“My very own Prince Charming,” she says as she loops her arm through his.

Spencer starts telling Emily about a Russian film festival coming up in a few weeks as they lead the way to the door. Hotch is close behind, silent but listening. Penelope pulls on Derek a little and they follow. 

She puts her head on his shoulder. On reflex, he kisses the top of her head. Not for the first time, he thinks about how easy it is for her to slot into place in his life. She just fits, no matter where he is or what he’s doing. There she is, a voice on the phone or the person spinning in his desk chair in the middle of the night solely because she needs to see him in person.

He falters as they walk through the glass doors. Penelope only makes it a few steps before she’s looking back at where he’s frozen, mind whirring. Emily is pressing the button to the elevator ahead of them. “Der?” Penelope asks.

“Why are you here?”

She tilts her head. “I told you. I worry.”

“You could have called Penelope. You did call, we talked on the plane.”

Now she blushes. She never blushes. “I had– I had to see for myself. I didn’t want to wait until Monday.”

A realization washes over Derek. “You had to see,” he repeats, a smile growing on his face.

She sways a little on her feet. “Yes, I said that.” The trio at the elevator notices them lingering by the doors, but Hotch stops Spencer from calling out with a knuckle brush to the forearm.

Derek steps closer to Penelope. “You had to see me. With your own eyes.”

Penelope rolls her eyes. “Yes, silly goose, that’s the usual way of seeing.” Derek takes another step, now only an arm’s length away. 

“It’s midnight on a Saturday. And you waited for me here, alone.”

She nods.

“Even though we talked today and you know that I’m okay, that I’ve had worse injuries.”

She nods again.

“Penelope,” he says, voice barely a whisper. He steps impossibly closer. “Why are you here?”

A look of fear settles on Penelope’s face. “Derek–”

“No, it’s alright!” He grabs her hand. “I just need you to say it.”

She softens, something like hope lighting up her eyes. “If you need me to say it, then you already know.”

He releases a loud laugh– the kind of joyous sound that comes unbidden from the bottom of the stomach. Leaning forward, he rests their foreheads together, watching her reaction. When she smiles, he knows for sure. “Yea I do,” he says.

She leans in across the tiny distance between them and presses their lips together. Derek forgets about the lingering ache in his shoulder in favor of this new feeling. He swings an arm around her waist and straightens up, pulling her flush against him. She wraps her arms around his neck, a soft sound humming against his lips. He’s about to slip his tongue into her mouth and carry her off to an empty office when someone clears their throat from across the room.

Penelope pulls back first, automatically hiding her face in Derek’s neck. Emily is hiding a smile behind her hand. Hotch’s eyebrows are raised slightly, the ghost of a smile around his eyes. Spencer makes no attempt to hide his glee, fingers tapping together happily. Derek grins at them. “Can I help you three?”

“Just thought you’d want to carry on somewhere else. And the elevator is here.” Sure enough, Emily has a foot in the elevator door. She shows him her full grin this time. “Not that we weren’t having fun watching the show.” 

He scoffs. “Next time, we’re charging a ticket price.” Penelope giggles.

“Next time?” she whispers.

He nods. “If you want.”

“Yes! Yes. I want. Very much so.” He smiles, a full eye crinkle 1000 watt smile, and interlocks their fingers to lead her to the elevator. She slots in right at his side, putting her head back on his shoulder. 

They stay that way the whole way down and keep their hands together as they walk to the parking lot. Emily makes kissy faces as she and Spencer get into her car. Spencer waves happily. Hotch gives them a soft smile before he disappears around a corner.

Derek pulls her in for another kiss right next to Esther. Just because he can. “Follow me home?” he mutters against her lips. “We don’t have to… tonight. Next time. But I’ll make breakfast.”

She traces a spiral on his upper arm. “Okay. It’s a date.” He kisses the tip of her nose just to hear her giggle.

She gives him one more kiss before gently shoving him in the direction of his car. “The faster you get to your car, the faster we get home.” He blows her a kiss before jogging to where he parked two weeks ago. She catches it and puts it right over her heart.

The streets are almost empty as they drive, and Derek keeps pulling up next to her at stoplights to ask if she comes here often or if she wants to race. By the time they arrive at Derek’s apartment building, it’s almost one a.m. and they are both dead on their feet. Still, they stop to kiss in front of his elevator. They kiss again just inside of his front door and again when he hands her an old shirt to wear to bed. He has the urge to pinch his arm, just to double check that he’s not still asleep on the plane. But no, there she is, brushing her teeth in his bathroom with a spare toothbrush. He's never felt this kind of peace with someone else in his space. She has toothpaste on the corner of her mouth and her eyes are bloodshot from exhaustion. I love you, he thinks.

“What?” she asks. “You’re staring.”

Derek hums, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Do you blame me?" He grabs a tissue and blots away the toothpaste. It's a slight deflection, but it's not the moment for what he's really thinking. She scrunches her nose and smiles.

"No. You have good taste."

"Damn right I do, baby girl. The best taste." 

They don’t kiss much when they lay in Derek’s bed, too tired to do much more than cuddle up together and turn off the lights. But Derek doesn’t mind. He’s already thinking about breakfast.

[batz-zzz]

For the oc questions, what about 5, 8 and 12 for both Rowan and your starlight oc (I don't remember their name but i saw you talking to Lucas about them a while ago and they looked,,, So cool) and 25 for Rowan because I am literally down on one knee ready to marry him

ajshqjdjqhdj tysm im so glad u like them 😢😢 and my starlight ocs name is atlas!!!

5. how easy is it to earn their mistrust?

for rowan, its surprisingly not easy. his trust is very hard to earn, so for the people who do earn it, he holds them on a higher pedestal and therefore will endure a lot more behavior from them that would usually result in him not trusting them anymore;;; if that made any sense lmao

for atlas, its also a little hard, mostly because they try to have a hopeful and positive outlook on everyone they meet and believes that almost everyone deserves a second (third,,, fourth,,,,, even fifth) chance

8. what were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child?

rowan was told nearly everyday to start being more like his sister, sage (one of the leading causes of him inferiority complex lolz) and he was also often told to speak up since he's naturally really softspoken

on the other hand, atlas was always told to pipe down or chill out (which they never did. bless) and to stop talking so loudly. their parents used to joke that they'd make them both go deaf

12. how do they deal with an itch found in a place they can't quite reach?

im not sure if this is like. a metaphor but im gonna take it literally bc its funny to think about lamoaao

rowan will slam his body into things to try and like. beat the itch out?? hike if the middle of his back itches, he'll just slam it into the corner of a wall (gavin saw him do this once and thought he finally lost it)

atlas will use ANYTHING to reach it. whatevers closest to them. pencil? yea. literally a whole carrot that theyre about to cook? sure. a FUCKING KITCHEN KNIFE?? unsafe but absolutely, theyve done it before and the probably will do it again

25. what are their thoughts on marriage?

im sorry shawdy bae but he hhhaaates the concept of marriage. hes all fine and good with loving someone and choosing to spend their lives together, but the idea of getting the government involved rubs him the wrong way. plus the way hes seen legal marriages turn out just,,,, not for him

[srainebuggie]

My thoughts on Demi Lovato's new album...Dancing with The Devil...The Art of Starting Over (first listen/under the cut)

Favourite lyrics included with every song!

Anyone- no comment needed. I cry to this song daily and have since January 26th 2020. “Confided into alcohol...told secrets til’ my voice was sore.” 

DWTD- we already know how much I love this song. My favorite "lead single" she's ever released and the music video just...fucking destroyed me. “It’s just a little white line, I’ll be fine. But soon that white line is a little glass pipe, tinfoil remedy almost got the best of me.”

ICU- is beautiful and the ending with the "i love you" had me crying. “Sometimes I see myself in the little things you do, but I’m not afraid that you’ll lose your way.”

AOSO- wow. i was dancing along with the first note, this genre was MADE for her voice. “New beginnings can be lonely, thank God I got me to hold me.”

Lonely People- same as above. And lyrically? Demi has truly come out of her shell. “Crying doesn’t make you charming, only thing I’m not is sorry.”

TWYDLAM- immediately brought me tears. As someone with an eating disorder...yeah, wow. It was intense, but her voice..holy shit. “But I'm so scared if I undress that you won't love me after.” 

Melon Cake-  another one that is so relatable for someone with an ED. Her diss track to her old team and the CHORUS! Holy fuck, I am so proud of her, honestly. “No more melon cakes on birthday, no more barricades in doorways.”

Met Him Last Night- okay, the ONLY duet I've wanted since 2013. And knowing its inspired by DWTD? Fucking kill me. These two vocalists, the harmonizing between Demi and Ariana...I am so gay. “I think I love him, though I know it ain’t right.”

What Other People Say- bitch I've had this on repeat since it first came out. Still a bop. “I never used to take chances with God’s name, but it’s been so long since I last prayed.”

Carefully- ITS A SONG TO A LOVER. I AM NOT OKAY. "If you think you can handle me, please handle me carefully" okay demi, I'm fine. Im FINE. “Babe, you could be just exactly what I need.”

TKOLIA- took me a minute to get into the beat but once I did!! Holy shit!! The lyrics and the beat together...seriously, she's seriously trying so many things on this record that she hasn't before. Also "idc if you've got a dick or a wap" ??? I. AM. DYING. “Might not believe in monogamy but the moment I fall that’s it for me. I get upset with no jealousy, that’s the kind of lover I am.” 

Easy- dare I say my favorite on the album thus far. Lyrically, vocally, musically...all of it. This is everything I look for in a song and I will be listening to it on repeat forever. Also Noah and Demi's voices together? Give me this LIVE immediately. “The hardest part of leaving is accepting all the reasons

That somehow we keep repeating endlessly.”

15 Minutes- didn't love the beat at first again but the growl in her vocals???? Absolutely in love. I love to cry but when Demi does savage, she does it with no competition. This was a masterpiece. Will be listening to after every future breakup lol. “It should be an honor I even had time to bother.” 

MGAMBF- can see why this is Matthew's favorite!! This is such a beautiful love song to her best friends. And again, vocals, lyrics, all of it, Demi did not come to play. "My girlfriends are my boyfriend but we're never gonna break up" got me thinking abt Demi, Sirah, and Matthew in the end of ILM music video. I'm emotional. “I don’t have to impress, don’t even need to wear less.”

California Sober- ugh, fucking crying. Might love it more than Easy. Her vocals got those emotions that make me shiver. Talking about her sobriety is just too much. She's not locking herself in this box of sobriety anymore and it's got me feeling all types of ways. “Trading judgment for freedom. Found somethin' new to believe in.”

Mad World- a cover of Mad World. But Demi's vocals and the emotional connection she has to the song? Yeah, I fuck w/ that. “And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad, the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had.”

Butterfly- fuck this one is about her dad. I broke down during the part about him in her docu. I'm not okay. She's been through so much because of their relationship, and I'm just not okay. I'm so proud of her growth and the acceptance she's come to. I'm just not okay, okay? “Forgiveness is the hardest truth, it’s something you have to choose.”

Good Place- what a PERFECT ending to this record. The contrast from "Anyone" and "DWTD"...wow, can I just say how proud I am of this woman? She's overcome so much. Lyrically my favorite song on the album. What a RIDE it was. Wow. “When I chose lust over love, danger over trust, till I found us.”

[thetierdslytherin]

The Avatar’s sister pt.2

Bolin x reader

this is a continuation of the avatar’s sister and it’s also based off of  season 1 eipsode 2 of lok

2.2k words 

        I'm woken in the morning by an incessant knocking on my door. I try to ignore it by pulling a pillow over my head but after the knocking doesn't stop I'm forced to get up and answer the door “what!” I throw the door open coming face to face with.“Korra! You better have a good reason for getting me up before the sun is up.” I cross my arms standing in the doorway waiting for her explanation

            “I do! I have training in 30 minutes and you know Tenzin's rule I can't leave unless your with me so we gotta go so I can be on time, get dressed” Korra pushes me out of the way entering my room “come right inthen” I say sarcastically shutting my door following her to my closet as she goes through it throwing clothes in my direction “Now get dressed and cleaned up. We don’t have a lot of time. Plus the sooner we get there the sooner you get to see Bolin” My heart beats a little faster at the mention of Bolin as I change into some of my water tribe clothes then brush my teeth and fix my y/h/c hair into a braid.

           “Well even Bolin isn't enough to make me move fast this early in the morning and I just met the guy. Besides you only to see Mako” I tease as we head out of the building to the shore “Korra i’m well aware i'm not your mother or in charge of you but please be careful I don't want to see you get hurt” 

          “psh y/n i'm gonna be fine your making a big deal out of this”

           I sigh and stop walking, Korra stopping with me. I look into her eyes before saying “Korra I know guys like Mako, i've dated too many guys like him I just don't want you to get hurt”

           “Yeah well maybe you just start minding your own business like you said you're not my mother and you're sure as hell not in charge of me so let me live my life for once!”Well,That could have gone better. We spent the rest of our journey in silence only speaking when we ordered breakfast. Maybe I am being too controlling. Korra deserves to live her own life and make her own mistakes. But we did just meet the brothers yesterday and know literally nothing about them. But I know Korra and if I push the issue any more she’ll just cut me out of her life until she's over it. 

          “Your late” Mako doesn't even turn to look at us when we enter.

           “Okay yeah true but we brought food so lets call it even then?”

            I move to one of the tables setting their food down “yeah Mako look at this y/n was nice enough to bring us food so let's just take a break and enjoy the food” Bolin says starting to make his way over 

          “ we haven't even started yet so let's not. C’mon on Bo, Korra we have a lot of training to get through” The three of them run through drills for the better part of an hour before moving to the cool downs.

           “What's the big idea making me train this early in the morning? The morning is evil” okay dramatic much Korra? The three of them move into a triangle passing a weighted ball around.

          “Were the rookies so we get the worst time slot in the gym” Bolin passes the ball to Mako

          “And you're the rookiest of us all, we gotta get you up to speed if we want to survive in the tournament deal with it!” he passes to Korra 

          “You deal with it” she passes the ball back to Mako sending him flying backwards 

          “Children, children can you please not hurt each other this early in the morning. Alright let's not make this any more unbearable then it has to be” I pass by them to check on Mako and other than a sour look on his face he seems perfectly fine.

          Bolin pipes up “uh y/n not that i'm not happy to see you I really am it's just why are you here? you're not on the team?” 

          I glanced at Korra and said, “you didn't tell them?” she shakes her head I guess she just thought I would “tenzin's one condition for her joining the team. Wherever she goes I go so that means you're stuck with me, pretty boy. and you too mako… I guess” I go moving to stand by Korra. 

          “There are my hard working street urchins, it's an honor to finally meet you avatar” a muscly man in his mid thirties approaches us.

          “And you are?” Korra says crossing her arms.alright then just go ahead and pretend like i'm not even here.

          “Butaka I run this whole pro bending shabang. Anyways here your winnings from the match” Mako goes to pocket the cash but before he can Butaka stops him. 

          “First you owe me for the avatars new gear, gym and equipment rentals for last month, rent on your apartment, and a personal loan on groceries” By the time he's done there no cash left. Is it always like this for them?

          “Oh uh one more item of business the Fire Ferrets need to ante up 30,000 yuans for the championship pot” Damn ok that's more than I make for 6 months at my job and the brothers definitely don't have that kind of money just lying around.How are they gonna come up with it?

          “30,000 yuans!” My thoughts exactly Bolin

          “Sorry kids you have till the end of the week to pay or your out” with that final statement Butaka leaves along with the fire ferrets chances of playing in the championship.

          “The two of you wouldn't happen to have a secrets bank account filled with gold would you?” Mako and Bolin look at us with hopeful eyes 

          “No sorry boys I mean I have some money I could pitch in but not 30,000 yuans”

          “I've got nothing. I've never really needed money, I've always had someone taking care of me” Korra shrugs, giving a small smile. 

           “Then I wouldn't say you've had nothing then” Makos words carries no venom though, just distant sadness packing up his gear throwing it into a duffle bag.

           “I'm sorry I didn't mean-” “no its alright its just ever since we lost our parents we've been on our own” Bolin says giving Korra a sad smile shuffling towards us

           “Bolin, I'm so sorry that you had to go through it” I put my hand on his shoulder trying to offer some sort of comfort.

         “So anyway how are we gonna come up with the money?” 

“Ooh ooh I got it. I've been training pabu to do circus tricks now people would pay good money to see that” Bolin raises pabu into the air twirling him once.

          “C'mon bolin we need serious ideas” the smile immediately falls from bolins face and I can't help but stand up for him “that is a serious idea Mako. When we first came from the water tribe I know I would've paid to see pabu perform” 

          “ don't worry about it, I'll figure it out. I always do” and after that Mako walks out of the training room presumably to ‘figure it out’.

          “Hey korra why don't you head on back to the island bolin and I are gonna hang out for a little bit” he looks at me confused“we are?” I give him a nod “we are”. 

          “Yeah okay y/n just don't stay out too late you know how Tenzin gets” I give her a smile and a ‘of course’ then it’s just bolin and I left. 

          “So Bolin, how about you show me some of pabus tricks and you help me eat the rest of breakfast that Korra and I brought?” “um yeah but can i get a quick shower first im kinda gross?”

          “Only if you let me join you.” spirits his eyes almost bugged out of his head at my comment stammering to get an answer out before I take mercy on him “i’m teasing you Bo” 

          He clears his throat “right right yeah totally know that” That leads me to where I am right now Bolin and I on their couch eating cold pastries.

           “Hey Bolin” he pauses his eating for a second to look at me “why don't you tell me something about you. I mean we basically know nothing about each other except our shared love of pro bending and food” he looks thoughtful for a moment “Pshh not true” I shoot him a look saying ‘you sure about that’

            “Well I know you're a waterbender and that you have a sister and where you live...and that sounds way creepier than I meant it. I just mean you know you live with Tenzin who lives on air temple island not like I've been stalking you because that would be weird...” i've noticed he does this thing whenever he's embarrassed he’ll scrunch his whole face up for a second and start playing with his hands, which he's doing right now

          “Well okay but I don't know any of the important stuff” I say leaning in propping my chin on my hand 

          “What's the ‘important stuff?’”

          “Like your favorite color. You know a person's favorite color will tell you a lot about them”

          “Whoa hey now you just stepped over a line. I can't possibly tell you that” we make eye contact bursting out laughing at the notion.

           “ok fine I don't really have a favorite color” he scratches the back of his neck giving me a half smile

           “well maybe instead of telling me your favorite color you tell me about your parents” after seeing the look in Bolins eyes I quickly backtrack “you don't have to though I imagine it's a touchy subject I was just curious” he sighs setting his food down turning to me

           “no it’s not that it’s just not a very fun story to tell” he takes a deep breathe grounding himself “when Mako was 7 and I was 5 we were at home with our parents one night and a fire bender broke in trying to steal from us… he killed them right in front of us y/n, after that it was just mako and I. It's been that way ever since” he looks down trying in vain to keep me from seeing the tears in his eyes. I grab his hand running my thumb over his knuckles. 

          “Hey bolin why don't we go and set up for pabu to do his tricks” he glances at me “we could set it up under fire lord zuko's statute?” he laughs wiping the tears from his eyes

           “yeah y/n that sounds perfect” 

          We're both sitting on the base of zuko's statue on a carpet with two cups and a plank for pabu to walk on.Bolin and pabu have matching get ups and bolin has a fake mustache. while I sit beside Bolin bending water into different shapes to amuse myself. “Come one come all see pabu the fantasstic fire ferret as he crosses the ladder of peril upside down” Pabu then crosses the plank and flips landing on one paw which i'll admit is cute but not 30,000 yuans cute. “Thank you folks you are too kind too kind” Bolin says as a man passes by dropping 1 yuan into the cup. 

          Bolin looks a little upset by how far we still have to go “Hey Bolin look its a start you don't have to get all the money yourself i'd be happy to pitch in and i'm sure mako found a way to make some money” he sighs “yeah i'm sure mako has” that's the problem isn't it? I bet bolin is tired of his brother always solving his problems or better yet being the one who gets them out of ruts. 

          “Hey bolin is that you?” I Look up to see a well dressed man with urban water tribe clothes on getting out of his sato mobile 

           “oh hey shady shin” he waves at the man and I urgently whisper to bolin “by any chance is this leader of the triple threat triads shady shin?”

           “mhmm” 

           Wow since when did bolin run with gangsters? “I hear you're a big time pro bender now. Not bad.Anyways lighting bolt zolt is looking to hire some extra muscle” 

           “I don't know shin Mako told me to stay away from the triple threats” 

           “it's just some security work nothing crooked” he pulls out a fat wad of cash and throws it in Bolin’s cup he's about to agree before I cut him off before he can agree “double it and were both in i'm a water bender and a healer plus i'm good at ‘security work” 

           “Alright kid deal don't make me regret it” he puts another was of cash in the cup “now let's get going” Bolin and I follow him and get in the back of his sato mobile. What a mistake that was.      

[1-800-bitchie]

I Need This, I Need You.

Peter Parker X Reader

Warnings: underage cannabis use, fighting, smut.

-

My room was smoked out, my window was open and I held the pipe in my hand and my purple lighter in the other. Today had been a shit day, my father went on one of his rampages again and beat the fuck out of my mother, and then when I tried to intervene, he pushed me back and cornered me into the wall, and grabbed my hair pulling my head down screaming at me, he even pulled some of my hair out. He pushed me down and kicked my stomach and went back to my mom. I ran up to my room and locked the door and cried, now here I am two hours mascara and tears stained my red cheeks.

Peter:Can I come over? Somethings off.

Me: No not rn

Peter: I knew it, omw

At this point I was to tired to care. I just kept on smoking the rest of the bowl. I held the fire to the buds, covering the hole as I breathed in the smoke. I finished the third bowl, and set it down on the table next to me. I pulled the hood up on my hoodie and laid down, I held the pillow close to me, as if it was another person. My head hurt, it wouldn't stop throbbing, that's when I felt my bed dip and I looked to the foot of my bed seeing Peter. He crawled up and laid next to me. "Tell me what happened Y/n/n, you smoke when something's wrong." I moved the pillow and moved as close as I could to him, my arms wrapped him. "He did it again'' I muttered and he wrapped his arms around me. "I'm so sorry"he pulled the hood down and looked at my head. It was matted in the spot that he grabbed. He could clearly she the bruise forming from how rough it was. "Y/n... how much longer are you going to let him keep doing this to you?" He asked and I shrugged. My body a full buzzy feeling to it, everything felt calm and quiet. We could hear each other's heart beat. I looked up at him and he looked down at me. I'd known this boy since freshman year, never once did it feel like this. How this moment felt right now, I pushed my lips to his and it felt right, like everything that has happened just lead up to this perfect moment. It felt like my heart was going to burst, he kissed back after a moment. It was slow and soft, he held me in his arms like I was glass. He pulled me closer to him and I straddle him, he sat up and wrapped his arms around my waist.

It was warm, Peter and I have had so much pain in our lives, it was like everything was cold before this, he's hands grazed my skin from where my hoodie was scrunched up. I moved my hands from his face and lifted the hoodie from my body braking the kiss, leaving me in shorts and a sports bra. His eyes trailed the reveled skin and over my f/c sports bra. I wanted to go all the way with him, I trusted Peter more than anyone in my life. "I've never gone further that this..." I said very quietly. He nodded "I want to do it with you, have you done... that?" He shook his head. "Do you want to do it with me? If you don't that's ok" he nodded "I'll do it with you, that would be perfect." I kissed him again, and let my hands tangle ino his hair, everything was so surreal. The way he felt as he gripped my hips so mean, he was tense too. He brought one of his down to my shorts, skimming his finger tips over the band of my shorts. He dipped his fingers into them and felt me through my panties. He pushed them to side and brought a finger through my folds, up to the nub, slowly circling it. "Fuck" I muttered, and grinded down to his hand. "Im gonna put some fingers in you, okay? Stretch you?" I nodded "please Peter" I muttered and brought my lips to his neck, kissing and sucking on it leave some light hickeys, an large dark one in plain sight. I felt him press a finger into me making jolt a little bit. He started a slow rythm, and then pressed another, there was very slight pain. "Hows that honey? You like my fingers in your tight little cunt?" He was trying to use dirty and dear God was it doing some things to me. "Yes Pete, I love it" I said softly, my legs were shacking as I sat fully on him his finger sinking deep in me. He kept pushing them in and out of me, he added a third and it hurt. He brought his lips to my neck littering light kisses along my collar bone and back up to my jaw line to help distract me from the pain. "Peter please" I moved my hands down to his Jean's, unbuckling his belt. I could feel how hard he was through his Jean's and I knew this boy would ruin me for anyone else. He brought his fingers from me and whined at the lose of contact. He slid his Jean's off, there was a large tent in his boxers. He helped me take off my shorts, my panties along with them. I put my hand down his boxers grippingbhis cock softly and pulling it from his boxers. He was thick and long a jesus christ, his dick could have been on pornhub. "If it's to much we dont have to" he said and I shook my head. "No I wants this Peter, so fucking much" I whined at the end. He cupped my check and brought his lips to mine. I slowly started to stroke his cock making him whimper and moan. "Fuck, faster please." I quicker my pace with my hand and spit on it a little bit from what I saw in porn. "My god..." he muttered watching me. A few more strokes and I looked up at him, I looked at him as I gripped his cock and brought it close to my cunt, his tip pressed against my entrance. I slowly started to take his cock in me, dear god did it hurt. Tears weld in my eyes the further I sunk until his cock was fully buried in me. Tears dropped down my cheek and brought his thumb up, wiping them off. "Its ok, it'll go away in a minute" he said quietly groaning. He kissed my lips lightly, he had one arm around my waist the the other cupping my cheek as he kissed me. I started to slowly grind back and forth, "such a tight cunt, can believe we're doing this." He muttered, he trusted in and out with me, slowly speeding up until he was at an even pace, fucking me so deep. So good. "Fuck I'm gonna cum, I'm so close" I muttered and speed up, fucking up into me harder. "Go ahead, cum for me honey" he groaned, after a few more thrust and on the last one he hit a particular spot that pushed me off the edge. My nails raked up his back as euphoria flowed through my body. I felt his cock pulse inside me and shoot cum into me.

After a few more thrusts I had to tell him to stop. "I'm too sensitive" I whined. I quickly crawled off him and laid down next to him. My head hitting the cool pillow. "That was amazing" I muttered. "Yeah it was, I hope I'm not reading this wrong but does this mean were together or-?" He started rambling after that. "Do you want to be y'know... together? The last person I dated was in 7th grade and it was only for two weeks." He looked over at me nodded. "Yah I've liked you for a while" he said quietly. "Ok, let's do it. Peter Benjamin Parker, will you be my boyfriend?"

"Of course"

[daddystevee]

Crashing Down

(eventual steve harrington x hopper!reader)

hola mi amigos, im back. i fell off the face of the earth and im sorry!! Life’s been crazy af. thanks for all the support and i hope you guys enjoy this chapter. i kinda feel like it sucks but ya know idk. feel free to let me know in the comments also lmk if you ever wanna be tagged love you guysXx

catch up here

Warnings: none really?? Cursing?

Part 8/9

Word count: 2k

Summary: Sometimes things just don’t go as planned and your world just come crashing down, but it’s a good thing that you have people in your life to be there to catch you when you fall.

><

You watched your sister walked into your room so she could try and track down your ex boyfriend, Ms. Drisccol, the Holloway’s and Bruce. The seven of you sat quietly and patiently, waiting for any sort of news.

Nancy was on the phone calling around asking for updates and trying to get a lead, Jonathan was drinking coffee and marking off phone numbers. You carried on a conversation with Will about his new campaign for D&D.

After a while Mike began to get angsty because she ‘shouldn't be in there for that long and that it’s not good for her’. Mike and Max’s conversation slowly turned into an unnecessary argument.

“Can you guys settle an argument for us?” Max asks walking up to you, “Who do you think should decide El’s limits? Mike, or Eleven?” As the two kept arguing you decided to put your two words in and are easily ignored.

While listening to the arguing teens, you hop up from your seat and walk over to the fridge to pull out something easy to snack on like a string cheese stick and some strawberries. But as you go to shut the door Mike says something crazy,

“...so can we please just come up with a new plan because I love her and I can’t lose her again.”

You shut the door and  turn your head towards him with wide eyes, “Say what now?”

And almost as if on cue El comes walking out the door saying that she found Billy. With Nancy finally off of the phone you take the opportunity to try to call Steve. You called his house and then called ‘Scoops!’, and got no answer.

In the back of your mind you couldn’t help but hope that he was ignoring you and not somehow mixed up in all of this mess, but little did you know that he was being beat senseless in a secret Russian base underground.

><

After letting Eleven cool down from her last session it was time to get back into it. You turned on the television to an empty channel then took your place on the couch next in between Max and Will and watched her put her blindfold on as she went into the void.

This was honestly the last thing you wanted to be doing on the 4th of July, you thought you’d be at the police station begging your dad for some money to go get some cheap fireworks to shoot off into the night for the kids. Maybe even snooping around in your dad's liquor cabinet, to get some goods for you older kids. Yet here you were sitting in silence.

That silence was soon interrupted by Eleven breathing heavily and is obviously in some sort of distress.

“El, are you okay? Are you okay?” Mike finally asks

You don't realize that you're holding your breath until you hear her respond.

“I’m okay” you hear her say weakly

“What’s going on?” you ask

“On a beach.” you all listen as Eleven continues describing a memory of Billy and his mom on a beach in California. 

You watch closely as her calm breaths begin to pick up slightly,

“I think I found it, the source.”

“Where El, where are you?” Max pipes up and asks

“Brimborn Steelworks.” 

Jonathan runs over to the phone book and looks up the address, it's close by. You told El that she needed to come out of the void so you guys can go. But that’s not what was about to go down.

El put her hands up to her face as if she was going to take the blindfold off of her face, but as soon as she put them up she put them back down. Something was wrong.

“Mike? Y/N?”

Her breath started to pick up once again and that made you start to freak out. You walked back over behind her on the couch and grabbed her shoulders to let her know that you were there but it didn't seem to make a difference.

“No!” she shouted, “Get away!”

She then ripped her blindfold off of her face and screamed making everyone jump. You moved your hands away from her shoulders as she cried and turned to Mike as he reassured her that everything was okay and that she was okay, at least in that moment.

><

As you guys regrouped, you got El some water and pulled a granola bar out of the cabinet, to make sure she ate something to regain some energy, then sat down on the couch next to her. You listened to Mike and Lucas talk about the Mind Flayer and listen to what El has to say about what happened to her, but it’s hard for you to focus. There are so many things in your head that need to be processed, but the main thing you think about is Steve and his safety. The two of you had been through so much and you don’t know what you would do if something happened to him.  One thing El says finally catches your attention,

“He also said, he was gonna kill all of you.” 

“What? Who?” you ask with your thoughts still stuck on Steve.

“Billy?” Max says but in a ‘are you seriously not paying attention right now’ tone

“Oh. Yeah, well, that’s nice.”

You hear a screeching sound off in the distance, and you see that Nancy hears it too because she gets up and walks towards the window. You hear it again before Nancy asks if anyone else hears it. 

“It’s just the fireworks” Jonathan says after a few moments of silence

“Billy,” Nancy says, turning around “When he told you this, it was here, in this room?”

Everyone turns to look at El for an answer hoping that she would say no, but that wasn’t the case.

“He knows we’re here.” Will says.

Jonathan leads you all out of the house and you get a glimpse of something far scarier than a Demogorgan. The next thing you know you’re suddenly preparing for a war that you weren’t expecting to fight in this very moment. You lead Nancy out to your dad’s gun shed behind the cabin to get the essentials. The two of you walk back in the house to see almost all of the windows boarded up or blocked off and all except one door blocked. 

Nancy picks up one of the guns you got from the shed and points it at the front door as you all gather in the center of the living room, looking around at every sort of entrance. The next minutes went by in a flash. The Mind Flayer attacked, Nancy shot at it a bunch, until she ran out of ammo and El fought it almost single-handedly. Suddenly the thing grabbed hold of Eleven’s ankle and almost took her away, as it intended to. Luckily Lucas grabbed the ax and took its tentacle, arm thing off and it dropped El.

You saw that the part of the Mind Flayer was still attached to her leg so you took it upon yourself to rip it off causing El to scream out in pain. She took it like a champ and stood up to finish off the creature by splitting it in half. Upon doing so she fell back into Max’s arms, but while you had the chance you wrapped your arm around your sister and helped her run out to the car.

><

While you guys were in the convenience store you got in touch with Dustin on the walkie-talkie and there was a code red situation, most likely meaning that him and Steve had somehow gotten into this mess. Once you guys had gotten Eleven all cleaned up you piled back into the car and headed to the mall where Dustin said that they were from what you could understand. 

><

You entered in through the upper level entrance with the help of Lucas’ slingshot, sending a rock to break through one of the doors. You quietly moved around the upper level with no sight of anyone, you then heard someone speaking Russian from the lower level. Walking away from the main group you walk towards the rail that would overlook onto the bottom floor to see where the talking was coming from. You see a bunch of guys walking around and it seemed like they were looking really hard for something. Will notices that you aren’t with the group anymore and they suddenly join you next to the railing. 

All of the guards are now focused on one specific area and you can’t help but get this really bad gut feeling. El notices the worry on your face and grabs hold of your hand. You look at her and a look of relief washes over your face. 

“I think they might be over there” you whisper to El while pointing at one of The Great Cookie

Eleven nods in acknowledgement, then takes a step forward. She sticks out her arm and focuses on the car next to the guards. The car alarm goes off and that causes all of the guards to turn their attention away from whoever was behind the counter and to the car. They look up to see what’s causing the car to move, but before anyone could do anything El sends the car flying towards them killing them all instantly. 

You see not one, but four heads pop up from behind the counter. You’re relieved when you see that one of those four people is Steve. 

“Thank fucking God.” you say to yourself but it doesn't go unnoticed. Max nudges you with her elbow cocking an eyebrow at you with her signature smirk. You just roll your eyes and look back down over the ledge. 

You see everyone start to head for the non-moving escalators so you follow in pursuit. Once you make it to the bottom of the ‘stairs’ you run directly to Steve and cling onto him like it’s the last time you’d ever see him. He hugs you back with just as much force before you pull away,

“Steve, what happened to your eye?” you ask holding onto his face checking out his face for other injuries.

“You know, evil Russians and what not.” 

“The Russians?! Like secret code Russians? Shit”

“Secret code?” you hear Max ask

The next couple of minutes consist of everyone catching up on what's been going on. Learning that Steve, Robin, Erica and Dustin had been stuck down in a Russian underground base for the last 2 days all while you dealt with Billy and the flayed. No wonder he hadn’t been answering the phone. 

You all converse back and forth until El collapses to the ground, when asked what was wrong she says that it’s her leg that hurts. Jonathan pulls off the bandages from earlier and reveals her bloody shin, along with something moving inside it. You almost vomit at the sight and have to turn away, Steve reaches out and puts a hand on your shoulder and rubs slightly.

As they were trying to get whatever was in her leg out, El was screaming out in excruciating pain, you couldn’t bear to see her in so much pain.Tears started forming in your eyes, when Steve noticed he held out his arm to you and you bury your face into his chest so you don't have to watch. 

Jonathan did as much as he could until it was unbearable for her and she said that she could do it herself. As she was screaming, you turned around to face Eleven after the glass wall from the store behind you shattered all over the floor. You watch as she removes the piece of the Mind Flayer from her leg and sends it flying across the floor. As it tries crawling away a foot comes down and squishes it. You all look up to see who the foot belongs too, and an exhausted smile creeps onto your face, it's none other than your dad, Jim Hopper.

Taglist:

@ughhhitsfan​ @eleventhdoctorsangel​ @chloe-skywalker​

[xsixxx]

Bad Influence - Chapter 11

Word Count - 5.4K

Authors Note - It's been a while! 👋🏻 About 4 months I think 😬 If there are any Bad Influence fans actually left out there, I'm so sorry & I love you. I had a really fuckin shitty last few months of 2019 & because of that, I kinda stopped doing the stuff I enjoy, writing this fanfic & using this blog being one of them.

Then I tried to come back before I was ready 😂 I wrote this chapter out about 2 months ago, but never bothered to post it bcos I didn't care enough about it. But I've recently returned to it, rewrote it & remembered why I fuckin love writing this fanfic. So I'm super excited to post this chapter & I hope you don't all hate it after how long it's been 😂 It's a bit rough bcos I'm getting back into it & I'm kinda rusty!

I love you guys for baring with me, I can't wait to get back into writing this fic for you 🖤

Warnings - Um, the f word is used in like every sentence oops, some implied smut when Nikki is remembering (choking trigger warning), I guess 'violence' but not really violence???, a whole lot of angst & a teeny bit of fluff at the end

Tags - @cruecifymesixx @freddiessmallnipples @queen-crue @scarecrowmax @lovesick-heart0 @littlesunnymoon @80sheart-strings @cranberrirolls @inthebackofmycarlaytheirbodies @versnatasha @zoenicolesetser @crazysaladchopshop @ggorehorror @lunamadhatter99 @justtryingtoovercome @chaoticvybe @you-know-im-a-dreamer @eightiesrockbaby @valentines-in-london @xrosegoldwolfx @fupatroopaa @lilypetite88 @this-blog-must-be-the-place @ashleecrue @lauravic @dark-princess99 @unknownoblivion @mgkobsessed @antheasnow @rockaholi @nassauartist @sparxx27

(there's one bit where Nikki is glaring across the bar at a character & this gif is spot on)

*Nikkis POV*

I drummed my fingers to the sound of a guitar as I watched Mick do his thing through the glass of the recording booth, his fingers working magic as he played the riff to Looks That Kill.

Fuck, that weird little guy could play.

“Nikki, this song is gonna fucking kill!” Tommy yelled enthusiastically, beating his drumsticks on the arm of the battered couch his was lounging on.

I smiled weakly back at him, my nerves keeping me from matching his excitement. “I hope so,” I mumbled. I look around the studio, basking in the enormity of where we were right now. Mötley was recording their second album & my nerves were shot. It had to be perfect. It had to do well.

“Stop stressing man, everyone’s gonna fucking freak over this album, I just know it!” He replied, smiling encouragingly, his usual Tommy level of positivity feeling sickeningly sweet, but still, I nodded at him gratefully. “So we hitting up The Whisky or what tonight boys?” He continued, addressing Vince as well as me, who was pouting on the couch next to him.

I chuckled without amusement, shaking my head. “Fuck no, not a chance I’m going in there yet.”

Tommy scowled at me. “Sixx, come on dude, you cant avoid the place forever. Plus, she might not even be working tonight!”

“I’m not risking it! I’m not gonna be able to enjoy the night if she’s there, judging my every fucking move, you know how she is.” I replied, rolling my eyes.

“So you’ve still not talked to her since..” Tommy trailed off, awkwardly. But Vince happily picked up from where he’d left off.

“Since you lead her on, fucked her & then blew her off?” He snapped arrogantly, instantly causing my jaw to tense.

“Don’t fucking start with me, Vinny. I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, you mean you don't wanna hear about what a dick you were? What a surprise.” The sarcasm thick in his voice.

I slammed my hand down on the recording table & stood up sharply. “The fuck is your problem, man?” I snarled, his attitude & the mounting stress from the album mixing together to create a dangerous cocktail of anger & belligerence.

“My problem?” He questioned, standing up to meet my stare. “My problem is you Sixx. Beths a good fucking girl, what you did was real messed up, I should fucking floor you again for how you treated her. You owe the chick an apology at the goddamn least.” He spat, his anger in Beths defence honourable, but fucking irritating.

I chuckled arrogantly at his misplaced valiance. “Give it up the knight in shining armour act Vinny, I didn’t see you rushing to commit to her when she was getting your dick wet.”

I saw the danger flash in his eyes as he took a warning step towards me. “I didn’t fuck her & leave either.” He hissed, the venom in his voice palpable.

“Aw, did I upset your girlfriend?” I joked patronisingly, very aware that I was pushing it too far, but yet I couldn’t help myself, Vince acting all high & mighty was really starting to piss me off.

Vinces eyes narrowed sharply & I saw his hands ball into fists at his side. “Like I said, she’s a good girl. She didn’t deserve that.” He said through his teeth, the strain to keep calm evident in his voice.

I smirked at him amused, looking him up & down. “Whatcha gonna do Vince? Hit me again? Defend her honour? She’s a chick dude & a stuck up one at that. And she ditched your ass if you remember, you should be thanking me.” I laughed, shrugging.

“You know what Sixx, you’re an asshole. You know as well as I do that Beth isn’t another fucking groupie to this band. Nah, I didn’t wanna date her, but I like her- We all like her.” He corrected himself quickly.

“Vinny’s right man, I’m not taking sides, but Beths cool & I kinda do like having her around!” Tommy piped up, nodding.

“Fuck off T-Bone, you only want her around because you know as soon as she goes, so does your uptight piece of ass.” I shot at him, my frustration with the pair of them growing at a dangerous rate.

“Dude c’mon, there’s no need..”

I cut Tommy off viciously. “What the fuck has happened to this band?!” I shouted, shoving Vince out of my face. “Since when do we give this much of a fuck about chicks?! Look at where we are?!” I gestured around the recording studio. Mick had stopped playing & had casually lit a cigarette as he watched us bickering through the sound-proof glass. “This is what’s important. Now I’m going for a fucking smoke, this conversation is done & when I come back in we’re gonna record a fucking album, got it?!”

I barged out of the studio, flicked open my lighter & sparked up my cigarette, leaning back against the wall as I took in a shaky drag, my anger still surface level. I exhaled & closed my eyes, feeling the May sun warm my face & start to melt my mood away.

What was everyone’s fuckin’ obsession with this girl?!

Yeah she was cool, but she’s still a chick. And chicks = trouble.

I let my mind wander back to the look she gave me as she lay beneath me, my hand around her throat as she came undone & smirked to myself as I lifted the cigarette back to my smug lips. She was so worth the chase.

But Christ, I’m supposed to feel bad because I don’t want all that cutesy shit afterwards? No. Beth knew me, we’d had enough arguments about the kinda guy I am, she did this to herself. Not my fault that she thought she meant anything more to me than any one of those other girls. She was a fuck. A good fuck. But a fuck nonetheless.

I took another drag as the image of Beth sat in her bed with that stung look on her face snuck its way involuntarily into my mind. I could see those hurt tears & hear her bitter words ordering me to leave. I couldn’t help the pang of guilt in my stomach that accompanied the image.

She’s a fuckin’ chick, Nikki. Chicks = trouble, I recited to myself, rubbing my face roughly with my hands, almost in hope that I could scrub away the memory of her pained face. Get over it man, it’s done.

I sharply exhaled the last of my smoke before throwing it aggressively to the floor, somehow more frustrated than I was before.

Time to go record a fuckin’ album.

*Later*

*Beths POV*

I smoothed out the material of the tiny black dress I was wearing as I pouted my lips at my reflection in the mirror, appreciating the sight of myself all dolled up & ready to forget all about Nikki fucking Sixx.

I flashed an all too familiar looking smirk at myself before I spun around of my sky high heels & strutted out of the ladies bathroom & back over to Sophia who was waiting at the bar, two drinks in hand. She winked at me as I got closer, holding out one of the glasses for me to take.

“Girl, you look unreal! If we weren’t here trying to pull for you, I’d take you home right now,” she laughed, nudging me & winking again.

I let out a laugh as I took a swipe at her arm, “I am not here trying to pull!” I insisted, not even managing to fool myself. It’d been a little over a week since I went from the all time high of fucking Nikki to the crashing low of realising I meant nothing to him in a matter of minutes & I’d laid around feeling sorry for myself ever since. Well, not tonight. I was gonna find a guy & I was gonna remind myself what a goddamn catch I am.

“Oh Beth, there’s a reason you’re wearing that dress tonight & girl, it ain’t for the coverage,” she giggled as I took another playful swipe. “Hey, there’s no judgements here! I’d want a good lay after the emotional rollercoaster that has been Nikki Sixx!”

I raised my eyebrows at her as she quickly mimed locking her lips. “Sorry, sorry, we don’t mention that name, my bad.”

I shook my head. “It’s fine, I’m over it,” I lied. “But, if a cute guy wants to buy me a drink & maybe show me a good time, I’m not gonna say no.” I shrugged as we both burst into a fit of giggles, before I took a long sip of the very strong cocktail.

“Well that sounds like my queue.” Came a smooth voice from behind me. I turned to face the handsome stranger who was stood leaning casually against the bar, eyebrow cocked as his eyes scanned up & down my body, drinking in the sight of me. “You have excellent timing.” I blushed, appreciating his good looks right back. He was classically good looking, with blonde hair & a chiselled jaw, dressed smart in a shirt that hugged his toned physique & muscular arms just enough to spark a little intrigue as to what lay underneath. He was the exact opposite to Nikki in every physical way. Where Nikki was unruly & unkept, this guy was clean shaven & well groomed. He wore no leather or studs & his smile was friendly & genuine, not smug & he wasn’t dripping in arrogance.

“I’m Daniel.” He introduced himself, holding out a hand for me to shake. I looked into his electric blue eyes & blushed once again.

“Beth, it’s nice to meet you.” I replied as smoothly as I could.

“& I’m Sophia, but I guess no-one asked,” she piped up mockingly, winking at me. “Now Dan, unless you’ve got a cute, single friend for me, I’m gonna get outta your way & go for a dance.” Soph smirked, grabbing her drinking & flouncing off towards the dance floor, blowing us a kiss as she did.

We both let out a laugh. “She seems great,” Daniel said as I nodded, taking a sip of my drink. “She mentioned something about an emotion rollercoaster though? I hope I’m not stepping on anyone’s toes?” He queried.

I swallowed my drink before letting out a little laugh. “Not at all, there are no toes to be stepping on, don’t worry.”

“Well good, I’m glad. I’m surprised though, a gorgeous girl like you doesn’t have a man. You’re sure there’s no-one, because you seem way too good to be true!” He flirted, as I laughed

“Oh you’re smooth.” I teased, “but no, there’s absolutely no-one.” I answered, pushing any & all thoughts & feelings I might have towards Nikki Sixx out of my mind.

*Little later*

“Wow, so you’re a doctor?” I asked, impressed.

Daniel laughed, shaking his head. “I wish! I’m a med student currently, but that’s the hope one day.”

“What made you wanna get into medicine then?”

He paused for a second, his warm smile faltering for a brief moment & I sensed his hesitation to answer. “I, um, lost my dad when I was younger. Spent a lot of time in hospitals with him when he got sick. I remember watching all these doctors around me taking care of people, helping, curing.. They seemed like superheroes to me back then. After we lost my dad, I knew I wanted to help people, be one of those people that kids could look up to in the same way I did, yanno?”

I nodded, smiling at his compassion & genuineness.

“Sorry, bit heavy for a first meet, I know.” He laughed awkwardly.

“Not at all!” I replied, “I asked the question, you just answered it honestly, I appreciate that.”

As Daniel carried on talking about his studies, I couldn’t help but admire him. THIS was the kinda guy I was supposed to end up with. Smart, hot as hell, a brilliant career ahead of him, goals, aspirations.. He was exactly the kinda man I could take home to my father. Daniel was everything I should want & he was actually interested in me.

And yet, I still felt that unwanted & yet infuriatingly all-to-familiar flame ignite the second I heard his voice drift over from the bar.

“Jack & coke please darlin’.”

Nikkis voice hit me like a slap in the face & rush desire all at once & I immediately froze, my body unsure how to react to my contrasting emotions.

“Are you ok?” Daniel asked, reaching out & touching my arm, concern written across his face. I flinched as his touch, still lost somewhere in Nikkis voice, & snatched my arm away instinctively.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“ Started Daniel, his concern look now laced with panic.

“N-no, its fine honestly, its not you, its just..” I drifted off, briefly glancing behind me, trying to pin a location on the voice. My eyes caught sight of the four of them standing at the bar, waiting on their drinks. Nikki was dressed in his usual leather trousers, torn at the knees, & combat boots & a torn up shirt. His hair almost appeared messier than usual & he had a cigarette hanging from his lips. He couldn’t have been more different from the sharp, handsome man sat opposite me.

Daniel followed my line of sight & spotted the literal motley crew. Nikki was already hitting on the bar maid, distracting her whilst Tommy & Vince reached over & stole a bottle from behind the bar; all whilst Mick stood by, watching disapprovingly & swigging from his trademark flask.

“You know them?” Daniel asked hesitantly.

“Nope.” I replied bluntly, snapping back to reality & turning back to him. “I fancy getting out of here though, you wanna head back to mine, continue the drinking there?”

Daniel looked a little taken a back at the upfront offer as I stood up & downed the last of my drink, but I was fairly certain he wouldn’t refuse. I didn’t care either way at this point, I just needed out of here.

“Um sure-“

“Great, I’ll go find Sophia..”

“She’s over there, talking to those guys you apparently don’t know.” Dan stated, his tone now flat & a little judgemental as he raised an eyebrow at me.

“Look, Daniel, I don’t wanna get into it, but its better we just leave.” I said, hoping to avoid any questions, but his face was growing more unimpressed by the second. “I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you Dan, ok? But I can’t be here right now, so I gotta go. I’d, um, I’d like you to join me.. If you want to, of course. I mean, you don’t have to..” I mumbled, suddenly very aware & embarrassed by how he must be viewing me in that moment.

I saw his eyes narrow at my discomfort &, I’m assuming against his better judgement, he nodded & stood up to join me. “I’m not sure what’s happening here, but I’ve enjoyed getting to know you too & maybe you could fill me in on why you’re running away over that drink at yours?” He asked, a little suspicious but friendly. I nodded, giving him a small smile.

We started towards the exit when I felt a pair of hands snake around my waist & lift me excitedly into the air. I squealed in shock & suprise as Tommy span me around before placing me back on my feet.

“Beth! I cant believe you guys are here, what’re the chances? Soph said you came here to avoid us & we came here because Sixx wanted to avoid you! How fuckin’ funny is that?” He said, roaring with laughter, his hand resting on his stomach as he struggled to regain control on his amusement.

“Tommy.” I said sternly, shooting him a look that told him to shut the hell up. He quickly stood up straight, coughing a little to hide his laughter, before glancing over towards Daniel.

“Hey, who’s this? I’m Tommy dude, how ya doing?” He said, offering out his hand enthusiastically.

“Daniel, I’m good man, how’re you?” He answered, accepting the handshake hesitantly.

“I’m good? Hey, you wanna come meet the rest of the guys?” Tommy offered enthusiastically, without a second thought as to why that might not be such a good idea.

“Actually T-Bone, we’re just heading out.” I replied sharply, giving him another warning look.

“Ok, ok,” he laughed, holding his hands up in defeat as he got the hint. “It was nice to meet you man!” Tommy smiled at Dan, who nodded awkwardly back to him before T-Bone practically bounced back over to the bar.

“Don’t know them huh?” Daniel asked, his voice oozing with sarcasm suddenly, making me cringe.

“I’m sorry, they’re just.. A lot, ok?” I tried to explain, frustrated, mainly with myself.

“What’s the deal with this one?” Asked Dan, gesturing towards Nikki, who was leaning against the bar, sipping on his Jack & coke, his eyes fixed coldly on he two of us.

“That’s the, um.. Emotional rollercoaster.” I answered sheepishly, coughing to distract from my amounting discomfort, whilst simultaneously avoiding the eyes of both Nikki & Dan.

“Right.. Well, your rollercoaster is on his way over here.”

Fuck.

I glanced up to see Nikki, in all his arrogance, strolling towards us, his usual smirk fixed in place.

“I’m so sorry for whatever he says.” I quickly whispered to Dan, before Nikki came to a stop in front of us. I watched his eyes scan up & down Daniel, obvious sizing him up without an ounce of subtlety, before he turned his attention to me.

“Leaving without introducing us, Lizzy?” He drawled, the pretension thick in his voice.

“Yes Nikki, I am. So if you’d like to move-“

He cut me off, his focus back on Daniel. “I’m Nikki Sixx,” he stated, without the courtesy of a handshake.

“Daniel,” Dan replied, flatly, seemingly glad there was no extended hand to shake.

“And how do you know the lovely Lizzy here, Dan?” Nikki asked, his smirk never once faltering.

“We just met tonight, but we’re justing heading back to hers, if you don’t mind.” Dan replied simply, taking my hand.

“Oh but you see, I do mind.” Nikki stated bluntly, his smile as wide as it was dark as he side stepped back in front of Dan who had tried to manoeuvre round him. “Lizzy here is what we like to call a groupie & we,” he gestured towards the rest of the band behind him, “don’t particularly like sharing.”

“Oh fuck you, Sixx.” I scoffed, my face growing hot with a mix of anger & embarrassment. I turned to look at Dan, cringing at his raised eyebrow & gave him an apologetic look. “Don’t listen to him, he’s just being an asshole, I’m not a groupie.”

“Really?!” Nikki replied, dragging out the word dramatically as his shit eating grin somehow managed to grow wider. “Because I remember fucking you about a week ago & my boy Vince over there,” he pointed to at the very pissed off looking lead singer, “swears he remembers fucking you not long before that? Or are with both mistaken? I mean, there are a lot of you girls, you do all kinda look the same.. Feel the same too.” He chuckled darkly, shooting me a sly look. I glared at him with an expression so deadly that dared him to carry on. He rose to the challenge. “I tell you what though buddy,” Nikki continued, leaning into Dan so he was speaking into his ear, but just loud enough for me to catch what he was saying, “if you’re heading back to hers you’re in for a treat. She’s got the mouth of a motherfuckin’ Angel.” He finished, glancing over at me & winking. I was prepared to fly at him in a blind rage, fists balled, ready to wipe that smug smile off of his face permanently, when Dan spoke up, in a voice so peaceful & gentle, that it made his words seem somehow harsher.

“You are an arrogant piece of shit. I’ve been sat with this girl for the last hour & I spend a minute in your presence & it’s immediately clear to me that she’s way too good for you. But I’m sure she’ll realise that in her own time.” Daniel turned back to me, his expression stoney & irritated, but I could swear there was a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “If you ever get off of this rollercoaster doll, you know where you can find me.” He said, letting go of my hand as he stepped around the unmoving Nikki.

“Daniel, wait..” I caught him by the arm & quickly stepped in his path, stopping him.

“Beth, you seem like a great girl & I don’t think I’ve ever hit it off so quickly with someone like I have with you. But it’s obvious you have something with that guy & I’m not really interested in competing with him for your attention.”

I nodded slowly, knowing his words were fair. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok. And I mean it, if you decide to get off the rollercoaster.. I can probably offer you a slightly calmer ride. A carousel maybe?” Dan winked, laughing as I let out a light giggle. His blue eyes focused on mine, sending a surge of electricity through my body that momentarily extinguished the flame that Nikki somehow always managed to light. I lifted my lips & placed them softly on Daniels for the briefest second, before pulling away.

“Thank you.” I whispered.

His eyes lingered on my lips for a second, silently asking for more, before he came back to reality & gave me a genuine smile. “It was nice to meet you Beth. I do hope I get to see you again”, he nodded, before kissing my cheek & heading for the door.

I stood still for a second, gathering my thoughts & regaining my composure, before walking towards the bar where the Crüe & Sophia were stood, trying to act as if they hadn’t been watching.

I had barely made it over to them before Nikki was straight in there with his sly comments, immediately trying to get under my skin.

“Aw was Prince Charming not happy to hear the Princess was actually a band slu-“

Nikki didn’t get the chance to finish his insult. He was silenced by the remainder of my drink soaking him as I threw it at him furiously, dousing his arrogance with my cocktail.

“That is for thinking you have any right to chase away a good guy just because your petty, selfish ass is jealous.” I spat. “And this..”

The loud crack of my hand slapping him sharply across the face echoed around the bar, followed by the whooping of Vince & Tommy. I even caught a glimpse of Mick smirking.

Nikki recoiled, his hand flying to his crimson cheek, shock & fury on his face. But his rage couldn’t match mine. I grabbed his face roughly, my hand cupping his chin & cheeks, forcing him to meet my wrathful glare.

“That is for fucking me & leaving me like I was one of your whores.” I seethed, my voice quiet & dangerous.

Nikkis face went from white hot anger to an ice cold stare in an instant as he straightened up, pushing me off of him as he did. He took a step towards me, but I didn’t move an inch. I was way too fucking angry to back down.

“Listen Princess, you’re fucking lucky I’m not a bad guy-“ he began, but my sharp laugh rang loud, cutting him off.

“Not a bad guy?! Nikki, are you really that delusional?! You’ve done nothing but purposely fuck with my head from the day I met you. You’ve insulted me, dragged me down to your level, used me, screwed my chances with two different guys & for what?!” I screamed, tears threatening to form. “No, you know what?! You're fucking lucky Sixx, I’m not gonna do this here. I’m done. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

I span around, ready to make my dramatic exit, when I came face to face with a very happy looking band manager, Doc. He clearly couldn’t care less about our drama as he marched over to us like nothing was happening.

“Bartender, a round of shots for these boys & their girlfriends. We need to celebrate;”

“The fuck are you talking about Doc?” Snapped Nikki, his eyes still fixed on me.

“Boys, you’re in!" He announced, unable to hide his obvious pleased-with-himself smirk "I've just been told that Mötley Crüe have been offered a last minute slot to play alongside the likes of Judas Priest, Scorpions, Van Halen & The Prince of fucking Darkness, Ozzy fucking Osbourne at the US Festival on Memorial Day weekend!” Doc exclaimed, laughing as the band began shouting & whooping, looking disbelieved & excited as hell. Choruses of “are you serious?!” & “you’re fucking kidding!” we’re passed between them as Doc reassured them that they were on their way up.

In that moment, watching these guys I’d grown to love over the last couple of years get the break they worked so hard for, I couldn’t be mad. I watched as Tommy jumped on Nikkis back, Vince hugged Doc & Mick silently smirked to himself. They deserved this.

Doc handed me & Sophia a shot as we congratulated them all, although I couldn’t quite bring myself to share my enthusiasm with Nikki. But he was too busy to notice as he held up his shot glass in a toast.

“To us! We’ve got an old man, a kid drummer, a cover band singer & a fucking run away. Win it all or loose it all, we’re Mötley fucking Crue!” He yelled, his excitement & energy almost infectious, as much as I wanted to hate him.

“To you guys!” Sophia cheered, laughing as we all downed our shots.

“Let’s get another round in, we’re celebrating! And pour one for yourself gorgeous.” Vince called to the barmaid who was more than happy to oblige, blushing as he winked at her, turning on the Vince Neil charm that would assure she’d be going home with him at the end of the night. I remember that well, I chuckled to myself.

The atmosphere of the night had changed so dramatically from what it was 10 minutes previously, everyone’s anger & awkwardness forgotten in the wake of such elating news. I looked around all the happy faces; Vince flirting with the bar maid, Tommy all over a giggling Sophia, Mick & Doc eagerly discussing set lists & felt an overwhelming sense of misplacement. After all that had happened, I just couldn’t bring myself to match their enthusiasm, not tonight.

I noticed Nikki's gaze focused on me, his face betraying his now obvious guilt as he watched me stand alone, uncomfortable & upset. His sudden success had clearly snapped him out of his petty, jealous mood.

Uninterested in an apology from him, I let my eyes continue to scan the room, looking anywhere but at him, when Sophia glanced over, catching my eye & gestured for me to join in. I forced my best smile as I walked over to her & Tommy.

“Take another shot Reynolds!” Tommy shouted, pushing a shot glass of mysterious liquid at me. I laughed politely as I shook my head.

“Thanks, but no thanks T-Bone. I think I’m actually gonna shoot yanno, I’m getting pretty tired.” I lied.

“Beth, don’t leave, please?” Tommy pleaded, his face suddenly serious, moving away from Soph & towards me.

“T-Bone, it’s not a big deal honestly, you guys enjoy your celebrations!”

“Just talk to him. I know the fucker doesn’t deserve it, Beth, I know. But he cares for you more than you think, I promise. We all do.” He added, placing his hand in mine & giving it a squeeze as he flashed me a goofy half smile.

I gave him a half smile & squeezed his hand back. “I know Tommy & I love you guys, I really do. But I can’t be around him, its.. it’s too hard.” I muttered back, so quietly it was almost inaudible above the music playing in the bar. But Tommy caught it.

“You care for him too, don’t you?” He asked, just as quietly.

I nodded, my eyes filling with tears. “God knows why T-Bone, he’s made it clear he doesn’t care about me. I’m just another girl he fucked.” I sniffed, furiously wiping away my tears before anyone noticed.

“Beth, Sixx is a dick. I’ve watched him fuck over chick after chick who was convinced they’d tame him & he tosses them without a second thought. But not you. I don’t know what the fuck goes on in Nikkis head, but that fucker cares about you. So please, don’t ditch us all just because you think he doesn’t.”

“I’m sorry Tom, I know he’s your friend & you wanna see the best in him, but you’re wrong. Nikki Sixx only cares about himself.” I replied, straightening my posture & regaining my composure. I pulled Tommy into a tight hug & congratulated him again. “I’ll see ya around T-Bone, I’m sure.” I winked, gesturing towards Sophia.

He laughed, “I’ll look after her.”

I blew him a kiss before heading towards the door, not wanting to disturb anyone else’s night with my drama.

“Lizzy, wait up.” I heard Nikkis voice call. I closed my eyes briefly, choosing whether to stop or keep going. I chose the latter & walked swiftly out of the door, pretending I hadn’t heard.

But my ignorance was in vain & he was right behind me, following suit out of the bar.

“Nikki please, just go back-“

My sentence was cut short by his lips crashing onto mine. I froze, feeling anger, lust & passion sweep through my body as my brain tried to compute the correct emotional response. I pushed him away sharply, deciding anger overwhelmed any feelings I had towards him.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?! Are you asking for another slap?!”

“Lizzy, I’m sorry ok?” He blurted out, clearly uncomfortable with apologies.

“You’re sorry?! Oh, well that makes everything ok then.” I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes at him.

“I know ok, I fucked up. I’ve been a dick to you & I’m sorry. I just, I don’t know how to do this shit.” He mumbled, running his hands through his tangled hair.

“Do what, Sixx?” My frustration mounting with his half-assed apology.

“I don’t fucking do.. This.” He gestured between the two of us, struggling to find his words.

I sighed with exasperation. “What is this Nikki? Is this an apology or what, because honestly there isn’t much you can say right now, just let me go home.” I finished, turning to leave, but he caught hold of my hand, pulling me into him. He placed his hand gently under my chin, bringing my face up to his.

“I don’t do this, ok? I don’t do feelings or relationships, fuck, I won’t even sleep with a girl twice.” He laughed, before clearing his throat when he saw my unamused expression. “Lizzy, I am sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I got pissed as hell when I saw you with that fucking pretty boy, I snapped.. I don't know, I guess I was kinda jealous.. I do care about you.”

I scoffed. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

“I do, Lizzy. But listening to you telling me why I’m a bad guy, all the shit I’ve done to you, you’re right. And I’m sorry. Just, please don’t leave. Come celebrate with us, we all want you here. I want you here.. You’ve been with us from the start, it wouldn’t feel the same without you. You mean a lot to me... Um, to us. You mean a lot to us.” He corrected.

I looked into his green eyes & saw the sincerity, noted the lack of arrogance in his voice & the absence of his usual smug smile. I so badly wanted to give into him. I wanted to taste his kiss again, melt against him like I always do. I wanted to take his hand & go back inside, enjoy the night with the band, drink, have fun & fall into bed with him when the night was over.

But I’d fell for Nikkis sweeter side before, I knew how the night would end. He’d leave afterwards & I’d be hurt all over again. And I wasn’t gonna let that happen.

“No Nikki, I’m sorry.”

[until-we-fall-in-love]

Into the Hush: Chapter One

Into the Hush Masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes/Reader, Wanda Maximoff/Reader undertones

Summary: It's only ever been you and the rugged wilderness; both unkempt and undomesticated. Until it isn't anymore.

(1870s Cowboy AU. A/B/O AU. Gothic/horror.)

Warnings: Violence, gore, dark themes, A/B/O dynamics, smut in later chapters.

If you are under 18, you should not be reading this!

A/N: howdy ya’ll lol don’t know how i came up with this one but it’s an A/B/O cowboy historical gothic au. it’s gonna get dark! also gonna be a real nasty slow burn lmaooo so mind the warnings, if you don’t do well with gore or violence, perhaps this isn’t the fic for you. also if you don’t like the Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, this isn’t for you, either, though i will be taking some liberties with this and trying to give my own take on it because there are aspects of it that i don’t like lol. im not quite sure how long this series will be, but i have plans for it. that being said, saddle up pardner lol and pls let me know what you thought of this first chapter!!!!

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 Wyoming, 1872

The early morning air is crisp with new spring, cold and a little damp, dew glistening on the grass and glinting gold in the morning sun. Your breath still comes out in soft puffs that curl into the air as you step out onto your creaking, front porch. It overlooks the barren dirt road that leads up to your humble and charming farmhouse; weathered by time and storm and pleasantly cluttered with life and home at every turn. Off to the left is the freshly tilled ground that has been planted in; herbs and fruits and vegetables that will take over in the warm summer months. Trees have shaken the snow from them and have turned green and budding and new again. 

You wrap your shawl tighter around your shoulders, trying to gather more warmth from the worn cream, crochet wrap. You know once the sun rises higher into the afternoon, you’ll grow too warm for it, but now it’s needed. The wind curls around you, rustles your hair, lifts your skirts. It carries the promise of warmth, the reminder of winter. 

All is peaceful in the morning, before the day has broken over the hills. All that sings is the birds, lovely and bright and flitting from tree to tree. 

You lift your skirts, head over to the back porch, which wraps the entire way along your house. In the back is the barn, the pasture for the animals to graze when it’s warm. The creek towards the back, bubbling softly over the stones, crystal clear and cool. It’s perfect on a summer afternoon, but now would be too cold for you.

And you begin your day, head over to the shed where you ready the feed for the chickens, grab a basket for eggs. You enter the coop, greet the clucking hens with a coo, spreading food for them which they hurry to eagerly. As they eat, you gently reach for warm eggs in their nest, gather it into your basket and rush on to your other chores. 

Milk the cows, get them fresh water, fresh hay and in the afternoon, you’ll let them out in the pasture to warm in the sun. 

A few of them are round with calves, ready to give birth any day now. 

You tend to the single horse, only one now after your father’s male passed away last spring. The one left is yours; a dappled, brown mare you’ve affectionately called Clover. 

You’ll take her to town later, to sell extra eggs and milk, all the goods you can in exchange for bread or spices or money for the tax collector. By the time you’re finished with your chores, which is taking longer and longer as the farm extends and your father grows older and older, it’s around noon, the sun beginning to warm into pleasant rays of topaz and canary. 

Your father sits on the porch, in his old rocking chair, smoking a pipe. His knee has been bad since this past fall, has a harder and harder time helping you. Not that you mind; this farm has practically become yours, but he hates leaving you to it all alone. 

He’s been dying to set you up with an Alpha, find a good man to marry and help you with the farm. But none of the men from town pique your interest, few good Alphas in the small town of Longbrook, Wyoming. The train, not far from town, brings newcomers once and awhile, but it’s mostly quiet, tucked away in a valley, a river snaking its way through and out into the plains of wildflowers and fields. 

You know Longbrook’s secrets, the quiet, beautiful places that you run to when you have the time. Spend your evenings lazing in columbine and aster flowers, beneath old, crooked trees near quiet, turquoise lakes. Or on a bluff, looking high above the world, cool wind in your face and the fluttering of birds nearer to you than planted on the grounds below. 

You know where not to stray to, when the wilderness grows too rough and dangerous. Unrestrained in both it’s beauty and viciousness. 

So independent that you can’t quite imagine your life beside another, especially not beside an Alpha, with their combative, controlling natures. You can’t imagine a husband that wouldn’t mind you taking off, disappearing into the wilderness and returning when you fancy; like some feral cat, your father always remarks gruffly. 

He isn’t a fan of your disappearing acts, either. Alpha that he is, he’s kept careful and close watch on you since you discovered you were Omega, as irritating as it is. Controlling, but only because he means well. You manage to sate him by coming home before nightfall, when dusk is lavender and rose and the moon is only beginning to take the sun’s place. Besides, there’s not much he can do with his bad knee, can’t keep you cooped up the way he used to. 

Ever since your mother had passed, you had to step up around the farm, grow up a little too quick. Responsible and resourceful, you work hard for you and your father. But your father has grown rather overprotective, wary with the Alphas he let come around; well respected in the town, no one has dared disobey him. A few had tried; Brock Rumlow, the tax collector, was the most notable of them. Pushy and irksome, he’d tried to convince you to disobey, sway you to sneak out with him or let him come by but you always turned your nose up at him.

You have no interest in someone so aggressive, so controlling.

You aren’t one to roll over or lower your eyes submissively; many Omegas aren’t, in your opinion, but it’s expected. There’s no time for that, though, not for you. No use or desire for it. You have a farm to take care of, to keep running smoothly. You have a life to live, adventures to have, open sky to chase. 

And there’s  certainly nothing and no one that’s going to stop you. 

“Be careful goin’ into town,” Your father speaks up finally, smoke curling from his lips, voice rough and fogged, “Heard there was a few newcomers.” 

Your father is always wary of newcomers, prefers to assess them himself, rather than hear from others. 

“Yes, pa.” You respond, not particularly interested in them, nor sticking around for one of your father’s infamous lectures. You hurry on, grabbing all that you need, loading up Clover for the journey. You saddle her up, throw yourself over her with practiced ease, hitching your skirts up slightly and out of the way. 

“Be home by nightfall!” Your father hollers after you, but you’re already easing Clover onto the dirt path. 

“Of course!” You call back, just as you urge her into a faster pace, your voice carries on the wind, distant and as light as the new blossoms. 

You push her into a gallop; not because there’s a rush, but because it’s fun. Because the wind is in your hair and the sun is warm on your shoulders and Clover thunders across the ground, kicking up dirt and making a mess. 

You let a grin hitch onto the corner of your lips, lean forward, ease into the speed. The town is only a twenty minute ride, fifteen if you pushed, but you want to enjoy the ride. The landscape blurs past you in shades of olive and juniper, butter cream, robin’s egg blue. The pop of lily white, a sudden burst of dainty pink or blushing red. But it’s just you and the trees and the pounding of your heart along the beat of hooves against the solid ground. 

Free and open and bursting, you race away from home eagerly and into the wilderness.

You end up slowing Clover halfway through your journey, appreciating the spring air, new and linen clean, shadowed patterns falling over you beneath the trees. The wind tickles your cheeks, the distant sound of the river can be heard when you listen carefully, a soft rush of water. It’s soothing, like the creek by your house, the sloshing lake you visit often. You let it carry you into town, peaceful, lazily letting Clover step onto more worn dirt roads. 

Town people shout to you in greeting, wave as you pass by; you’re a familiar face to them. You give them smiles, holler back to some as you make your way to the grocers to sell your eggs and milk. You swing down from Clover, hopping easily onto your feet. 

You end up walking out of the grocer’s with some extra money and a few cans of preserved vegetables and fruits. You buy some bread at the bakery, a pastry to split with Wanda, who you’re hoping can join you for the afternoon. 

You catch sight of her outside the dress shop, peering at the finely made clothes through the window. She wears her own dress of dove grey, similar in fashion to yours rather than the ones she gazes at; your dresses are looser, easier to move and work and play in, aprons tied around your waists instead of the ruffles and frill of the dresses in the window. Her long curls cascade over her shoulders, near copper under the afternoon sun.

You call to her, watch as her features light up upon seeing you, before she picks her skirts up and bounds over to you. Her scent hits you; sweetly Omega, soft clary sage, warm rose, and damp patchouli. Mysterious and floral, she’s always been a little offbeat with her wide, wondering eyes that linger in darkness. 

Some of the elders call her a witch, little demon child, with her Eastern European ties and mischievous curl of her lips. But to you she is only Wanda, your dearest. 

Her fingers, nimble and quick, find yours, lock and lace together. “Hello, darling.” She says, pressing her lips to your cheek in greeting, her voice melodic and smooth; velvet dark and sweet twilight. 

You let your cheek brush hers, lean into the touch eagerly, soft, rosy and warm skin against yours. “Hello, Wanda.” 

She pulls back with a flutter of her lashes, wide eyes finding yours. There’s a familiar glimmer in them, which makes your heart leap amorously, excited and playful. “Are we going to sneak off to the meadow today, still?” She asks, dropping her voice to a hush and stepping nearer. Your hands tighten over hers as you draw closer, duck your head so you catch another breeze of her scent in her hair, the nape of her neck.

“Yes,” You reply, an eager smile pulling at your lips, “I bought us a pastry to split and a book to read.” 

“Then what are we waiting for?” She nearly purrs, bouncing lightly on her toes in excitement. You’re about to pull her along, drag her towards Clover when someone clears their throat behind you.

You both turn, fingers still interwoven, pressed to one another’s sides. Her warmth is welcome and comforting, especially as you both find Rumlow gazing back at the pair of you with depthless, cold eyes. His face, so marred and twisted, gleams pink and shiny with scarred and new skin under the afternoon light. The rays of white gold sunlight do nothing to lighten his features, nor the darkness of his gaze.

It pierces deep into you, as if he wants to pry and prod and pick you cleanly apart. It’s the gaze of a conqueror, you think, the gaze of someone who wants something that can never be theirs. It’s a disturbing hunger, the kind that sends a deep chill down your spine. 

Wanda squeezes your hand in comfort. So attuned to you, she perhaps can tell by body language or the dip in your scent that you’re frightened in some way, that Rumlow has caused you distress and he has yet to even open his jagged, scarred mouth. 

“Lovely afternoon for you ladies.” He says very coldly, as if he is not in fact concerned with the weather nor you both.

“Yes, it is.” Wanda replies for you, a dark, protective little gleam in her eyes. You can smell the shift of scent with her light aggression, the flare of sage that burns and tickles your nose. It sharpens and spices, makes you blink with it. 

“You’re both looking mighty fine, rich with spring. Omegas always were sweetest in spring. Isn’t that right?” He muses and it chills you to the bone, makes you press closer to Wanda’s side, as if you could fold into the safety of her body. 

There is old folklore; spring being associated with Omegas. It’s all about fertility and the new life that blossoms in spring, old wives’ tales of Omegas getting their strongest heats in the spring after long, dormant winters. Perhaps there is some truth to it, biologically, because winter can get so harsh and so sparse with food if one isn’t careful. Bearing children in winter would never be easy, but it’s something you don’t wish to linger on, particularly not with the way Rumlow is eyeing you.

Like ripening fruit to be picked. A flower blooming, awaiting the moment to pluck it from the earth.

Wanda grows uncomfortable now, too, you can feel it in the bunching of her slim shoulders. But she steps in front of you purposefully, a show of challenge to Rumlow, one of protection for you. 

“Isn’t that right, ladies?” Rumlow urges, taking a step forward and Wanda sharply takes a step back, forcing you back as well. You cling to the back of her skirts with tense, seeking fingers. 

“I sure hope you’re not botherin’ these girls.” Another voice speaks up, authoritative and strong and sure. The kind of voice that gives commands, ones you think many eagerly would follow. Not unkind, but unwavering. When you both turn to the source, it’s a blond man, broad shouldered and wide and tall. He’s dressed simply, the top few buttons of his shirt popped open to reveal a muscled chest. Pretty, light blue eyes. He has an honest face, a strong jaw, trustworthy and noble. 

His scent is distinctly Alpha, strong and commanding; cedar wood and leather. The soft notes of something gentler like cotton and the way your linen smells on a summer day fluttering in the breeze to be dry. It’s soothing, a deep comfort compared to the off-beat, metal tang and sour blood smell of Rumlow’s scent. 

Which, has become bitter and salty with his anger and aggression for this newcomer.  

“I wasn’t bothering them. Was I bothering you Omegas?” He asks sharply, prickling with agitation and it makes you grip Wanda’s skirts a little tighter. “And who are you, anyways?” He then almost growls, “Newcomer isn’t gonna tell me what to do.” 

You can tell Rumlow’s itching to pick a fight by the tightening of his shoulders and baring of his teeth. The air becomes charged with scent, territorial and angry and pungent. Wanda’s is still spiced and agitated, too, with the threat of Rumlow. Your own is dipped into distress, irritation, and the newcomer’s becomes stronger, cedar wood sharp. Rooted in place, he cocks his head slightly, challenging. 

“Why don’t you move along.” The newcomer says, and he’s not asking, he’s telling. It’s bold of him, with the way Rumlow’s face; twisted and angry, settles on him. No one challenges Rumlow in this town. He holds too much power, is too strong; both physically and socially. Even protected by the law by being a tax collector for Alexander Pierce. 

Another man steps up behind the blond, eyeing Rumlow with particularly cold and dark eyes; midnight blue, the evening sky bleary with stars, depthless and all consuming. His hair is longer, brushing the tops of his shoulders, half pulled back from his strong face--

When your eyes settle upon his features for the first time, it feels as if you’ve been struck; a blow of lightning, the sudden shock of cold water, the gasp you take when you resurface. It’s damning, you think, as if you’ve seen him in your dreams or in hazy, unknown past lives. As if you’ve known him your whole life, somehow, as if you recognize him now and wonder how you ever could’ve forgotten him.

He looks like the tragic heroes you read about; the ones that rise only to fall, crumble down after being so noble and wide-eyed. He is breathtaking and standing tall and strong against Rumlow’s piercing gaze. There’s a warning in his eyes, a half-dare, begging Rumlow to try something and see what happens now. Where the blond is golden-hearted and bright-eyed, he seems darker, more eclipsed. 

And surprisingly, it works, Rumlow eyes the pair of them, weighs his options, and then promptly steps down. He mutters something about leaving, about how this isn’t the end. But you can’t help the quirk of a smile, the hint of cruel amusement you get from watching him ease away. Slink off back into the hustle of town.

Wanda smiles wider than you, sharper, a little more mischievous, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Rumlow cower like that.” She says and turns towards the newcomers with a radiance that is hard to match. 

And the blond smiles, easy and gentle, “Glad we could help.” And then with deep courtesy, “Steve Rogers, by the way.” 

“Wanda Maximoff.” She pulls you back up to her side once more, offers your name to them, too.

Steve claps the other man on the shoulder, an ease is shared between them that is not unsimilar to you and Wanda. Steve adds, “James Buchanan. But we just call him Bucky.”

And Bucky nods, his eyes finally sliding over to you; his scent hits you at nearly the same time. Offbeat and pine, the sharp, cold smell of metal. There’s evergreen and winter, maybe the soft spice of juniper, the low cut of musk. It makes your eyes flutter, makes your head go soft and bleary with it. 

“Pleasure to meet you both.” Wanda says and her voice refocuses you, her fingers skimming yours to ground you. You flit your eyes away, but can feel Bucky’s suddenly sink over you the way the red sun will drop below the hills. 

You become keenly aware of your bare neck, hair pulled from your face and shoulders to reveal it to him. The cut of your dress suddenly seems both revealing and not revealing enough. Like it could constrict you, or maybe you’re showing too much skin.  

“What brings you here?” You ask, perhaps a little cooly, eyes seeking out the horizon rather than them. Anything but him. 

“Passing through. Looking for work for a few weeks.” Steve answers politely and his eyes glitter like the creek in the high summer. He’s pretty, you think, long lashes framing those eyes. 

“Oh!” Wanda exclaims and she loops her arm through yours solidly, her body warm and soft beside you, “You’re in luck! She needs help running her farm!” 

You almost choke. Throw Wanda a glare but she only meets you with that impish, precious smile you can’t stay mad at for very long. 

“I don’t--” You try to protest. 

“She does!” Wanda interjects, “Her father injured his knee awhile ago, been looking for someone to help out.” 

“Well, if that’s the case, then perhaps Buck and I will have to stop by.” Steve says easily, a half amused grin tugging at his lips as he gazes between you and Wanda. Almost as if he’s endeared by your antics. You bristle. 

“My father doesn’t take to newcomers very well.” You warn, as if that’ll scare these two Alphas away so easily after their little stunt with Rumlow. You worry that few things will scare these two off. 

Regardless you don’t need them on your farm, don’t need them trying to help or care for you or order you around. It’s always been you, and no one will change that. You’re not about to let them treat you like some soft, little creature who should be inside baking them pies and fetching them water. 

But you can feel Bucky’s eyes on your face still, as if he’s trying to burrow in there, make a home upon which he gazes. 

You grow even tenser, teeth grinding. No home to find inside you; just the unruliness of nature, the ever-changing seasons, or unforgivable storms. The river that churns too fast, dives between the mountains and the forests, the sly, sharp-toothed fox. 

You turn your nose up, “Besides,” You say, insolent and dry, “I don’t really need any help.” 

“‘Course.” Steve agrees and you aren’t sure if it’s to placate you or if he’s genuine, “But if you’re looking for an extra pair of hands to order around, we’re your guys.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” You say, though decidedly won’t. 

Daring yourself, you finally force your eyes to Bucky once more. His face is stern and closed off, reserved. He hasn’t spoken once, and stupidly, horribly, you long to hear his voice. You wonder what it sounds like, if it’s rough or smooth or everything at once. Does he speak loudly or softly? Will you have to lean in to hear him or will you step back at the crack of it? 

And yet, he hasn’t needed it once yet. His presence, formidable and strong and raw, is enough.

You blink, look away just as he glances back at you. This strange game of cat and mouse with eyes is making your fingers twitch and tighten in your skirts. 

“We should be off,” You tell Wanda, wishing to flee, to feel the wind on your face and Wanda’s body beside yours and the afternoon sun bursting on your skin. 

Steve wishes the pair of you well, gentlemanly and sweet. Tips his hat with a boyish sort of grin that perhaps would leave other’s swooning. 

And Bucky, gruffly, and with a sort of gentleness you aren’t expecting to find, says to you, “It was nice meeting you both.” 

Something warm settles into your chest, sliding down like molasses, dripping into your stomach and core, spreading throughout you like it owns you; settles deep into you like it won’t leave, real deep into the marrow of your bones. And you inhale, breathe as if this is your first real breath in the whole of your life.

You find yourself replying, almost as softly, “It was nice to meet you, too.” 

His lips twitch upwards in the barest hint of a smile, as if it’s the first time he’s smiled in a long, long time and he needs you to show him how again.

So you do, you give him your own smile that isn’t much bigger, but it’s much easier and sweet as honey, clever as a fox. Almost like you want him to chase you, follow that curve of your lips. 

Wanda giggles, before pulling you away and back towards Clover to begin your adventure for the day, but you think you can feel the dark of his eyes on the back of your neck still, the line of your shoulders. It lingers, until you ride off into the heather hills with her and disappear on the gauzy horizon. 

---

Wanda and you roll in the wild grass on the sloping hills. Laughing and chasing and playing like you’re girls again, half-savage and free and untempered. You tumble and shriek and hitch up your skirts, loosen your dresses and unbutton collars. The sun is a gold glow, warming the earth and your skin, shimmering dreamlike on the new green buds, the wheat yellow of the tall grass. You tip your face up to the sky eagerly, just as you let yourself flop back into the field, back hitting the ground that catches your fall, cradles you. Clouds pass overhead in cotton shapes, free and darling, and you’re still breathing a little hard from romping around with Wanda, feeling your heartbeat inside the cage of your chest. You feel flushed with life; ferocious and curious and excited. 

Wanda drops down by your feet, before slowly, languidly crawling atop you. She straddles your waist, her skirts spilling out over the two of you. You sit up on your elbows, jostle and try to dislodge her a little with another round with warm laughter, but she holds fast, nails digging into your shoulders. 

“I saw the way you were looking at Bucky.” She says and there’s too much mischief in her eyes, a clever glint that the sun turns amber and honey hazel. 

You roll your eyes at her, but even the mention of his name on her lips makes something inside of you stir. But you indulge her, leveling her with an unamused gaze, “And how was that, Wanda?” 

She leans over you, her fiery hair brushing your cheek, your shoulders. She fits herself closer, twines her arms around you all close and snug. 

 “Like you wanted to bare your throat to him right then and there.” She teases playfully, voice dipping into a warm, rumbling purr. Her nose drops, nuzzles lightly at the sensitive scent gland at your neck. It makes you squirm, your fingers tightening in the skirts of her dress. 

You allow her so close, allow lips and teeth and nose into the dips of your body because she’s so familiar to you. A piece of your heart is firmly in her small, warm hands. It blurs the thin, unsteady line between you two, though. Scenting at the neck is usually romantic in some way; often times sexual. Comforting, when it needs to be, but you’ve laid so many times with Wanda, gotten so close and tangled together that you often find your nose at her throat, the nape of her neck, tucking your face into the crooks of her body and she to you. You know her like a lover, you think, sink into her body beneath the sun and the moon and the open skies that spread out before you both. As if the whole world opens for you two. 

“Your scent got sweeter; milky lavender and dark jasmine.” Her lashes tickle your collar bones, her mouth warm and open against the skin there. It makes you flush deeply, sink into the earth beneath you, “Want him to bite you?” She jibes, flashes pearly teeth, her canine gleaming in that white sun. 

“Wanda!” You yelp, shoving at her and she throws her head back and laughs, “No!” And you begin to wrestle with her once more, pushing her off and sending you both tumbling down another hill. You shriek and peel with laughter, pulling and grabbing at each other until you roll apart.

She gets on her hands and knees, feigns a growl from an Alpha in her throat, the kind that rumbles out from deep within them, but the sound is a little muted, and too light in her mouth. She suddenly pounces for you again, playful and light, sending you belly up and onto your back, though. “You want him to tackle you like this,” She torments, grabbing at your wrists as you try and squirm and fight with her. 

With a grunt and all your strength, you roll her right onto her back now, hook your legs over her hips like she did. 

“You want to simper and cry under him,” She says and this time her voice gets soft and breathy and pouty and she is good at that. Her back arches beneath you and you push at her more, tighten your hands around her wrists, shove them down to the ground, feel her heaving chest and trace the curve of her smiling lips and rose touched cheeks with eager eyes. 

“I don’t!” You laugh, playfully bare your teeth at her and try and growl back the way she had. It’s better than hers, a little more bite to it, but it’s still too light and soft. She laughs with you at your attempt now, laughs and growls and yells with you until you’re both breathless because there is nothing and no one around to hear you but each other.

You howl and chase and fall into each other with giggles and wildflowers in your hair, get lost in her and the way the sun begins to fall from the sky and cast everything in a rosewood haze, slow and burning and beautiful. 

She lays her cheek on your back when you ride Clover back to her home, and she kisses you goodnight, lips at the corner of yours. Promises to see you tomorrow. 

And then you ride home, race fast and hard before the sun is swallowed by the moon, before the stars blink into existence and your father scolds you to all hell and back. 

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

Home seems eerie with the darkness that creeps around its edges, night drawing out all the creeks and aches and splinters in the old house. All the memories pushed towards the back of your mind rush forward like skittering spiders. The last sliver of light sits on the horizon, fighting, railing against that inky sky as you get home. 

And when you rush through the front door, shouting, “Pa, I’m home before the sun’s set!” You aren’t expecting to nearly run right into the broad chest of Steve Rogers.

You blink hard and he steadies you with a hushed, “Easy,” And his big hands on your shoulders. 

You look up at him in disbelief, brows furrowing, quickly lurching away from him, only to realize Bucky stands to his right. 

“What--” You start to snap, and this time your teeth are baring with aggression and irritation, gone is the lightness and playfulness you had with Wanda. Your eyes flash with the last cut of light that slashes through the old windows of your house. 

“There’s my feral cat of a daughter, fellas.” Your father says and your head whirls to him. 

He begins to introduce the three of you again, but you cut him off, “I met ‘em today, Pa.” 

“Oh, good.” He says dryly, unappreciative of your tone. You force back a wince, know you’ll get scolded for that one. “They’ll be helping you out on the farm for a few weeks.” 

You whip back to face Steve and Bucky, narrow your eyes at them, “Thought I told you both I don’t need any help?” You snap, unruly, wildflowers still caught in your hair that now slips free of what it’d been pulled back in earlier. You’re sure you look half-wild. 

Steve holds up his hands as if he means no harm, palms up to you and you see they’re rough and calloused and scarred. Used, working hands. Hands that have seen a lot. You glance at Bucky, notice that one of his hands is gloved, the other free. You try not to stare, flit your eyes back to Steve.

“In our defense, we didn’t know this was your farm. We were sent this way after inquiring in town for work.” Steve says calmly, and then puts his hand over his heart, “Honest.” 

You scoff lightly, turn back to your father, “I don’t need them, Pa.”

“No,” He agrees and pride swells in you, a small bubble of it for a heartbeat, “But they’d be a great help to you.” 

There’s no amount of arguing or protesting that’s gonna change your father’s mind once it’s been set. He seems settled on this, content and confident. You try not to pout, try not to stamp your feet or snap or glare them right out of your house. 

Final discussions are had; pay and what times they’ll arrive and leave. Your father, thankfully, warns them to listen to you, and if he finds differently, they’ll be kicked to the dirt as quickly as they’d gotten the job.

And then he warns them, quite frankly, to mind themselves around you and you can feel your cheeks deepen into crimson. Bucky and Steve dip their heads, though, say obedient and firm, yes sir’s, as if they expected it. 

Your father finishes with, “Alright, then. You two start tomorrow.” And then he looks to you, “Walk them out, will you?” 

You huff, but do so, walk them to the porch where the crickets and frogs have begun to chirp and croak and sing. The night crawls onward, the wind rattles this old house. A chill overcomes you, a little shudder. You think you can hear the far-off sound of baying coyotes, erie and high pitched in their frenzied yelping. 

“Suppose I’ll see you both bright and early in the morning, then.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Suppose so.” Steve says, lowers his eyes a little, “I did mean it, we didn’t know this was your farm.” 

You eye him, “Nothin’ I can do about it now, is there?” You counter, unwilling to give an inch, no matter how sweetly he looks at you with those darling, blue eyes. You’re sure that boyish charm works everywhere else, but you refuse to let it here.

He has the good sense to dip his head submissively, nodding slightly, “We’ll get out of your hair for the night then, let you rest. Goodnight, ma’am.” He says respectfully, before easing down off the old wood that protests beneath his heavy steps. 

And for a heartbeat, it is only you and Bucky and the rattling tree branches and the croaking night. A moment frozen, as if you’d captured it in a bottle like a letter that you’ll throw into the sea. Just this sliver of time that makes the whole world stand still, as if it’s been waiting or fearing for your coming together. 

You have nothing to say, but he inclines his head, holds your eyes like he’s holding the world in his arms, and murmurs all low and rumbling, “Goodnight, miss.” 

Then turns his back on you, and hustles over to Steve, to their tethered horses. 

And this time it’s you that watches him, eyes glued to his muscled back, the nape of his neck, as he eventually is swarmed by the darkened, reaching horizon.

---

You fall into bed, feeling strange and wary, a little weary, perhaps a little hopeful, too. For what, you don’t know. You can feel the wind changing, coming with new spring. But there’s something else, something heavier; the pressure is building, as if there’s a storm brewing. The kind of spring storm that bring destruction and clamor and the kind of rain that threatens to sweep you away in their flood and ferocity. 

Your bed creeks, the shadows are tall and reaching in your room. The moon spills in, but instead of painting you with wonder or lovely, pearl light, it only makes the shadows that much darker. The night brings the cold, makes you pull tight and inwards. You curl up beneath your quilt, try and ward off all that presses in. 

Eventually, you sleep. 

And you dream. 

You dream in visions of phantom grey and oil slick black, syrupy red, and flesh pink. You step lightly in a graveyard, the earth freshly turned and dark. Stones jut out from the ground like jagged, crooked teeth. It swallows you whole. The fog is thick and evasive, surrounding you and gathering around you, a train to your skirts that murmur and brush against stones and dirt and the hollowed out ground. 

A grave with your father’s name grows from the earth, forces you to stop, stutter backwards. Your teeth begin chattering, the clanking of bone against bone. You can feel the whispers of wind, something so near. Your heart plummets as you read his name, as you see his grave, which you now see is besides your mother’s. 

The ground trembles. 

Their graves crack, splinter like a dropped glass, bursting outwards in a wave of skittering, flaming stone. 

Frantically, you drop to your knees, try to put them all back together, as if that will somehow help. As if that will fix anything. You curse and cry and there are tears-- there are tears that drop onto burning stone. It sizzles and smokes but you can’t put them back together. You are alone, and you can’t. 

Your hands begin to burn, flesh pink and blister white. Mud sucks at your legs and your knees and then you are sinking, sinking, sinking--

Oil drowns you, forces its way down your mouth and your throat and clogs your lungs. Seeps into every part of you. It’s invasive, forceful in it’s push and pull of you, it sucks at you and you are forced downward, kicking and screaming. Forced to swallow and take and be filled.

You twist, frantic. Try to fight back, but you are caught in the thick of it. It devours your screams and cries and pain.

And from above, there is a cut of silver, a star in the inky sky. A hand; metal and unnatural plunges in for you. And he pulls you clear out of the muck, the earth’s blood and into his arms.

When you emerge, it is as if you’re cleansed by the light. Gone is the slick oil, gone is the choking and drowning and thrashing. Bucky holds you to him now, crushes you to his chest where you can hear the live, thundering beat of his heart. 

“I’ve got you,” He murmurs, cradling your skull as if it’s precious, something to be protected. Your nose is pushed to his neck and you--

You cling to him, swallow down clean gulps of spring air and the juniper bright and metal sharp smell of him. Pine, there is pine and evergreen, too. Clean and fresh and dipping into musk. Your heart slows, lulls, with his voice in your ear; that voice you’d so desperately wanted to hear.

You feel as if you’ve heard it your whole life now, as if you can’t imagine going another day without hearing it. And he says your name, not Omega, just your name. And he breathes and is warm and alive beneath you. 

When you look around now, the earth is fertile and bright and warm. Spring damp roses and sweet, honeycomb sunshine. The fauna is in full bloom, an overabundance of life that leaves you inhaling the fragrant air. It’s so thick, almost cloying. 

And there is no breeze, you think. 

And Bucky’s lips are at your neck. 

And there is a stirring in your stomach but its--

It’s all wrong. 

He tries to lay you down. And you don’t protest because there’s something so tempting about it all, so safe, or so instinctual. There’s an ache and a burn and you want to shed your skin, you want to let him in and never let him out, bury his body in the ground with you. Become the earth and fertilize the flowers and feed the foxes you love so much. You wanna lie with him until the crow calls, until you’re nothing but him and you and the gem stones deep in the ground. 

But when his face lifts from your vulnerable neck, it is not him. 

Rumlow stares down at you, his scarred face so close and imploring. He croons Omega and you shriek, you try to get away, but it’s like the oil all over again; you trapped and thrashing and stuck. Rabbit in a snare. Fox in a trap. You scream, scream for Bucky or Wanda or even Steve or your father. You scream until it tapers off and burns into something ragged, shredding your voice. 

He is just heavy atop you, and his face is morphing and shifting, like he’s a new creature altogether. Blackened eyes that are too wide, too large and there is a gaping whole where his mouth should be--

You claw at him, scratch with nails, pull at pink flesh and cartilage and bone until he starts dripping blood and saliva, growling like a rabid dog. You twist his face away so sharply, so horribly, that there is a sickening crack and then the full of him collapses atop you.

You squirm and you are crying, choked sobs because it feels like you are burning, or aching. Lonesome and longing or horrified and fearful of everyone. You want to be held in equal measures that you want to run away and never see another face again. You are torn, split in two and unraveling. 

When you scramble away, deeper into the fragrant wild grass. You realize there is wetness, slick and warm and--

There is blood. So much blood coating your legs and it seeps through your skirts, stemming from between your legs. It pools beneath you, waters the flowers and seeps into the earth as if it belongs there. 

You howl like an animal, fingers squabbling in the dirt and the blood and your body as if you can put yourself back together again--  

You wake with a hard, sucking gasp. Blinking hard in the darkness. Your hands pull at your nightgown, shift to feel your skin, still warm and dry and clean beneath your heavy quilt. Reassuring, gulping breaths bring back cool air into your lungs. I’m safe, you tell yourself, it was just a dream. 

But the night is still dark and the bed still creaks and the wind still howls, almost the way you had when you’d found all that blood-- No. 

But now you’re just awake, in a lonely room. And there is no comfort, no warmth or forgiveness in the hollowness of it all. 

You rise in the morning, heavy bags beneath your eyes, and begin your day in hopes of a better one.

[shabba-zams]

INSPIRED BY ELAINE

I think it's time, we confronted the situation in front of us

And I think it's time we talk it out and forget all the fuss

And it is not me.. There just isn't an us no more like Bible class

Our time is up, like sand falling thru an hour glass, in an hour class

You always say you have no clue but surely eNCA, know more

You mad at me, the silent treatment and you call it normal

You're bad for me, I was ur biggest fan - u such a baddie

You're bad to me, I'm your only fan, love it when u call me daddy

I'm sad for you, you hid your "Onlyfans" from me, you dirty

I'm thirsty, right now you looking all sexy, girly, flirty, all nerdy

You're needy, greedy, full of pity, always eating, mouth fully meaty, too demanding, nasty lazy, bitch u crazy

I'm giving, forgiving, plain loving, still thirsty but dripping in sauce

You're tripping, I flick my wrist then flick the bean (BDSM)

You're dribbing, my dick be crippling

You be stroking my penis, asking what my pin is

Bust a nut, wipe a continent from your chest

Yeah, that's what pain is

And then I knew you're not the One

Coz you were never the only one

I don't give out many chances, you get just the one

Party on campus, ur too antisocial, never my plus one

Plus size model, thick mama, BBW, voloptuous, ur curvatious

Luv ur onion booty, it makes me cry & it's more than 1 layer

Yeah im full of games, bstill no player

Dinner for 2, right b4 I eat u up, say my prayer

Bad dream, devils hour, I wake, u staring like, Heya! That's creepy

Okay lemme be real with u, it ain't your fault

I just couldn't be real around you, I couldn't be myself

I was losing myself tryinna please U

My face was your chair, no please U.. I can't breathe

I need air, u don't care, I pull ur hair, that's not fair

Face clean, no make up, take teddy bear, then make up sex

We're role playing, you're now Claire, Blair or Nonhle

Shared my, heart and love with u

I ain't mad at u, we don't c I2I

U & I was both invested, we tested

All that loud in the air, sippin wine we wasted

Danced all night then rested

My place or yours instead

Always kept you interested, kept me well fed

It's lessons learned not time wasted

Why you making me choose between you & the booze

I know you hate how I'm hung like a moose

Getting your creative juices flowing, like your muse

Misuse my tongue, amuse ur lower lips, abuse your sleep

Team nocturnal, feeling your intestine with my external

Loving you all night and day, feels eternal

I'm sorry but I'm not ready for anal

But that pussy imma turn into a canal

You dislike my love/hate relationship with social media

I bring a home cooked meal but all you do is take away

I mean it's healthier and bonus it makes financial sense

Lemme keep my 2 cents, common sense ain't common

That's nonsense, why you so tense? We don't make sense

I still sense your anger from when I tried to fvck ur friend

Then my close friend who's my best friends girlfriend

Yeah, I fvcked up, I own up, let's roll up

That's not tea in my cup, let's go up

Talk at the roof top, "nigga just grow up"

You're yelling, screaming, bout to blow up

I'm cocky, saying shit like I was your glow up

"Hol'up, nigga please just shut the fvck up

You always say you coming but never show up"

"You're right, I'm sorry I left you sick to go drink

I felt like I was drowning until my sorrows' lungs were filled with H2O

Made it up 2 u tho, made you cum 6 times..no? 7 I think, who's counting

You a liability, I'm an asset... I mean it's just accounting

You lack reliability, for your mistakes ur never accounting

You hate my ability to feel everything and still be wholesome

Coz you just wanna feel good all the time

But my feelings be fluctuating, I just won't be faking

Stop tolerating the neglect Im getting

Get liquid with it

Happiness is the yin and sadness is the yang

Sometimes I drink gin, only when I'm with my gang

There's a burn hole on my jean, maybe a ciggie, or dank

But now I get bank, I want no skank that smoke skunk

Has that sank? Yeah I know, I'm a think tank, tick

Talk all you want, but keep it short like tik-tok

Tic toc, times up, take tsek.. tic tac 4 your bad breath

2 these beats I bring death, yeah I take life, no bring back

Break dance & break back, ahead of you like 3 laps

Brick dance coz my money grows while I nap nap

Hahaha gimme 3 claps coz my puns still slap

I'm real black, I'm bout to snap at all this crap

These niggaz decided to call rap

Lame rappers, listen up, sit down and don't talk back

Don't turn no other cheek, clap back or get ur wolf pack

Crack back, don't fight niggaz that look lyk they fap-fap

Or smoke crack crack, with eyes doing a criss cross

Came across many rappers that steal rap lines or rap names like Rick Ross to get their point across

Gamble with your life & hit crap

Lost your wife on my Whatsapp, there's that!

She pole dance in my DM's, she excels

She got a flat tummy till she exhales, but sex sells

She call me Haploid, like sex cells

She's cold like may weather, F Lloyd!

I'm a Record breaker, planet shaker, Constant risk taker

Ask the chain breaker how I stay shining 

He'll answer, I stay grinding, on God!

I'm not a smile faker, just a soul snatcher in the fast lane

Wubba lubba dub dub, Rick and Morty

Life and death drive, ask Freud or Boyd

Leading a wild life like Varty, bitter sweet like chutney

I'm bored, so we party in my bed, my bad, honey!

Ass-ass-ass, she clap ass 3 times before 4(play)

Nurse-nurse-nurse, I slap ass tats when we role playin

Looking all photogenic, oops a nip slip on tape

Phat ass on my iOS, like real life

Ass flat on android, that's what they look like

No steroids, my dick big don't nje just

She look at my shoe size and run away at 1st chance

I'm an asteroid not space dust, she came fast

Then I came too, at last, she said out loud

I'm heartless at first glance, til I made her soul dance

Think fast, mouth 2 mouth ur low lips, I'm a medic

Nudes is explicit, is you a nymph or manic?

Nymphomaniac please don't panic

Your style so sick, bout to start a pandemic

We'll playback with your jeans off, relay... ground rules

No replay or pause only gonna press play once

No safewords, whatever works works, word!

Girl you a baddie, and a Pedi, go spoil yourself

Get a mani &a pedi

Dick in mouth, still out spoken, can't put words in mouth

U said I'm a keeper

Silver spoon in her mouth but I still feed her

Feel her up then fill her up, I eat her up

I feed her jollof right before I pipe her, I like her

Never gonna wife her, don't really love her

She's rude like something' crawled up her...

Foul mouth like up yours!

I know around your feelings I should tip toe

It's unfortunate coz I don't tip Joe's (askies jo)

Like excuse me waiter where should I dip those fries, french

Kiss hoes toes, mxwa, Zulu man with a foot fetish, tip toe

Articulate the truth, use tactics lyk rotten tomatoes on bad movies

I'm not perfect, I pose a threat even if a picture's moving

I'm booming, you're blooming... I'm nice nice, ur gloomy

I'm grooming u, like your cult leader

Avid reader, your soul feeder, I'm no people pleaser

I need a lady thats rooted in love and still rooting for me

Unconditional love lyk the kind that died on the cross 4 me

Is that you? No? Then miss me Miss, think I'm gonn miss ya!

Coz now it's

A goodbye to you, I'm thru witchu, it's true I confess

Wish you nothing but the best

Somebody to love you, put you first for the rest of

All the days to come, to you I

Remain a good friend, no benefits just perks

Straight facts, ex lover with strange quirks... You

Are

The

One... Who will be the godmother to my heir

So if I die, you'll raise HIM or raise HER

Erase Her memory of me if it's too painful to hold on to

Make sure he's playful, careful  and joyful too

U'll be a good mom, ur delightful unlyk most step mothers

You're a good teacher that's patient but always on time

You'll know what to do if ever my daughter runs late

Scratch that, you'll be a great mother, that's fate

Becoz you're a leader, not deceitful like some bad fathers

[maandags]

Eidolon (Angel!Keith x Demon!reader) {part iv}

i have no excuse for the wait except that im an idiot who took this school year too lightly yeet

-- -- --

Summary: Keith is an angel, and he’s completed mission after mission for the Upper Hand, the organisation controlling all of the Above. He’s only failed a mission once: when he was assigned to kill you, a surprisingly charismatic demon. He roamed Earth–Middle Ground–for years before he was caught by the Upper Hand again, and things quickly go south.

Genre: angst. because whats new

Word count: 8.7K

Notes: CW: graphic violence/blood, emotional manipulation - masterlist - {previous} -- {next }

-- -- --

if heaven's grief brings hell's rain

then i’d trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday

~ Just One Yesterday, Fall Out Boy

-- -- --

You wake up from a deep, dreamless sleep, disoriented and shivering despite the multiple layers you have on and thick comforter stacked upon you. It takes a moment before the events of the previous night rush back into your mind and cloud your thoughts, and you throw an arm over your face, inhaling deeply.

A huge weight has fallen off your shoulders. Last night, you didn't realise as much, your tired 3 A.M. mind already struggling to focus with the fact that Keith--who had been deathly sick only hours before--was up and about and sitting at your kitchen table and eating chinese takeout. But now that you had the quiet of the early morning to yourself you could feel the knots in your shoulders loosen and the lead seep out of your limbs.

You slowly shift your legs out of bed, still slightly dazed. Sunlight peeks out through the cracks in the shutters covering your window, and you cast a look at the alarm clock sitting on your nightstand. It's barely 7 A.M. And it's also a Saturday. While that doesn't matter much in terms of noise–a city is a city, after all, and this one certainly is never quiet–your neighbours' kids aren't allowed out of bed before nine on Saturdays, which gives you at least two small hours of peace and quiet.

You stagger to the bathroom and let the hot shower water beat down your stiff muscles, trying to draw out the permanent chill that seems to have settled deep into your bones. It works a little bit, but when you get out of the steamy little cell and wrap a towel around your torso you can feel it trickle back into the pit of your stomach, like an icy worm that's decided to make your body its home. It's more of a discomfort than a true pain, though, so you decide to ignore it.

Your hair is still damp when you pull an extra thick sweater over your head, stick your feet in warm socks and tiptoe your way over to the living room.

Keith is still asleep. You don't blame him–he's still recovering, even though he already looks so much better than the previous night. The colour is back in his cheeks. The dark circles and the hollowness under his eyes have started to fade away. He's still thin, and he doesn't smell too good, but you decide against waking him just yet.

In the kitchen, you put on the kettle and pull open the fridge in search of something to eat. The unfinished boxes of chinese sit in front, half-open from when you hastily stowed them away. You pull one out, sniff it, then shrug as you grab for a spoon.

The kitchen windowsill is probably not the spot a lot of people would pick to lounge on, an early Saturday morning. But you've always liked to watch the sun rise over the tall buildings, and the soft orange glow you're treated with today is worth waking up so early for. You rest your face on the knee you've pulled up beside you as you shovel another spoonful of rice into your mouth.

The orange slowly fades out into yellow, then into blue. It's soothing to watch, and you find yourself slow your breathing and close your eyes as the city wakes up beneath you. Noises of starting cars and motorbikes drift up to your window, and chattering fills the street. People exit their homes, throwing delightful glances up at the sunny sky; unexpected after the heavy rain of the previous night.

You finish your takeout, do some chores around the house. Change your bedsheets. Prepare a change of clothes for when Keith finally wakes up. Open the windows to let in some fresh air. Prepare a cup of tea and claim back your spot on the windowsill. It's a peaceful morning, and the air doesn't feel quite as heavy as usual.

And then there's a rustling in the room beside you, and a crash as–you assume–Keith tumbles off your sofa and hits the ground. A faint groan floats past the kitchen doorway and you try to hide your grin. A couple of seconds later a very dishevelled-looking Keith stumbles into the kitchen.

"Morning," you tell him, rolling your shoulders once so they won't go stiff against the windowsill. He nods at you, dark eyes bleary. "Feel better?"

He sniffs. "I don't feel like I just got struck by lightning and dragged behind a racecar over an especially rocky road. So I guess that's improvement."

You blow on the hot tea in your hands. "I'm glad. Would have hated to have gone through all that trouble for nothing. You're quite the guest, you know."

Keith winces at the words, despite your light tone. For some reason, his frown and pained expression tug at your stomach. "But I don't mind it," you add hurriedly. "I mean–it was my own choice to take you in. I very well could not have done that. But–but I did." Shut up, shut up, shut up, you shouted internally.

The corners of Keith's mouth lift ever so slightly. "Lucky for me."

"Lucky for you," you agree with a grin.

It's silent for a while, and in the sunlight, you can clearly see how thin Keith really is. His shirt hangs from his frame in a shapeless lump of cloth, his trousers sagging and almost slipping from his bony hips. While he does look better–the life has returned to his eyes–he still doesn't look good, and the sight of him makes your guts twist. You point to the fridge. "There's leftovers from yesterday. Grab whatever you want–but be careful not to eat too much. I don't want you puking all over my kitchen."

But Keith has already found the other chinese box, and you show him which drawers contain cutlery and in which cupboard are stashed the glasses. He scarfs down the rice in ten minutes flat, and you shake your head in silent judgement. "I'm going to find a way to make you pay back everything you'll cost me, food-wise. You're in debt, starting today."

He gives you a shy grin, but his attention is quickly taken up once more by the food in front of him. You quietly sip your tea, staring out of the window, occasionally glancing at the angel sitting at your kitchen table.

That's when it truly hits you how much of an idiot you're being.

Last night, it had been late. Five days of nothing on your mind but the thought of trying to keep him alive, and finally finding a way to do so, had left you shaky and dazed. Seeing him up and about after getting used to the sound of his ragged, unsteady breathing floating through your apartment had been a shock.

But now the full weight of what you'd done–and what you hadn't done–crashes into you, and you realise you have absolutely no idea how to feel. The air charges with tension, and the angel leans back in his seat. He looks about as uncomfortable as you feel. Your mind whirls with thoughts, all seeming to want something different–the part of you that's curious where this whole situation would lead and is whispering to you to let him stay; the part of you that's still a loyal soldier to the Below and is screaming at you to turn him in; the part of you that wants nothing to do with any of this and is growling to throw him back out on the street. You shake your head, downing the last of your tea and hopping off the counter.

"Take a shower when you're done with that," you mutter. "I have to get back to work soon. My co-workers are gonna ask questions and I need to be prepared."

Keith nods. Your phone is already in your hands and you fire off a quick text to the shelter's manager to inform him you'd be in this afternoon. You don't know Anthony that well–he mostly keeps to the side and handles potential adopters. You prefer to stay with the animals. Almost immediately you receive a reply: he says he's delighted that you've decided to return so soon after taking your unexpected leave. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the barely-veiled passive-aggressiveness.

"Oh, yeah." You turn and point at Keith with your phone. "You can stay for as long as you need to, like, get your bearings and feel somewhat okay again, but then I'm kicking you out. I don't know if you have any idea of how much of a risk I'm taking here, but–"

"I get it," he cuts you off, and you can tell he means it. He needs to work on concealing his emotions, you think off-handedly. He's an open book. It's distracting. "Thank you. Seriously."

The tension builds until it's almost tangible. You shake your head, trying to shake the dizziness away. "It's–yeah. My pleasure, or whatever. I'm locking the door behind me." He gives a brief incline of his head to show he understands. "All right then. Later, I guess. Make–make sure you've showered. You kind of smell," you say apologetically. "No offence."

"None taken," he laughs. "You're right, anyway."

You make a gesture that's in between a nod and a headshake, then make a blind grab for your coat and your scarf before pulling the door closed behind you and locking it.

The shelter's lights are on, and its illuminated windows stand out starkly in the dim grimness of the gloomy street. It doesn't rain, for once, but grey clouds hang overhead and block the sun, the little light that makes it past them flimsy and thin. You pull the door closed behind you. The little bell above the doorway rings once, softly, and barking immediately pipes up from the next room over. You smile.

"Hey, loves," you mutter to each animal as you pass their cages, stopping here and there and sticking your fingers through the bars to give a furry face a pat, or to scratch a scaly butt, or to stroke a feathered head. "I missed you guys."

"They missed you too, I think," comes a quiet voice from behind you. You crouch and open a cage, plucking out a small cat and scritching it behind the ears. "They've been rather unruly in the days you weren't here. Restless, you know."

"Hi, Tony."

"Y/N." He inclines his head. "Did you have a nice leave?" It's a question purely out of politeness, you know, because he's your employer and he's supposed to be polite. As far as employers go, Tony really isn't the worst of them. But you can't shake the feeling that he's fishing for something.

"I did. I've been busy," you say cautiously, not taking your eyes off of the kitten you're cradling. "Sorry for it being so unexpected."

"Oh, not at all," Tony replies smoothly, sailing over to where you sit and leaning on the wall behind you, "We've managed. It was your week off, anyway, and just because you've insisted on working in your free time before doesn't mean that you always will." But it doesn't take amazing detective skills to hear the suspicious edge to his voice.

"That's right," you say, maybe a little too sharply. You can almost smell Tony's raised eyebrow behind you. "Sorry. I've just–I've been a little on edge, lately. I'll–" You scramble up, depositing the kitten back in its cage and dusting fur off your t-shirt. "I'll be in the back." You have the weird urge to salute, but you manage to suppress it. He's already suspicious, you remind yourself. Don't make it worse by acting weird.

It is a shame you can't spend more time with the animals, but you're not the only one who decided to come in today–it's actually quite crowded for a Saturday–so you get storage room duty and instead spend your afternoon putting away boxes of food and medicine and cleaning products. Emmie, one of your co-workers, sticks her head around the corner of your door at the end of the day.

"Hey. We're gonna go get milkshakes, wanna come?"

Your back screams when you push off the chair, eager for an excuse to cut your day short. "You're a godsend." The expression is actually used exclusively as an insult in the Below, but you find you like the Middle Ground version better. "Let me just grab my shoes, I'll be right there."

Hopping on one foot as you finish tying your laces, you join Emmie, Nirina, Adam and Zach as they stride out the door, Emmie and Zach's arms linked. In the back of your mind you recognise that's strange: Emmie and Zach can't stand each other. A smile curls the corners of your lips. You did miss quite a lot this past week, didn't you?

"We're going to this new place a few blocks down," Emmie shouts over her shoulder. You try to chat with Nirina for a bit, but she's more silent than usual, barely saying a word, and eventually she retreats to walk next to Adam behind you. When you don't focus on it, a black, vaguely animal-shaped shadow seems to sit on her shoulder, but when you look directly at it nothing's there.

Something isn't right here.

The feeling creeps into your very bones, making the hairs on your neck stand on edge and your shoulder blades tingle. The sense that you're being watched, and more–as you realise that with Nirina and Adam behind you and Emmie and Zach in front of you, it almost feels like you're being escorted. Guarded.

"Hey, Em," you call. Your hand creeps towards your pocket, but with a start you remember you left your knife at home. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "What's the place we're going called?"

Emmie turns around and flashes you a fanged grin. Your blood turns to ice. "So Above, So Below." And then she pounces--and pushes you straight through the pavement. You don't even have time to scream.

You lose all sense of direction. Up is down and left is right as you fall, fall, fall through a black hole, Emmie's nails still digging into your shoulders, though you're sure if you actually opened your eyes you'd see they're claws. You try to tug yourself loose, but her grip immediately tightens. You hiss when you feel her talons draw blood.

"No getting away, Y/N dear," she giggles into your ear.

Well, at least you know what she–and the others too, by the sound of it–is. Only Bountyhunters can get to the Below or the Above without using one of the doors or passages, instead creating their own temporary ones. You've travelled by Bounty Tunnel before. It's not a memory you cherish. The only thing you can do is close your eyes and hope it'll be over soon.

When you finally make contact, all the air is knocked out of you and for a moment you see nothing but black spots dancing in front of your eyes. Then you suck in a scorching breath and blink, and the familiar stark white ceiling of the Offices comes into view. You groan, and when you try to sit up, your hands catch in ashy grey feathers: your wings have popped. You flush, already feeling Haggar's disapproving scowl digging into your back. How unprofessional, she'd mumble.

Haggar has always hated your guts–even back when you were still loyal to the Below.

Emmie–except she looks nothing like Emmie anymore–tosses her long dark ponytail over her shoulder and sighs. "That was almost too easy. We were told you'd be a challenge."

"I haven't been feeling well," you reply, voice icy as you stand up and shake out your wings. You don't miss the way Emmie's expression sours and suppress a smirk. Bounties don't have wings, and they'll never stop being salty about it. "Also, four against one? That seems a little unfair, even for Management." You pause. "I'm assuming you got hired by Management."

"Of course we got hired by Management, demon," Zach snarls. He runs his fingers through his hair and glares at you, his fangs growing by the second and soon touching his chin. And then his face begins to change, his jaw softening (though not by much), his eyes growing more cat-like, his lips plumping. You frown, because you know this face. You know her.

Zethrid grins, fangs shining in the white LED light. "Long time no see, Y/N." You give a sarcastic wave.

"Yes, Y/N," comes an icy voice from behind you. Your shoulders tense, and your feathers puff involuntarily. "Long time no see indeed."

Haggar glides out of her office doors, and you feel all the stony calm and resistance leave you in one fell swoop. Her yellow eyes bore into yours, and it takes every ounce of willpower inside you not to look away. She nods her head, once. "My office, Y/N. Now."

"You're so dead," mutters Zethrid as you pass her.

"When I get out of here, you're the first person whose throat I'll slit," you hiss in return.

Haggar slumps in her seat and plucks her looking glass from its stand, making it levitate over her hand and glaring like she has a personal vendetta against it. "If it were up to me, I would already have you burning and hanging from the Grand Hall ceiling," she says, vanishing the mirror in a cloud of smoke. You try to ignore the pang of fear stabbing into your chest. You're gonna be fine, you tell yourself. You're going to be okay. But you find it hard to believe the words.

"But–" the mirror reappears in her other hand– "a certain Prince insisted on keeping you alive." She whirls the looking glass around and it floats in front of your face. Prince Lotor of the Below looks at you with a scrutinising gaze, as if gauging how much you'd be worth on the night market.

"Y/N," he says in a clear voice. You nod, then quickly incline your head in a slight bow. Watch your tongue, Y/N. Watch. Your. Tongue. "No need for that." Lotor snaps his fingers, and you look up again, eyes fixed on the rim of the looking glass, determined not to meet Lotor's. You're afraid of what you might see.

It's silent for a moment, and you keep your mouth shut for as long as you can, but you eventually break. "Forgive me, Lord, but–"

"Shut up." It takes all of your willpower not to cock your head and narrow your eyes in indignation. Lotor leans forward, elbows perched on his desk and fingertips pressed together. His cold gaze is calculating and cruel, and your entire body reels with disgust and hatred. "I didn't keep you alive because I care about what happens to you. Because I don't," he clarifies with a raised eyebrow, and this time you can't keep the grimly sarcastic smile at bay. "I kept you alive because I need you to do a job."

"With all due respect, sir, I don't think I'm the right person for any job." You try to keep your voice light and your fists unclenched, but it's a harder task than you want to admit.

"Told him so," Haggar mutters from behind the mirror. You can tell she thoroughly disagrees with being used as a TV-stand. "There are so much more competent candidates for this assignment who actually want to prove themselves and their loyalty to us." You have the feeling she's talking directly to Lotor now. "But no, you just had to get the one rogue who'll do everything in their power to get out from this–"

"Enough," Lotor says coolly, and Haggar clamps her jaw shut, though her eyes flash with murder. You don't know who she wants to kill more at the moment: you or Lotor. "Y/N will do the job, and they'll do it without complaining."

"You sound awfully sure." You've since given up on trying to be respectful. Lotor might be the Prince of the Below, but you had wriggled yourself out of more difficult situations than these before. You're already carefully plotting an escape.

Because the mistake most people make when they see you is that they underestimate you. They think they have you pinned down, and then they loosen their hold and up till now, that has always worked out in your favour–you know how to manipulate people and you know how to get out of the Below. You know every single of the dozens and dozens of passageways leading out onto Middle Ground, and from there on you know how to hide. You've done it before, and managed to keep off their radar for quite a while.

In fact, the only reason they caught you now was because you had been too preoccupied with a certain angel to keep your thoughts straight. A mistake, and one you won't be making again.

"I am sure," Lotor's clear voice cuts through your thoughts and pulls you back to the present. "There's a contract on the desk. Sign it, and we'll give you the details."

You can't stop the startled laugh that bursts past your lips. "A Blank Contract? You expect me to sign a Blank Contract?"

Lotor merely cocks his head and smiles that lazy smile of his.

And then the little looking glass shatters and you yelp, taking a step backwards in surprise, feeling your muscles tense. "I do," his voice says from behind you, and you whirl around just in time to see Lotor sail into Haggar's office.

Haggar gives a sharp sigh and brushes shattered glass off her uniform. "Do you always have to do that? Those mirrors are expensive, you know. I'm gonna have you pay for them if you insist on making a dramatic entrance every time."

Lotor ignores her, his gaze fixed on you. He waves his hand, and a piece of paper appears between his fingers. It's mostly blank, save for one thickly outlined black square with an inscription you can't read from where you stand, but you know what they say: Candidate's signature. "I'm not signing." But your voice has a tremor to it, and you suddenly feel a lot smaller as Lotor strides towards you. It was a lot easier to disrespect the Prince of the Below through a looking glass.

His eyes flash with irritation. "You will." Somehow, those two words hold more threat to them than all the insults the Bounties threw at you earlier.

But you set your jaw and clench your fists. "I'd rather die. I'm. Not. Signing." You had vowed to not ever help the Below in any way, shape or form again. It wasn't worth it.

"Told you so," Haggar sing-songs from behind her desk, a maniacal glint to her eye. "Just take one of the actually competent ones. Let me string them up."

Lotor gives a sharp sigh. "Touch them and I'll be stringing you up." Haggar pouts and crosses her arms. He turns to you, and the coolness in his eyes sends shivers up your spine. The realisation hits you like a freight train. He's done something. He knows something. He would never be this sure of himself if he didn't have an absolutely airtight plan.

Then Lotor waves his hand again, and another mirror you hadn't noticed before–a looking glass spanning from the floor to the ceiling, partially hidden by a black curtain–lights up, and the image you see has all the colour drain from your face and your heart skip a beat.

Allura is tied to a chair and breathing hard, her nurse's scrubs hanging crookedly, torn and dirty. A nasty cut spans from her cheekbone to her eyebrow, and blood runs down the side of her face. Tears mix with the grime and blood smearing her cheeks. Behind her stand Emmie and Zethrid the Bountyhunters, crazed smiles painted upon both their faces.

As soon as she sees you, Allura lets out a strangled cry that is muffled by the gag strung over her mouth. Her eyes widen, and you rush forward, stopping just short of the mirror's surface, afraid to break it. Your shaking fingertips hover just shy of the surface before you pull them back to your chest. Tears threaten to spill past your eyes, so you push them down and try to take a breath.

"Is this real?" You know how hallucinations work. You know how powerful illusions can be, and you know exactly how useful of a tool they can be in manipluation. It's a tool you've used yourself.

"Maybe. Maybe not," says Lotor's soft voice. His breath washes over the side of your face, and you can feel sick rise in your throat. All compusure is lost. It's all or nothing now. Thoughts muddle and get mixed up in your mind until all you can focus on is Allura, terrified and hurt, sitting in front of you yet separated by a thin sheet of glass and who knows how many miles.

A crazy thought of Maybe I can free her pops up, but you beat it down immediately again. You don't know where she is. You don't know if this is even real. Lotor would immediately order her killed if you attempted anything remotely similar to a breakout. Then kill Lotor, a ragged voice in your mind screams.

"Come, come, no rash decisions now," Lotor says as if he just read your thoughts. His hands ghost over your shoulders, sliding down until they reach your elbows. He gently forces them to your sides, and you don't even have the strength in you to resist. A fresh stream of tears runs down Allura's cheeks, and she weakly thrashes against her bonds, and in the end, that's what yanks you out of your stupor.

Your chin snaps up. "So you'll let her go if I sign the contract?"

Lotor rolls his eyes. "Look whose wits have returned to them." He lets go of your elbows and takes a step toward the mirror, hands clasped behind his back and his hungry gaze raking across Allura's form. She looks up at him with a mix of hatred and fear in her eyes. She's given up struggling against the ropes, but her jaw is set, and her eyes are steely; terrified, but determined. Her gaze flicks back to you and she gives the tiniest shake of her head.

Lotor reels back and laughs, the sound booming within the office walls. He shakes his head, still chuckling, his long silvery hair swishing behind him as he stalks back to the desk and swoops up the contract. "Feisty. I like that. Doesn't have the slightest clue of what's going on but still tells you to not do the thing you obviously don't want to do." He flashes you a fanged grin that makes your blood run cold. "I just might pay her a visit later myself."

"That's Middle Ground, my Prince," you manage through gritted teeth. "I'll find and kill you before you even have a chance to knock on her door."

"That's some confidence you've got right there, Y/N. Keep it for the job."

"I haven't signed your contract yet."

Lotor cocks his head and his grin widens. "Yet being the keyword here."

You turn back to the mirror, scanning Allura for any sign that she might not be real, looking for something that might hint that her image is off. Something. Anything. But your manic brain is running in circles, looking for loopholes that might not even be there, and you know you're not making sense, because the chance that she's just an illusion is there, but on the off-chance that she isn't, that she actually is in danger–

You would never forgive yourself if she were to get hurt and you could have put a stop to it.

"It's possible," you breathe, your hands curling to fists. "It's possible that none of this is real."

Lotor nods as if your words are perfectly reasonable. "True." There's a beat of silence, and his feverish eyes bore into yours. "But are you willing to take that risk?"

Anyone else–any proper demon–would have laughed in his face and torn the contract to shreds, watching gleefully as Allura got tortured in front of their eyes. But you had left behind your demon ways a good while ago, and you had always been a rotten pupil anyway. So you bite your tongue and snatch the contract and pen from Lotor's waiting fingers, scribbling your signature down hard enough that you pierce the paper.

"See, I knew you'd come around in the end!" He claps his hands in delight and throws a triumphant glance Haggar's way. "I told you so."

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbles, waving a hand as if to dismiss his words. She gives you a slightly disapppointed stare. "I was rooting for you, kiddo. Show some spine next time."

You fight the tears threatening to spill and slap the now-signed contract back onto the desk. "All right. Details, Lotor. What's the assignment?"

His eyes flash. Business; there's something he knows. "We received word that one of the Above's most prized angels has just gone rogue." He starts pacing, and your eyes keep finding Allura's behind him–but she looks at you with pity and something that's almost disappointment, and you have to look away before you break down completely. "It came out of nowhere, too: stellar record, followed orders without a second thought. A great soldier." You don't miss the punch behind the words.

"And you want me to do, what, kill him?" That wouldn't be too hard. At least, you think. Your mind is still a bit muddy, but something ugly and twisted inside you is still desperate for Management's approval. Still eager to prove yourself. I can be a good soldier too.

"Oh no, no," Lotor says with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I just want you to find him and bring him in. It shouldn't be that hard to do–after all, who better to track a rogue than another rogue themselves?"

There's still something else. Something he isn't telling you. Sure, you're good at what you do–at what you used to do–but was it worth going through all the trouble just to get you to sign the stupid contract? As much as you loathed to do it, you silently had to agree with Haggar on this one. There were so many young demons scrambling for their chance to prove themselves and their worth–why not let them take this assignment?

"That–that's it?"

Lotor cocks a brow. "I mean, unless you wanted more work, I guess that's it.'

You give a cautious nod. "Okay. So what do we know about this guy?"

"Not much. My sources weren't able to provide very recent information–"

"Get better sources."

"–But what they do know is that this particular angel has been off the map for years. Quite like you," he adds as he raises his other eyebrow. You roll your eyes. "He's impossible to find, quite hard to track, and a very skilled fighter. Rumour has it he's scouring your city's streets at the moment."

You resist a frown. If this guy has been prowling your streets and you haven't noticed, something is definitely amiss. Might just be that you've been preoccupied with Keith and everything that happened around him, but if this has been going on for as long as Lotor is implying it has... this just might prove an actual challenge.

The old feeling of excitement and anticipation starts to run through your very bones again, and you hate the way it makes you feel–energised. As if you can handle anything thrown your way. Ready. It's a feeling you haven't known in years, and one you haven't missed, though now that it courses through your veins again there's no point in denying that you're enjoying it. The thrill of the chase.

But then Lotor speaks the name of the angel you're supposed to bring in, and everything falls into place, only to shatter into a million pieces a split second after.

You see his lips move. Hear the words spoken, though they take a moment to get processed, and when they do they leave behind an emptiness that has you stare at him, too dumbfounded and untrusting of yourself to speak.

It can't be. This must be the universe's idea of a cruel joke. The very guy you'd risked everything for–the very angel that had caused your distractedness and is the reason you were here in the first place–is the same rogue angel about whom you had just signed a contract.

The crushing weight of it settles on your shoulders. All five days of you struggling to keep him breathing, for nothing. The weird excursion to Coran's shop, for nothing. The goddamn chinese takeout you'd bought for him, for fucking nothing.

But somehow you manage to keep your face straight, and Lotor hadn't been watching you as he said it, instead gazing intently at something over your head, so you can only hope he hasn't noticed the lurch in your expression at the mention of Keith Kogane.

"All right." You're almost shocked at how steady your voice is. "Okay. I've agreed. You got what you want. Now, free Allura." Even though your voice is pretty steady, you curl your hands into fists to hide their shaking.

Lotor doesn't move for a moment, and you seriously begin to think he's having a seizure until he snaps his fingers and Emmie lunges forward.

In her hand is a knife, and she plunges it into Allura's chest without a second of hesitation.

You rush toward the mirror, a strangled "No!" ripped from your throat. Your fingers claw at the smooth glass surface and you watch her slump, blood gushing from the wound and staining her scrubs a dark crimson. Your knees buckle, and your eyes stay glued to her form as she convulses, coughs up blood twice, then goes limp. Her head falls back...

And snaps back up, and you lurch back with a startled cry. Allura's eyes have gone red and are shining with mania. Her skin turns the colour of wet ash, and her hair falls out of its updo and cascades down her shoulders, tendrils black and writhing as if they have a mind of their own...

Demon.

Shapeshifter.

Your breathing comes in short and shallow rasps as the full realisation of things settles in. Allura was never in danger. You were right all along. If only you had put your foot down. If only you hadn't let your feelings cloud your mind.

It doesn't matter now. You signed a contract–and there's no going back from that.

Lotor fingers through the file that bears your signature in black ink. Slowly, the words explaining just what you signed start to appear on the sheets, snaking their way along the curves of the paper as if written in by an invisible hand. A steel fist clenches around your heart, and you struggle to stand up, your muscles turned to jelly. The surface of the mirror has gone black again.

A shaking hand comes up to cover your mouth, and your teeth clench down on your lower lip so hard that they draw blood. Lotor flicks his wrist, and the contract disappears. The fingers of your free hand twitch as if they wanted to grab at the file. You level your gaze with Lotor's, and evidently your years of training finally paid off in the end, because in his eyes you can see how passive your expression is. You'd be a good poker player, your fleeting mind thinks randomly. The only thing giving away your current emotions is the hand mindlessly tugging at your bottom lip, and the fact that your breathing is still rather fast.

"Now," Lotor drawls in his honey-coated voice–sugary sweet, sticky, suffocating–and snakes an arm around your shoulders, "that wasn't so hard, was it?"

And you know you should keep your mouth shut, because he is the Prince of the Below, and Haggar has already expressed her desire to string you up and set you on fire in the Grand Hall for every new recruit to see–but on the other hand, you just signed a contract, and that makes you technically untouchable until Lotor has reason to believe you won't be able to complete the task set out for you.

The very foundation of a plan starts coming together in your mind. You jut up your chin and break free from his grasp. "So do I get assignment-issue gear? A blade? A gun, maybe? If this angel is as good as you make him out to be, perhaps I should need some more useful weapons than your average kitchen knife."

Lotor scrutinises you for a moment, then waves his hand. A set of gleaming double blades appear on Haggar's desk, along with their sheaths and long black gloves. Haggar huffs with an indignant mutter of Sure, use my desk as your summoning surface. Don't mind at all. You ignore her and lift an eyebrow. "That's all you're going to give me?"

"If you're as good as you say, this is all you will need," Lotor replies in that smooth tone of his. His eyes glint; he's gotten what he wanted. He's already won.

But that's fine. Lotor may have won this battle, and you need to make him feel like he has, but in the end you'll do everything in your power to win the war. And Lotor just handed you the weapons that just might be able to get you there.

"Fine," you mutter, snatching up the knives, pointedly refusing to strap them to your back like is procedure, instead securing the harnesses to your thighs as a small act of defiance. Irritation flashes in his eyes. "I'll report to you how often?"

"No reports," Lotor says with a wave of his hand. "We don't want to make any potential spies of the Above suspicious. Just make sure you find him, and when you do..." He tosses you a little disk about the size of a large coin, and you startle at how heavy it is. It's pleasantly warm to the touch, and you have a creeping suspicion as to what it is that is only confirmed with Lotor's next words. "Portal pass. Use it wisely."

You turn the pass over and over in your hands, the familiar weight of the knives at your thighs comforting and seeming to pull you down to the ground at the same time. "Is that–will that be all?" Risky words, risky questions–you're going out on a limb and assume Lotor won't have you hanged for running your mouth: he did just pretend to torture your best friend to coerce a signature out of you, so you suppose he has to give you some slack.

He sails to a halt in front of you, face so close his nose almost touches yours, and you have to stop yourself from recoiling. His expression is cold, his gaze calculating–and the smile that creeps up his lips sends shivers up our spine. "Yes. I think that will be all." He raises a brow and throws a glance Haggar's way, which you find comical as he didn't seem to give a solid fuck about her opinions when he used her office as his personal torture chamber.

Haggar shrugs. "I still think we should string them up and burn them to a crisp."

"Yes, Haggar, I know. Why did I even bother." He gives you a lazy flick of his hand, but you've already turned and your hand is resting on the doorknob, when something occurs to you and you cast a look at him over your shoulder.

"My Prince?" The title feels like hot oil searing down your throat, but you expect the words you're about to say require this small bit of courtesy. He raises a brow and nods. "I'm going to kill the Bounties that brought me here." Your voice sounds oddly bored.

Lotor chuckles. "They're no demons. They don't have a place in the Below." It's like his gaze issues a challenge, and a fresh wave of loathing for this Prince washes over your being. "Go right ahead."

You flash a cold smile and slam the door shut.

– – –

You wipe your blades with some wet wipes and discard them in the trashcan beside you when they get too filthy with blood (the store clerk barely looked up when you came in and purchased a single packet of wet wipes and a duffel bag–apparently the average cashier sees weirder stuff than a maniac with bloodied hunting knives the size of their forearms slamming a pack of wet wipes on the counter on a daily basis). Emmie, Adam, Zethrid and Nirina's bodies have long since turned to dust, and you have to work to keep your breathing steady and to stop your eyes from glowing red as the phone wedged between your ear and your shoulder rings.

Allura picks up on the fourth ring. "'Sup?"

It was just a check. Just to make sure. But if Allura truly did just get tortured, you have a feeling she wouldn't pick up a phone call with a simple 'Sup?

"Hey. How was your day?" Your speech comes out slightly slurred, and Allura laughs on the other side of the line.

"Fine. Work, you know. Routine." You can almost hear the grin on her face as she says, "And you? Weren't you supposed to be at work too, today?"

Work. Work feels like such a long time ago--when it was in reality only a couple of hours back. You nod slowly, though it's more to convince yourself than anything else. "Yeah. I was. Some co-workers and I went to get smoothies afterwards. To welcome me back," you joke.

"Did they pay?"

"Yeah."

"Good for you. Free milkshake. I'm jealous."

You laugh, but it feels hollow in your chest. "Hey--I need to run now, but I'll call you later, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Sweet of you to check in, Y/N."

You eye the gleaming blade, running a finger along its razor-sharp edge. "No problem."

After you hang up, you sit back against the wall digging into your back, forcing down the pumping feeling in your limbs.

It's something you've missed, and you can't deny it. The absolute exhilaration you feel when your blades make contact, the thrumming of adrenaline in your veins as you dodge to avoid the blows that four individual enemies are throwing at you. The fear in Zethrid's eyes when she realises she is the only one left standing, and the life seeping from her eyes as you slit her throat.

It doesn't make you feel good, exactly–especially now that the thrill of the moment has worn off and you just feel tired and there's an ache that has burrowed itself deep into your bones–but there's no replicating the rush of power that courses through your very being when you're the one in control.

When the blades of death are yours to wield.

The knives are now securely stored in your new black duffel, and you try and figure out how you're going to pull off bringing two huge knives home without rousing suspicion from Keith. You internally debate whether you shouldn't just find a safe space to stash the duffel until you need it. There are quite a few nooks and crannies you know no one in their right mind would look, but then again, this was a big city. There were plenty of creepier people prawling these streets than the occasional demon.

And then you pass a gym, and an idea sparks in your head.

After casually shoplifting a bunch of sportswear from the nearest Nike store, you return to the gym with the knives in your bag hidden by the copious amounts of t-shirts and trainers stacked on top of them. You get a locker and stuff the bag inside before making your way outside again, smiling at the desk guy as you leisurely stroll out of the gym. The guy narrows his eyes at you–your clothes are still slightly torn and dirty, and you're pretty sure you have a bruise forming on the right side of your cheek, but you don't pay him any mind. He works at a gym. He's seen stranger than you.

But the closer you get to your apartment, the heavier the portal pass starts to feel in your pocket, and the more insecure your steps become. The sun hangs low over the city skyline, but hasn't completely started to set yet, and soft golden light washes over the streets, making them look... wrong. Bleak. Colour in a place where colour shouldn't be. You had just killed in these streets, and nobody noticed.

The thought makes you feel kind of sorry for the Bounties. They would be missed by no one.

You're still lost in thought when you almost hit a door and you snap back to reality. Your feet had carried you all the way up to your apartment. You blinked hard, rubbed a hand over your face and fumbled for your keys.

"Hey. It's me. Did you burn the house down while I was gone?"

Keith looks up from where he sits on an armchair–your armchair, but you understand he wouldn't want to spend another minute on the couch he spent five days on, hallucinating out of his mind–and grins, and your heart does a leap. And then he frowns, and you freeze, and your immediate thought is Oh fuck, he's found me out, he knows everything, he's going to call the other angels and he's going to kill me–

But the words he speaks are soft with concern. "What happened to your face?" And it takes all of your willpower not to break down right then and there.

He puts down the book he was reading and walks over to you, eyebrows knotted with worry, and reaches out to touch your forehead. Only then does he seem to realise how close to you he's standing, and he quickly pulls his fingers back to his chest. They're red with blood. "Let's get that disinfected, yeah?"

Before you can answer, he's already started towards your kitchen. You blink, still stunned, before following him like you're in a daze. He looks over his shoulder and points to a kitchen chair. You plop down, and it's when the weight is taken off your legs that the exhaustion comes crashing into you at breakneck speed, and it takes all your strength not to plunk your head down on the kitchen table and just pass out.

"Where do you keep your first aid kit?"

You vaguely point to a cabinet below the sink, and moments later Keith plops the kit down beside you on the table and plucks out a wad of cotton and disinfecting spray. You don't even feel it sting when he gently dabs at the cut on your forehead and cheekbone. His eyes are firmly trained on the cotton, his dark brows furrowed–there's a little crease between them that your foggy self finds most endearing–and he's chewing absent-mindedly on his bottom lip.

With a shock, you realise this is the closest you've been to him. Ever. This is the first time you can properly study his face, and you can always blame your muddy mind later if he brings up how blatantly you were staring at him, so you let yourself drink in every feature of his face. You find yourself drawn to his eyes most; they're a stunning deep violet, the colour of the sky at twilight, when the sun has just set and the last rays of light streak the heavens with purple. Most of all, they're soft with concern and simultaneously fierce with a kind of fire you haven't seen on him before.

"Aren't you going to ask what happened?" you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

Keith's eyes briefly flicker to yours, and he gives an awkward shrug before going back to gently rubbing at your wounds. "It's none of my business. You haven't asked me about what I was doing on Middle Ground in the first place, and I won't stick my nose into what doesn't concern me." But the words sound like he's reciting them; like a lesson he learned at school. You can see in his eyes that he is in fact curious, but also that he isn't going to press further. How very angelic of him.

You purse your lips, fingering the portal pass in your jacket pocket.

Your mind is a jumble of thoughts, like someone took all your emotions and threw them in a blender. Every moment you spend with Keith in your kitchen–how is it you always end up in the kitchen?–you grow more sure that you can't turn him in. But the contract pulls at your insides, and you know that if you keep ignoring its contents it will keep gnawing at you until you can't take it anymore and snap.

The contract is the contract. Binding and eternal.

"Keith."

His hand freezes, and you carefully guide it to the table, gently forcing him to put down the cotton. "Thank you, really. But I'm okay. I promise."

He nods. Slowly. "Okay."

And oh, how you want to wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips against his, but that would make things a thousand times more complicated than they already are–

Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop. It's the exhaustion talking, you firmly tell yourself, before you yank your fingers back and stand. You're a bit wobbly, but you manage. Keith wisely doesn't attempt to help you, but you can feel his eyes boring into your back as you make your way to your bedroom.

You change. You brush your teeth. You splash some water in your face to clear your head. Everything happens in a haze, your mind too tired to think about anything at all.

But then your eye falls on a piece of paper resting on your pillow. You frown and pick it up, and your eyes widen when you recognise your own scraggly handwriting littering the little parchment card. A hand flies up to your mouth to muffle your startled scream, and you drop the card as if it just burned your fingertips, though your eyes stay glued to its surface.

The words I want Keith to be okay stare back up at you, and with every passing second your breathing gets quicker and more ragged. Your fingers tingle, and as you draw a tentative breath you sink down onto the mattress. Your fingers tingle, but they tingle with warmth, and the feeling is not unpleasant.

Where Keith's own skin brushed yours, the chill that had seeped into your very core and had burrowed there for days, leaving you in a constant state of stiff cold, dissipated. The feeling is so weirdly foreign after having only felt cold for days that you dumbly stare out into nothingness, trying to shake the heat out of your hand. It doesn't work. It feels good, and you want more of it.

For a moment, the contract leaves your mind, replaced by Keith's eyes, the way he'd looked up at you, all softness and worry; the gentleness of his fingers as they cleaned the shallow cuts on your face. You close your eyes and lean back, the little parchment card on the floor seeming to beg for your attention. You never knew paper could be this loud.

For just a moment, you allow yourself to think of Keith and not just see an angel–but something more.

[molluskwritesfic]

An Enigma of Broken Wings: Chapter Two

Reeling from the Time War, the Doctor finds comfort in a mysterious creature that no one has ever seen. Things get more complicated when he discovers that this kindred spirit is a member of one of the most feared species in the universe.

Previous Chapter, Chapter Two, Next Chapter

Chapter Two

The Doctor poked his head out from around the TARDIS door. He took one deep breath of the cool breeze before striding out into the moist landscape, mood somewhat improved.

Rain later, he thought, gazing around at the scene before him. It was a small town, lined with brown brick shops with fairy lights in the windows, warm light and smells leaking out into the muddy streets. Powerlines stretched between the shops. The Doctor followed them with his eyes and they directed his attention to the lush mountainside on one side of the town, and the steep drop off on the other. Beyond the drop off he could see the continuation of the mountain range, smooth, rolling hulks of dirt covered with thick, leafy trees; shrouded in mist.

The Doctor strolled through the main street, taking note of the aliens he passed. They looked human, or Time Lord, depending on your perspective. A little shorter than average, but near enough. The Doctor was a tall man, so he got a few odd looks. Nothing too out of the ordinary, though.  

The Doctor stopped beside a newspaper stand, peering at the titles with mild interest. He didn’t really read any of them, but names like ‘Saint Stonpul’ and ‘North Swafburnfer’ stuck out. Assuming North Swafburnfer was the name of the town, then that would put him on… he mentally ticked off a list of options… Glocnappenspa, probably. A small Earth-like world on the far side of the Andromeda Galaxy. He glanced up at the slowly darkening sky. He couldn’t be sure until nightfall, then he could calculate his position based on the stars. 

A group of seven or more children hurried past him, drawing his attention away from the sky. They were strangely quiet for a bunch of children, which is what drew his attention to them in the first place. A few of them were muddy, and one or two were close to tears. The Doctor watched as they scurried off down the road before, curiosity getting the better of him, he ambled off after them. 

The Doctor shadowed the group to the outskirts of the town to what appeared to be a large farm house surrounded by an aging white picket fence. He paused to read the large ornate sign hanging by the front, proudly displaying the words: ‘State Children’s Home - Matron Malwom’ in loopy red letters.

The Time Lord, ever so confident, marched right up to the front door, where he was greeted by the sight of the child gang crowding around an older woman with snaggly teeth and a somewhat impressive mole on her right cheek.

“... and he just went in!” One of the boys, a blond with a heavy brow was saying. 

“Why would he do that?” The woman, whom the Doctor assumed was Matron Malwom, exclaimed. 

The blond boy shuffled his feet guiltily. “Cos we dared ‘im too.”

“Well, I never!” The Matron sputtered, looking slightly panicked. “You all know that you’re not supposed to go anywhere near the tunnels! Much less dare anyone to go in!”

The Doctor decided to make himself known. “Hello! Is there anything I can do to help?” The Doctor asked cheerfully, putting on his best smile and beaming down at the tearful little boy.

The Matron glared at him impassively. “I think not, Mister…?”

“Just ‘the Doctor’, thanks,” the Doctor offered, managing to keep the smile plastered on his face despite the woman’s harsh tone. “What’s this about kids going missing?”

The Matron opened her mouth to respond, but the boy beat her to it. “The tunnels, mister. The Labyrinth. Actom’s gone inside.” Fresh tears began welling up in his eyes. “We ain’t gonna see ‘im again. An’ it’s my fault.”

The Doctor knelt down in front of the boy. “What’s your name?”

“Hawee,”  the boy answered, peering up at him with dark brown eyes. 

“Hawee,” the Doctor repeated, “why would it be your fault?”

“It was my idea,” Hawee admitted guiltily. “He took my toy, y’see. I just wanted him to give it back, but he said he didn’t take it.”

“He dared him to go into the Labyrinth,” a little girl with eyes so blue they were nearly purple piped up. “Cos if you’re innocent, you can get back out.”

“How long ago did Actom go in?” The Doctor asked, picking up on the urgency of the situation. 

“Hours ago,” the girl answered. “We all went just after lunch.”

The Doctor got back on his feet and turned to see that Matron Malwom was on the phone, presumably with emergency services. She slammed the phone back down on the hook rather harshly, causing the Doctor to raise his eyebrows.

“What did they say?”

“This is North Swafburnfer,” she snapped, “we don’t have proper anything. Nothing ever happens here. The best they could do is redirect me to West Swafburnfer, who redirected me to the State’s office…”

“And?” The Doctor prompted.

“They’re sending out a search and rescue.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

“But they won’t be sent out until morning,” she continued. “And then it’ll take them hours to get here. The State dispatch is nearly four hundred miles away. The best they can do is sometime around mid afternoon.”

“That’s a long time,” the Doctor conceded. “Right, I have a bit of experience with this sort of thing. I’ll go an’ have a look.”

The Matron shook her head in disapproval. “I don’t think that’s wise. People go in there all the time and don’t come back out. All you’ll succeed in doing is giving them two people to find tomorrow.”

“We can’t just leave him down there on his own!” The Doctor protested. “Don’t worry about me, I can handle myself pretty well.”

Matron Malwom glared at him disbelievingly. 

The Doctor sighed. “Alright, I won’t go in. I’ll just have a look. Really could use someone to point me in the right direction, though.”

“I’ll show you!” Hawee insisted, bouncing up and down on one foot eagerly while waving his hand in the air. He was immediately accompanied by the whole gaggle of children, all with varying stages of guilt and ready to be of use. 

“Absolutely not!” Matron Malwom snapped. “One of you can go and show him the way, and then come straight back. I’ll call Patron Broodo.”

“Who’s that?” The Doctor inquired, glancing at her over the flurry of hands waving around in his face for his attention.

“The Reverend.” At the Doctor’s blank stare, she added, “The owner of the land the Labyrinth is on. The Worship Center, Saint Stonpul, is just up the hill from there.”

“Ah.” The Doctor snagged one of the hands and pulled Hawee out of the fray. “Good. He can tell me more about this ‘labyrinth’.”

~0~0~0~

.

.

~0~0~0~

As promised, Patron Broodo met them at the top of the steep slope. He was an older man, probably in his late fifties, with a weak chin and extremely bushy eyebrows. He stood in front of the large white-stone building that served as the North Swafburnfer place of worship, hands tucked into the baggy sleeves of his hideous yellow robe. 

Hawee bounded up the path ahead of the Doctor. Having woven all sorts of stories about the Labyrinth on the way, Hawee balked at the sight of the Patron’s severe look and decided to hide behind the Doctor.

“You must be Patron Broodo,” the Doctor greeted cheerfully as soon as he was close enough. “I’m the Doctor. Been hearing all about you on the way over.”

“Horrible things, I’m sure,” Broodo sniffed airily. “Boring Broodo, all the children call me. Brooding Broodo. Bland Broodo. Banal Broodo.”

The Doctor looked a little uncomfortable at this declaration, but relaxed when he saw the good natured gleam in the man’s eyes. He reached out and shook Broodo’s hand heartily. “I think I’d rather come up with my own opinion on that, Patron.”

Broodo smiled back warmly. “I hope it’s a positive one, my friend. But first, we have a much more important matter on our hands.”

“Right.” The Doctor instantly became serious once more. “Show me these tunnels.”

Broodo led the way down the steep grassy hill and into the dense forest, explaining on the way. “The Labyrinth has been a part of the culture of Swafburnfer for longer than anyone can remember. The Legends go back centuries. Stories about the people that go into the caves.”

“Earlier,” the Doctor interrupted, “someone mentioned that you can only come out of the tunnels if you’re innocent.”

“That’s part of it,” Broodo confirmed. “Someone hasn’t been listening to my lessons.”

Hawee shuffled nervously.

“The simple version is: You go into the Labyrinth to confess your sins. If the creature of the Labyrinth deems you innocent or... worthy of forgiveness, it’ll lead you to the surface.  If not, you’ll never be seen again.” Broodo laughed dryly. “Long ago, the people around here used this as a justice system. They would lead the criminal to the entrance. From there, the accused could accept the creature’s decision, or die. If it sends them back, the church would sentence them penance.”

“Sounds a bit harsh,” the Doctor commented dryly. “Do you lot still do that? And what sort of creature?”

“Of course not,” Broodo sighed. “That system fell when the State was formed. No one really knows what the creature is, or, beyond the faith of the church, if it even exists.”

“What do you believe, Patron?” The Doctor asked curiously.

“I’m religious, Doctor,” Broodo gave him a sideways look, “I believe what the Church has taught me.”

“And what do your studies say?” 

“It has many names. The most popular one is ‘Creature of the Labyrinth’, but the oldest translation refers to it as ‘The Adjudicator’.”

“That’s what really made Actom go in,” Hawee said gloomily, speaking up for the first time since the Patron had joined them. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Brought what up?” The Doctor asked, turning to study the young boy. 

“His mum and dad.” Hawee refused to meet the Doctor’s eyes.

“Did they go in the Labyrinth?” The Doctor pressed gently.

Hawee refused to answer, so the Doctor turned to Broodo.

“Two years ago,” the Patron explained in a hushed voice, “the boy’s father killed his mother while in a rage. When he realised what he had done, he went to the Labyrinth.”

“I thought you said you lot didn’t use that as a justice system anymore?” The Doctor scoffed.

“We don’t. He made it there before the State Officers could arrest him. He couldn’t handle the guilt of his actions, so he let the Spirits settle it for him.”

“Not sure how much I like your State’s dispatch,” the Doctor complained. “They take forever to get anything done.”

Broodo hummed in agreement. “The Labyrinth is generally unoccupied these days. It is only used by those suffering with guilt, or thrill seekers that don’t know what they’re getting into.”

“How much further?” As soon as the words left his mouth, the Doctor spotted a large, gaping hole in the side of a hill. In front of the gap stood two boulders, one on either side of the mouth, each easily three times the Doctor’s height. “Ah.”

The Doctor paced over to the tunnel mouth, peering into the wall of darkness. He bent down and picked up a stone, tossing it up into the air and catching it before hurling it into the tunnel. He frowned when it vanished entirely, listening to the clatter of stone on stone as it landed less than ten feet into the maze.

The Doctor gave a low whistle. “Blimey, that’s dark. How big is the Labyrinth, exactly?”

“No one knows. As soon as you lose sight of the entrance, it is impossible to keep a sense of direction. There are so many twists and turns that it is impossible to find your way out again.”

“Unless the creature shows you the way?”

Broodo nodded. 

The Doctor noticed how the Patron had suddenly gone very pale, so he asked, “Have you ever been in the Labyrinth?”

Broodo didn’t answer directly, but developed a very haunted look. “I sometimes hear it. Screaming in the night. I don’t know if it is a benevolent force or a creature from the pits of hell. But whatever it is, we need to find young Actom.”

Both of the men jumped when a small object came flying out of the cave mouth to land neatly at the Doctor’s feet. The Time Lord leaned down and picked up the exact same stone he had thrown in minutes before.

They both jumped again at a shout from Hawee.

“Actom!”