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gingiesworld · 2 months ago

Text

Ghost

Wanda Maximoff x GN! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 5.3k+

AN: Hey guys, this fic is going to be a small series.

Taglist : @mothertoall2 @natashamaximoff-69 @canvascoloredin @wizardofstories @louxbloom @wandanats-goodgirl @the-ox-fan20 @ladyqueenxoxo @aemilia19 @wandaromamoff69 @mfd-101 @dorabledewdroop @marvelogic @dopeyouth @karsonromanoff @bimad @reginassweetheart @machyishere @gemz5 @pawiie @duckiekong (If you want to be added to my taglist, please DM me or comment)

Ghost was always that one assassin that would always just elude the Avengers, everytime they would think they had Ghost within their grasp, Ghost would just disappear, leaving behind a string of bloody corpses, but no traces that would help the Avengers figure who they were up against.

“This is the fourth one in two weeks.” Nat observed as she knelt over the bloody corpse of a Senator. “And they all work for the government in some way.” Steve walked around the room, his eyes searching for anything that could aid in capturing the assassin.

“They’re good.” Clint stated as he looked at Nat. “They’re better than you ever were, Romanoff.”

“I don’t care if they’re good at covering their tracks.” Steve told them firmly. “This is the fourth government official in a fortnight, and we don’t even know why they are targeting these people.”

“Do we know if they are all connected in some way?” Nat questioned as she rose to her feet.

“Tony is doing a thorough background search on each of them, delving into every aspect of their lives that they didn’t want anyone to know.” Steve told her. “There isn’t anything different in the killings, they were all murdered in the exact same way.”

“Maybe we could see if we can find some sort of calling card, you know like most serial killers leave behind.” Clint questioned as Nat shook her head no.

“They have never left a single thing behind, no fingerprints, footprints or any form of DNA that would help us even find them.” She told him, her hands resting on her hips as she looked around the room carefully. “That is why they are known as Ghost, they kill quietly but leave nothing behind but a message.”

“But what is the message?” Steve pondered as he looked at the only entrance to the room. “There is no sign of forced entry, so either they picked the lock or the people knew who they were.”

“Cameras?” Clint questioned as Nat shook her head no.

“All of them are disabled so we have no footage of them entering or leaving the building.” She told him.

“Then how are we supposed to find this person if there are no breadcrumbs to follow?” Clint questioned.

“I don’t know, but we have to head back, Fury will be waiting for a briefing on this.” Steve told them both, leading them out of the building. The journey back to the compound was silent, all three of them racking their brains for anything they may have missed, or anyone who could be behind these assassinations. “I’ll go and brief Fury, Nat can you see where Tony is on his background checks?” Nat nodded before she headed down towards the lab, finding Tony sipping coffee as ACDC blasted through the room as he looked at the screen before him.

“Have you found any connections?” She asked him as she stood behind him.

“So far?” He questioned as she nodded. “Not much, some of them have had some DUI’s, our very own Senator Green even has a restraining order up against him.”

“Who ordered the restraining order?” Nat questioned as she combed through the information laid out on the screen.

“His ex wife.” He answered her. “But she doesn’t exactly have the funds to pay for a hit out on him, let alone she has no motive against the others.”

“So we are still at nothing.” Nat groaned as Tony grinned.

“Not exactly, with the other three, they found a piece of paper with some sort of quote.” He told her, getting the picture of the calling card up. “Snakes hide in grass, people behind their lies.”

“What does that even mean?” She questioned as Tony shrugged.

“I don’t know exactly, but it's the same quote each time.” He told her. “It’s kind of like whoever this Ghost is, they are trying to send a message, but I haven’t quite figured that out just yet.”

“Was there any prints or anything on the card?” She asked him, sighing when he shook his head no.

“There’s nothing, the card is clean, there isn’t even a way for me to track the manufacturer either.” He told her.

“Okay, just keep looking for anything else.” She told him before she headed towards the door.

“It’s not like I have anything better to do.” He spoke sarcastically as he continued to comb through the information he had. Nat soon made her way into the kitchen, finding both Wanda and Yelena arguing over food.

“Natasha, tell her that macaroni and cheese is better than paprikash.” Yelena bombarded her as soon as she saw her older sister.

“Mac and Cheese isn’t exactly the healthiest option.” Wanda told her.

“No, but it’s the tastier option.” Yelena told her.

“How would you know, you smother it in hot sauce every time. You can’t even smell the cheese or anything else.” Wanda told her as she continued to prepare dinner for the team.

“You two are children.” Nat chuckled as she grabbed herself a bottle of water.

“Is there any news on this Ghost?” Yelena asked as she reached into the cupboard for a box of mac and cheese.

“Nothing, other than some quote they keep leaving behind.” She told them both. “Snakes hide in grass, people behind their lies.”

“Snakes hide in grass, people behind their lies.” A voice sounded beside Wanda, making her jump slightly as she watched her brother get tested.

“Am I supposed to know what that means?” She questioned as they just smirked at her.

“Not everything is as it seems here.” They told her before walking away.

“Are you okay, Wanda?” Nat questioned, a look of concern in her eyes as Wanda dropped the pot, its contents spilling out onto the floor.

“Yeah.” She whispered as she moved to clean up her mess, their blue irises and voice surrounding her every thought. “It’s just I’ve heard someone say that to me before.”

“Who?” Nat questioned her, her full attention on Wanda.

“Y/N.” She told them. “They used to be an agent working for Hydra at the Sokovia facility, but this can’t be them, they died.”

“How do you know they died?” Yelena asked her, Wanda took in a shaky breath.

“They died in my arms.” Wanda told her. “I watched as they bled out, I watched as life left their eyes.”

“Who were they to you?” Nat questioned as Wanda wiped her eyes.

“They were a friend, they protected me.” She told them. “Being a female volunteer within Hydra, most of their agents being men with their own agendas and sick minds, they made sure I was never hurt by any of them.”

“Do you know their surname?” Nat questioned.

“Y/L/N.” Wanda answered her.

“Thank you Wanda.” Nat gave her a soft smile before she headed back towards Tony’s lab hastily. “Can you do a background search on Y/N Y/L/N?” She asked him.

“Of course, but why?” He questioned as he got to work, Nat had explained everything she had just learned from Wanda. “So do you think this Ghost could be this Hydra Agent?”

“I’m not sure, but something seems off about this whole thing.” Nat told him.

“Agent Y/N Y/L/N, they were Strucker’s right hand.” He read out, Nat’s eyes scanning their picture as she read over their details. “Deceased.”

“Does it say how they died?” She questioned as Tony continued his search.

“They were shot multiple times.” He told her. “They were an accessory, aiding the twins escape before we detained Strucker.”

“Wanda and Pietro volunteered thinking Hydra were helping Sokovia.” Nat mumbled as she paced the lab, muttering the phrase they had recently learned. “So, in a way they were even warning Wanda about Hydra in their own cryptic way. They knew exactly what Hydra’s agenda was, they knew the true intention of global domination.” She paused for a moment before turning to face Tony. “Do you think that this may be a warning?” She questioned.

“A warning for what?” He asked her.

“Hydra still exists, they’re trying to regain their power.” She stated as Tony shook his head no.

“We destroyed Hydra, we took down all of their remaining bases after Sokovia.” He told her. “It’s impossible.”

“Just think about it.” She urged him. “Hydra had their claws within SHIELD, Pierce, Rumlow and other double agents. We don’t exactly know if they have their claws deep within the American government.”

“So you think these victims are all Hydra?” He questioned with a light chuckle, soon stopping when he noticed Natasha’s serious expression. “They’re all Hydra.” He whispered, soon turning to his screen, typing away. “Those bastards.” He pulled up some old press photos of each of the victims, sighted with Pierce himself. “Every single one of the victims are there.”

“Do you think you can maybe identify any other possible targets?” She questioned. “Maybe if we can find a pattern, we may be able to narrow down the next target and intercept Ghost.”

“I’ll try.” He told her, starting a facial recognition search on the other people in the picture.

“Maybe put out a search for anyone who fits Y/N’s description.” She told him.

“But they’re dead.” He told her, rubbing his eyebrow.

“I am finding that hard to believe right now.” She told him honestly. “How many times have all of us here been on death's door, just look at the tech we also have in the medical field, it’s all high tech, making it a possibility that maybe someone who found Y/N’s body had saved them.” She soon left to find Steve, notifying him of the new information they have recently found. “Tony’s going to call us as soon as he finds out who the next target could be.”

“Then we will need to have the whole team ready for this.” Steve stated as the two walked towards the briefing room. “If we have a chance at catching this Ghost, we are going to need all of our strengths to even try and take them down.”

“Why do you always stay near me?” Wanda questioned as she sat in her cell.

“Believe it or not, I want to keep you safe.” They told her honestly. “I know what most of these agents are capable of, what they think of and I don’t want any of them to do something untoward under my watch.” They told her honestly.

“If you’re not like the others, why do you work here?” She questioned, her eyes searching theirs.

“Unfortunately, I was taken when I was younger.” They told her. “I used to have a family, back home in England, but I watched as they were all murdered before I was taken. I was trained by one of the most notorious Agencies in Europe. It’s known for training mostly young women into becoming assassins, but Hydra made a deal with the Red Room. They wanted the ultimate agent, able to do anything that was asked of them.”

“I’m sorry.” Wanda whispered sadly as Y/N shook their head with a small smile.

“It’s okay, I made my peace that my life wasn’t my own a long time ago.” They told her softly. “But, we can try and get you and your brother your lives back.”

“How?” She questioned as they pressed their finger to their lips, silencing her.

“In time, I will help you both.” They whispered. “I just need to devise a perfect plan to get you both out of here.” With that they left the cells, leaving Wanda alone and in darkness.

“So, do we have anything more?” Steve questioned as he entered Tony’s lab with Natasha.

“We do.” He told them both. “They seem to be going in alphabetic order.”

“So who is the next victim?” Nat asked as Tony pulled up a picture on the screen.

“Mr Howard Jameson.” Tony answered the two of them.

“Okay, we’re going to need to have a 24 hour detail around him.” Steve told them both.

“But what if this whole thing about Hydra is true?” Tony questioned. “We would be going against everything we stand for.”

“I know, but we need to catch this Ghost, get them to tell us everything they know.” Steve told them.

“What makes you think they would tell us everything?” Nat questioned as Steve smiled. “Wanda, you want her to reach into their mind.”

“It’s what we need, then maybe we can finish this whole thing with Hydra ourselves.” Steve told them both. “We need to get everyone briefed and out ready, we are going to catch this bastard.”

“Language!” Tony gasped, making Nat chuckle as Steve shook his head, a small smile on his face.

“Do you think we have a chance at catching them before they kill their next victim?” Yelena questioned as everyone made their way to their assigned locations.

“I’m not sure, with everything we have learned about them so far, they seem to be just as easy as catching mist.” Natasha told her, the two watching Jameson from their seats across from him in the hotel bar he was staying at. “But all we can do is try, but we have Wanda and with her powers it is a possibility that we can actually pull this off.”

“But are we sure we want to?” Yelena asked her, receiving a firm look from her sister. “If all of these guys are Hydra, why do we want to help protect them from someone who clearly knows everything about them.”

“Either way, how they are going about it is wrong.” Nat told her. “The way they are making them suffer before killing them is inhumane.”

“And we haven’t done much worse.” Yelena spoke sarcastically.

“You know exactly what I mean Lena.” Nat told her sternly. “There are proper channels to go through, you don’t just go around killing people, innocent or not.”

“That’s all we ever do.” Lena scoffed before observing her surroundings, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Steve asked Wanda quietly, who only nodded her head. “I know of the connection you had with this Y/N.”

“Y/N died.” Wanda told him firmly. “Whoever this person is, isn’t Y/N.” Steve only nodded and dropped the subject, turning his attention to their surroundings. “What exactly are we looking for?” Wanda questioned as she swirled the liquid in her glass.

“Anything out of the ordinary.” Steve answered.

“So, that could also be classed as ourselves.” She smirked as she sipped her drink. “But I don’t think they will be stupid enough to do anything out in the open where there are a lot of eyes on them.”

“We need to figure out what room Jameson is staying in.” Steve muttered as Nat nodded, rising from her seat and heading towards the hotel lobby. A flirtatious smile adorned her face as she approached the concierge.

“Can I help you?” They asked her, returning her smile.

“I need some information.” She told them. “Do you know what room Howard Jameson is staying in? My boss, he’s the head of Jameson’s security detail, has asked for me to check his room, as you know there have already been a string of Government assassinations and we fear that Jameson may be a target and he told me what room he was staying in, but I have already forgotten. So can you help me?”

“Of course.” They smiled as they typed away on their computer, looking at the hotel listings. “But I can assure you that we have a top of the range security system ourselves.”

“I know, it’s just precautions that we like to keep in-house.” She told them.

“Room 38.” They told her.

“Thank you.” She gave them a smile before she headed towards the elevator. “I’m heading up to check the room now.” She spoke through the comms.

“We’re on our way.” Steve told her. “Clint, Yelena, you two stay here and don’t let Jameson leave your sight.” Wanda followed Steve towards the stairs, heading up towards the room as fast as they could. “Natasha, do not enter that room until we are there.”

“Of course.” Nat answered as she stood down the hall from the room, waiting for the others to arrive. As soon as the stairwell door opened, she smirked as she saw Steve enter the hall. “You sure took your time, old man.” She teased before they all made their way down the hall.

“Wanda, if we see them, you’re going to need to use your powers to restrain them.” Steve told her in a hushed tone. “Just long enough for us to slap these power dampening restraints on them.”

“How do you know if they have powers?” Nat questioned as Steve looked at her.

“I don’t, I’m just taking extra precautions.” He told them, gesturing for Wanda to open the door, once the door opened, the room was covered in darkness, the only light was the faint light cast from the moon. Wanda shuddered as she felt a presence she hadn’t felt in so many years, using her powers, surrounding the Ghost and preventing them from moving. Leaving them frozen in their spot, Steve was fast to slap the cuffs on them. “Let’s take them to the compound.” He told them, leading them all outside and heading towards the fire exit.

Wanda watched as Y/N stood at the other end of the hall, their focus remained on Strucker as he gave them their orders. Wanda was always curious as to how Y/N had managed to get their role as Strucker’s right hand, knowing that they must be his most trusted confidant. She smiled slightly as they turned to face her, soon faltering as their face remained emotionless whilst in the presence of Strucker.

“What was that about?” Wanda questioned once Y/N had approached her, they looked over their shoulder before they answered.

“We are going to get you and Pietro out of here tonight.” They told her. “We have word that the Avengers are planning an attack.”

“Stark.” Wanda seethed as Y/N tried to keep her calm.

“We need to get you both out of here, before the attack happens.” They told her quietly. “I have a plan but I am going to need both of you to follow my every instruction.” Wanda nodded as they explained everything to her, using her powers to inform Pietro of their plan.

Ghost remained in cuffs as they paced the cell, aware of the cameras that were watching them. They remained in their mask as Fury entered the cells, accompanied by the others. They stopped their pacing when they noticed they had company, their eyes met Wanda’s, holding her gaze as Fury spoke.

“What the hell are they doing in lock up?!” He questioned them, looking between the team before his gaze went back to Ghost.

“They are a national threat.” Steve answered him. “They have already killed multiple government reps and who knows how many more.”

“I don’t care! They are on strict orders to take down anyone with any power of restoring Hydra to its former glory.” He told them angrily.

“You knew about this?” Nat questioned.

“Of course I do! They are working under my orders.” He told them.

“I don’t understand.” Steve spoke unsurely as Fury asked Tony to unlock the cell, allowing him inside.

“Uncuff them.” He ordered Steve, once they were uncuffed, they removed their mask, causing Wanda’s world to fall apart in one moment.

“Come on.” Y/N urged the twins, leading them through the base, taking out any agents who had crossed their path. “The old sewer access is right here.” They opened the door for the two of them, the sound of the alarm and gunfire filling their ears. They urged the two of them to go through the tunnel first before following behind them.

“This way!” An agent’s voice could be heard, their footsteps following the three of them closely. “They’re escaping!”

“Hurry up.” Y/N urged the two of them. “There should be a manhole not too far ahead.” They told them both. Once they had seen the ladders leading up, Pietro was the first to climb followed by Wanda, just as the agents were coming up behind them. Y/N had raised their gun, firing at the agents before following the twins.

“Y/N!” Wanda yelled as she looked behind her, seeing as Y/N struggled to keep running.

“Keep moving!” They yelled, gesturing for her to keep moving, Wanda ignored them and ran back towards them, putting her arm around them to help them run with her.

“You’re hurt.” She told them as they stumbled to the ground.

“I’ll be fine.” They told her, Wanda’s eyes found multiple bullet wounds as she tried to stop the bleeding. “You both need to keep moving.” They coughed as Wanda shook her head.

“I’m staying.” She told them as Pietro approached the two of them, she looked up at her twin, sadness in her eyes. “We need to get them help.”

“Wanda.” Y/N tried as they winced, trying to get her attention. “You both need to leave.”

“No.” Wanda shook her head.

“I’m sorry.” They coughed as Wanda gave them a sad smile as she shook her head.

“It’s okay, we’re going to get you help.” Wanda tried as Pietro knelt beside her, resting his hand on her shoulder.

“Wanda.” He tried as Wanda shook her head. “They're losing too much blood.”

“THEN HELP ME!” She yelled at him. “Please.” She cried as she looked at her brother. “I can’t lose anyone else, please.”

“It’s okay.” Y/N whispered, their breathing labored. “It will be okay.”

“I can’t.” Wanda shook her head as Y/N turned to Pietro.

“Keep her safe.” They told him.

“Always.” He answered before Y/N turned to Wanda.

“Thank you.” They whispered before they closed their eyes, their breathing soon coming to a halt as Wanda shook her head.

“No.” She whispered, tears streaming as she held them. “No, you can’t leave me.”

“Come on, we have to go Wanda.” Pietro told her, pulling her up to her feet and taking her in his arms.

“They’re supposed to be dead.” Steve spoke up, recognising Y/N from the picture Tony had pulled up.

“They were almost.” He told them. “How do you think you had the information and location of that Hydra base in Sokovia? Y/N here was my agent on the inside.”

“So all of that about your parents was a lie?” Wanda questioned, trying to hide the shakiness in her voice.

“No, that was all true.” They answered her. “I uh I deflected once I met you and your brother, I hated how they treated the both of you. I knew I needed help to protect you both.”

“Pietro died.” Wanda told them, watching as they looked at their hands as her tears started to fall. “I had lost the only two people I had ever loved, who had ever looked out for me and.” She took a deep breath before she stepped closer to them. “You died in my arms! You fucking died!” She yelled as she started to hit at their chest, her tears falling. “I WATCHED YOU BLEED OUT IN MY ARMS!! I CRIED FOR YOU!! MOURNED YOU AND YOU ARE STILL ALIVE!!”

“I never meant for this to hurt you.” They told her, regret evident in their voice.

“I can’t do this.” She whispered as she left, heading straight for her room, leaving everyone in the cells. Y/N attempted to follow her but was stopped by Steve.

“We need to know everything you know about these government officials.” He told them firmly, Y/N sighed before following the team to the briefing room. Y/N had gave them all of the names of the Hydra adversaries that remained hidden within the government.

“How do you know all of this?” Nat questioned as she leaned against the wall, her arms folded across her chest. “I just don’t understand how we are supposed to trust you.”

“I used to be Strucker’s right hand.” They answered her honestly. “I was always present at any important meetings with those who he answered to.”

“How did you get to be Strucker’s right hand?” She questioned, her eyes burning into them, watching their every move.

“When I was taken from my family, he was the one who took me under his wing, he also made a deal with Dreykov, to train me to be the best agent for Hydra, without any other DNA enhancements.” They answered. “He wanted someone who he could overpower if they got too out of hand, unlike the Winter Soldier who was considered a flight risk after Captain America resurfaced. I made the best Agent because I had no means of humanity left, they saw to that when they murdered my parents and little brother in front of me.”

“Why did it take you so long to turn against them? You could have easily helped SHIELD sooner.” She pressed on as Y/N shook their head.

“I was scared, it wasn’t just pure loyalty to him or Hydra.” Y/N told her, not showing any emotion. “They wanted to take away what would have been known as a weakness, to them, my family was a weakness and I had no one. I was soon declared dead once the police who investigated my family’s death had no leads as to where I could be. That was until I met the twins, I understood why they volunteered, although it was blindly and Hydra manipulated the two of them into thinking they would help them protect their home. I then remembered just how messed up Strucker and the rest of Hydra was, they would stop at nothing for world domination, making the world within Hitler’s image, not sparing any innocent lives who dared to stand against them. The love and respect the twins had for each other, that they would do anything to protect each other and the innocence of their home, that made me realise just what I needed to do, so I made a deal with Fury. I was to help the twins escape, hand over the coordinates of every known Hydra base, and I was to help SHIELD with the downfall of Hydra.” They kept their eyes on her, shielding any emotion that threatened to show through their eyes as they spoke. “It was Fury who found me, along with Agent Hill and they brought me to the best SHIELD medical specialist they had. They had saved me and I was given my orders to eliminate any possible threat of Hydra rising again.”

“You killed all of those people.” Steve spoke in disdain. “You practically tortured them and we are supposed to just work with you? You were Hydra once yourself, you must have believed in what they stood for once.”

“Your friend over there, he was also Hydra, he was with them longer than I, he has more innocent blood on his hands than I. Romanoff and Belova were Widows, working for the Red Room and executing Dreykov’s orders, given Belova was more an experiment of a cognitive serum, so she also had all of her free will stripped away but Romanoff.” They turned to look at her. “You executed Dreykov’s orders without question, you were in the same shoes as I. You had no family, the only family you knew of was all a ruse for Dreykov to get his hands on some information that Alexei retrieved before Dreykov took both you and your sister. You are no better than I.”

“I am nothing like you.” Natasha spoke, clenching her jaw.

“No? Who was it that had died in that explosion for your deflection to SHIELD?” Y/N questioned. “Dreykov’s daughter, she was no older than 11 years old.”

“She didn’t die.” Natasha defended.

“But you didn’t know that until you took down the Red Room yourself, so for years you lived with that guilt, you have lived with the guilt of all of those lives that were also lost in the crossfire.” They told her. “All of you have just as much innocent blood on your hands as I.”

“Y/L/N.” Fury spoke sternly, Y/N apologised before they retreated. “Y/N here will be joining you, they will help you with any missions we send your way as they also continue to take down Hydra before it is reborn.” He looked between Steve and Natasha. “I want no objections. Mr Stark, Y/N here will need a room set up.” Tony nodded before Fury left the briefing room.

Settling in wasn’t easy for Y/N, the atmosphere was cold and bitter, making them feel unwelcome. They spent most of their time in their room, other than being in the training room during the night. As they returned to their room, they had seen Wanda for the first time in a couple of weeks. She was sitting on their bed, her chin resting on her hand, Y/N knocked on their door to gain her attention.

“You know, it feels odd to knock on my own door.” They teased with a gentle smile, they watched as Wanda fought back a smile as they entered the room, closing the door behind them. “I’m sorry, Wanda.” She shook her head before she spoke.

“I just, I want an explanation.” She told them. “I just, I don’t understand. You died in my arms and now you are standing right here, in front of me, very much alive.”

“I’ll be honest, I thought I was dead too.” They spoke honestly as they sat beside her. “I had lost a substantial amount of blood, that I even had no chance of surviving even if I went to the nearest hospital.”

“You stopped breathing.” She whispered.

“I know.” They looked at their hands as Wanda observed them. “But the human body is a magnificent thing, when it has gone through a lot of pain and trauma, the heart rate slows down, right down, almost as though it would have stopped.” They took a deep breath. “Not too long after you and Pietro had left, Fury had sent in a team to my location, taking me to one of SHIELD’s top facilities. He had the best doctors and surgeons save me, they saved my life and once I had regained consciousness, there wasn’t a moment where you weren’t on my mind. I wanted to find you and your brother, I wanted to make sure that you were safe but I had made a deal with Fury, so I had to follow orders, I was unable to come and find you.” They turned to look in her eyes. “Then I heard the news of Pietro’s death, I defied my orders and came to find you, I saw you, you were healthy and safe but I hated seeing the pain in your eyes, the grief you were drowning in and I knew that if I had come back, you would only hate me for leaving you.”

“I could never hate you.” Wanda whispered as Y/N shook their head. “I lo.. I need to go, I have a mission tomorrow with Natasha.” She told them as she stood up, heading towards their door.

“I really am sorry, Wanda.” They told her quietly. “I never wanted you to feel all of that pain, I only wanted to protect you, I still do feel this need to protect you.”

“I guess some things never change.” She whispered before she left the room, closing the door behind her. Y/N knew in that moment they would do everything they could to keep her safe, to protect her, they knew that in that moment, they were exactly where they needed to be.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #marvel #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda x you #wanda x reader #natasha romanoff

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hp-hcs · 1 year ago

Note

violent stalker mattheo riddle.... each guy and girl readers ever spoken to? damn wdym they showed up beaten up the next day and they dont even know who did it ????

i feel like he'd also get violent with reader and ykw .... im so insane id let him beat me bloody .

"i'm doing this because you're not listening to me, sweetheart. how else am i supposed to show you that trying to leave me is what you shouldn't do?"

hey uh, future requesters: giving me a line of dialogue or smth to build around means i’ll finish your request WAY faster. tysm anon 😭

requests open

prometheus — yandere! insane! stalker! mattheo riddle x gn! reader

wow! there’s a fuck ton of really fucking dark violence, murder, torture, manipulation, abduction, and horrific domestic abuse in this! please be careful if you choose to read this!

1.5k words!

i jokingly took a sociopathy test with a couple of friends earlier today and i scored like really high so uh dunno how to feel about that

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Am I…am I in trouble or something, Professor…?”

Professor McGonagall’s lips thinned and she looked at you over the rim of her glasses. She folded her hands together neatly where they rested on her desk before speaking. “Not for now, no. Relax a bit, dear. The law states that you’re innocent until proven guilty.”

“That’s not- that doesn’t really make me less nervous.”

The professor opened her mouth to speak again when a chime alerted her to an incoming floo call.

With a wave of her wand, the flames flared green and a genial-looking man stepped out of the fireplace. He brushed soot off of his robes and grinned brightly as soon as he caught sight of the professor.

“Minerva! Lovely to see you again. I’m afraid Quincy isn’t going to make it. Corbett is sick, poor thing, so he’s staying home with him today,” the man gushed, evidently quite close with the professor.

“Oh, send them both my well wishes, Hez, dear. Anyway, this is the student you asked to see, Y/n L/n,” she motioned towards you.

The man gave you a cheery grin—far too cheerful for this early in the morning—and held out his hand for you to shake. “A pleasure to meet you, Mx. L/n. I’m Auror Hezekiah Ackerly. I’d just like to ask you a few questions if that’s alright?”

You dubiously shook his outstretched hand, a bit put off by his bright grin that never seemed to dim. “Sure.”

“Wonderful!” the Auror pulled the second office guest chair closer and sat down across from you. “Let’s get the easy questions out of the way. Do you have many friends? Or maybe a small, close-knit group of people you regularly hang out with?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. The fuck kind of question was this?

“Uh, I guess a close-knit group?”

Auror Ackerly summoned a notebook and quill, writing quickly. “Who belongs to this group?”

Seriously, this felt more like being at a psychiatrist’s office than being questioned by a government official.

“Er, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger? And sometimes Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood?”

Seriously, what was going on?

“And do you have any…romantic relationships? Any troubles or issues there?”

Your eyes narrow. “What’re you playing at?”

“Cormac McLaggen was found dead in the Forbidden Forest this morning,” Professor McGonagall cut to the chase, interrupting Auror Ackerly. “You were the last known person to have spoken to him, and several of your peers attest that they heard an argument break out between the two of you last night after dinner.”

Your eyebrows shot up and your jaw dropped. “Dead? Wh- how?”

“That’s what we at the Ministry would like to know,” Auror Ackerly interjected smoothly. “You’re not in trouble, Mx. L/n, but I am here to escort you to the Ministry for questioning.”

Your jaw dropped.

They thought you did this?

~~~

You sat at a table, alone in some room deep inside the Ministry building.

You huffed, folding yet another paper crane from the stack of sticky notes Ackerly had oh-so-thoughtfully left for you after your interrogation.

You set the finished bird on the table, the small pile of origami cranes you’ve made while waiting slowly getting larger.

Peeling off another sticky note, you started folding another when a nice-looking man in well-pressed robes entered the barren room and stopped in front of your table. He looked down at you with mild bafflement.

“L/n, I presume?”

“That’d be me,” you mumbled, adding your newest crane to the pile.

The man smiled gently before waving a hand over your paper birds and enchanting them to fly.

You tried to hide your awe as you look up at the cranes that floated and soared around the room.

The man smiled at your reaction. “It’s quite nice to finally meet you, Mx. L/n. You’ve been the topic of many a discussion today.”

“I’d imagine so, yes,” you said dryly. “Not many teenagers accused of murder coming through the department, huh?”

He grinned. “Not really, no.”

The man pulled out the other chair at the table, sitting down across from you and rifling through the thick manila folder he held.

“Are you here to interrogate me some more?” You asked suspiciously. “Ask Ackerly, man. I already told him everything I know.”

He laughed. “No, I’m not here to interrogate you. I’m your lawyer, Mx. L/n.”

You blink. “I don’t have a lawyer. My family can’t afford that.”

“You always have the right to an attorney, Mx. L/n,” he said kindly as he held out his hand to you. “Octavian Foxglove, Esquire.”

“Y/n L/n, but you already knew that,” you greet, shaking his hand.

He smiled again.

He was a very smiley man.

He laid out the manila folder and turned it around on the table so that you would be able to see it.

The first paper on top was a copy of your school records, with a bright red PRIMARY SUSPECT stamped over the top of your picture.

You grimaced.

Your lawyer nodded sympathetically. “There’s a photo underneath that page, by the way. Supposedly the last photo we have of McLaggen still alive and, uh…it’s not looking great for you, in all honesty.”

You moved your school records page aside, finding a standard moving photograph paperclipped to the inside of the file.

It showed, quite clearly, you speaking with Cormac McLaggen in a hallway. Picture-Cormac angrily threw his arms up in the air and silently yelled at picture-you, while your body language in the photo loudly screamed ‘furious & upset’.

He was right. It wasn’t a great look.

“And there’s only one thing I need you to- oh, where is it?” He dug through the inside pockets of his robes, procuring a pen. “Aha! The next page has a simple contract. I just need a signature stating that you either accept me as your public defender, or would like to request someone else from the Ministry to handle your case.”

You nod, flipping the page to the contract he indicated. Mr. Foxglove smiled again and held the pen out to you.

As soon as your fingers made contact with the pen, you vanished.

~~~

You stumbled blindly, almost falling to the floor before a hand caught your elbow and steadied you.

“Easy, careful.”

You whirled around, surprised to see a different man in Mr. Foxglove’s clothes. He held his hands up in a non-threatening manner.

“Woah- slow down, kid. You’re fine.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m- was your lawyer,” he shrugged and smiled. “Augustus Rookwood, at your service.”

It dawned on you. “It was a portkey,” you breathed. “The pen. It was a portkey, wasn’t it?”

“Clever kid,” he sounded impressed. “Now c’mon. The boss wants to see you.”

You followed the man without complaint; half out of curiosity, half out of the knowledge that Augustus Rookwood was an Azkaban escapee charged with at least forty counts of first degree murder.

Pretty simple choice.

It looked like you were in a wealthy aristocrat’s house. Er, mansion, more accurately. The hallway you were walking down was old and stuffy and dusty, and the overall aura of Dark magic that permeated the very air of the house sent shivers down your spine.

Rookwood led you down a flight of rickety stairs to the first floor, and then down a narrow hallway and into a study, where he left you without another word.

The study itself was old. Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust except for the pristine and polished bureau right in the center.

(Obviously, ‘the boss’ was sitting at this desk.)

((Villains tend to be predictable like that.))

However, you were surprised to see that ‘the boss’ was-

“Riddle?”

He looked up at the sound of your voice, a wide grin spreading across his face as he hurriedly got up from his desk.

“Y/n, darling, hello!” He gushed, practically skipping over towards you before pulling you into a very uncomfortable hug. “Sweetheart- oh, I’m so glad you’ve made it here safely! Rookwood really is my only competent assistant; I must be sure to give him a raise.”

You froze up at the unexpected hug, your arms remaining stiffly by your sides. He let go after a moment, but remained just a bit too close for comfort.

“Hopefully the Ministry didn’t give you too hard of a time,” he rubbed the back of his neck with a guilty grin. “I promise Ackerly’s a good man. When he’s, y’know, in control of his own body.”

Your eyes widen and you take a step back. “What?”

“Just a little Imperius, darling, no worries. Did you like your gift?”

You blinked, thrown off by his rapid changes in subjects. “Uh- gift?”

He smiled proudly. “McLaggen? He won’t bother you anymore, see?”

All the color drained from your face.

“You killed Cormac?”

He nods, grinning. “Uh-huh. I heard what McLaggen said to you last night in the hall, and I don’t like when other people look at what’s mine.”

“Yours?” You repeat, your lip curling in disgust. “You’d better not be referring to me.”

Mattheo paused, looking at you in confusion. “What else would I be talking about?”

You scoff in shock, shaking your head. “Yeah, nope, I’m out.”

You turned around without further preamble, marching out of the room and towards the front door that you’d passed earlier. Mattheo laughed and followed you out of the study at a leisurely pace, seemingly unworried.

“Where are you going to go, darling? As far as the general public is concerned, you’re on the run after brutally murdering a classmate. You’re Wanted with a capital W, sweetheart.”

“I’ll figure it out,” you snarled, storming towards the front door.

“Y/n…” He warned, drawing his wand and pointing it at you. “Get back here. Now.”

“Fuck off.” You spat over your shoulder, not sparing him another glance.

That was clearly not the thing to say. As if in slow motion, you heard a dreaded word fall from his lips.

“Crucio!”

You were struck with pain that was so overwhelming, so blinding, so agonizing, that you were sure you were going to die.

You were only half aware that you’d fallen to the floor at some point as wave after wave of unbearable pain crashed over you. You could feel your bones creaking and grinding together, your skin splitting apart only to knit itself back together just to be torn apart again, like you were some fucked up wixen version of fucking Prometheus.

You were only vaguely aware that you were speaking, pleading. Pleading not for the Unforgivable to be lifted, but for him to just end it, end you, entirely.

“K-kill me! Kill m-me…please!” You begged, blood trailing down from the corner of your mouth and smeared across your chin. You must’ve bit your tongue hard for it to bleed like that, and the sting from that wound while you speak is just too overwhelming when combined with the pain from the Cruciatus Curse.

Then all at once, it stops.

You gasp for air, your entire body trembling and numb as you lay sprawled across the floor like a marionette with its strings cut.

Mattheo kneeled down by your side and cupped your face in his hands with a kind of tender gentleness that felt deeply wrong coming from him.

“See, I’m doing this because you’re not listening to me, sweetheart. How else am I supposed to show you that trying to leave me is what you shouldn’t do?” He cooed softly, gently wiping the blood from your chin with the sleeve of his shirt.

You flinched back at his touch. Your body—still wracked with uncontrollable quivers and trembles—tried in vain to crawl away from him.

“Oh no, honey- hey, honey- I promise it’s all over, okay? You were so so good for me. But you see now that you’ve got to stay with me, right?”

Your jaw quivered and your still-stinging tongue felt thick in your mouth, yet you managed to spit vicious hatred towards him.

“G-go to hell.”

A flurry of emotions crossed his face: surprise, anger, guilt, and disappointment; all of which were topped by the underlying aura of pure sadistic glee that exuded from him.

“Oh? Do you need another lesson or two before you learn?” He sighed and shook his head patronizingly. “Very well then, darling. Crucio!”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

taglist! @gayaristocrat @slytherinboysappreciation @lemonaderiddle @h-------n @yournogoodalone @knave-hearts @schaebickel @lexacantsleep @big-brother-problems @darkcharmx @cyberbl4de @amandajonhsson @megannxn @catz-80 @ghostiesen @fruityfrog505 @coysa @fruitypebblesstuff @mildlyuninformative @glittervame @cayaevans1 @lizeylavender @cloudydaysinmydreams @ironickarkatlover @ahead-fullofdreams @tachyon-girl @jaythes1mp @lovelyfandomqueen @ashisgreedy @mothermah3m @siuspider @ineedtogetalife11 @cherry-berry-ollie @cherriosxfish @a-hopeless-romantics-blog @fallingblackveils @ldrsog @linde0s @ghost-tyr @booksouflette @h0treader @maraudersforlife2005 @ahano @miah-macaroni @whatislifes-stuff @iara-ximena17 @goth-blackcat @dutifullyfuturisticwizard @docackerman @mizu-mc @tiacordelia02 @mingyuethesimp @luvlli @dracoshusband @verychaoticgay @thathogwartsjedi @lisbethpisbeth @remusily @daliah-xxo @rainy-darling @corinneeagles @sle1epy @averys-place @shibble @i-love-sirius-black7 @azu-202029 @artemismckinnon @lostboychimera @yukimaniac @annegrey

#harry potter #hp #fuck jkr #x reader #hp x gn reader #hp x male reader #x male reader #x gender neutral reader #mattheo riddle x reader #yandere mattheo riddle #yandere harry potter #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x male reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader

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anamericangirl · 2 months ago

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i deserve full control of my body without government bullshit

and i deserve a president that doesn’t see women as objects to touch

and i deserve to get the healthcare i need

and i deserve to be able to live without issue in a state as a transgender person

and i deserve to vote in the next election without led suppressing that

and i deserve to decide i don’t want children no matter what decisions others make on the matter

you deserve hell for saying shit that hurts us all

Hello my politically ignorant and uneducated friend. Nothing I say is hurting anyone and if your political knowledge was advanced beyond the elementary idea of "I want it therefore I deserve it and you must provide it for me" you would understand that my ideas are actually all perfect and would benefit everyone.

And I just want to point out, before I address the nonsense you wrote, you don't deserve anything you're not willing to educate yourself on, especially when you use your ignorance to send hateful messages to people you don't know online because they don't agree with you politically and are smarter than you.

>i deserve full control of my body without government bullshit

You have full control over your body but you don't have full control over another person's body and refusing to acknowledge reality doesn't change it I'm afraid. I will never agree that you should be allowed to have an abortion just because you don't want to admit that there is another person involved in that situation and their life and rights matter. You're not the only person that matters and shame on you for being willing to kill children. Children deserve a world where people like you aren't allowed to murder them.

>and i deserve a president that doesn’t see women as objects to touch

you also deserve to have your opinions dismissed because you refuse to seek the truth and just jump on the bandwagon and repeat whatever you're told to believe. I don't care what a President thinks personally about women as long his policies benefit all of America and you wouldn't either if you had any sense about you.

>and i deserve to get the healthcare i need

You can so that's a moot point.

>and i deserve to be able to live without issue in a state as a transgender person

You can so that's another moot point from you.

>and i deserve to vote in the next election without led suppressing that

As long as you're at least 18 and not a felon you should be allowed to vote in the next election so yet another moot point.

>and i deserve to decide i don’t want children no matter what decisions others make on the matter

Sure and if you decide you don't want children don't make children. Children deserve to live once they exist and that doesn't change just because you're selfish, careless and irresponsible.

Sorry not sorry.

#anon #answered

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dalishious · 9 months ago

Text

Reclaiming Independence of the Dales

Before anything else, I’d just like to clarify that that vast majority of this is made of my own ideas, based on interpretation from the little canonical information provided, and a little inspired by my own people’s history and governing structure. Additionally, what I am presenting here is an ideal situation, not necessarily what I think is an immediately realistic outcome in the world-state established. So, please keep that in mind.

The Dales were established as a homeland for elves—a small piece of a continent that was once called their home in its entirety, before the humans colonized it—by Maferath in -165 Ancient. This was in reward for the eleven people’s participation in the fight against Ancient Tevinter. But in 2:10 Glory, Divine Renata I broke this treaty and declared an Exalted March against the Dales, ending in its annexation by Orlais.

[Related Post: All You Need to Know about the Exalted March of the Dales]

If Solas has very low approval with Inquisitor Lavellan, and Lavellan accuses him of not doing enough to help their people, he will say the following: “You could order Halamshiral returned to the Dalish, if you wished. But ultimately, you know that would fail. That even you cannot solve this.” I hate this with a burning passion. The reason I can’t do that, Solas, is because it’s not an option in the game! Why are you as a character angry at me, the player, for not doing something that is not an option for me to do? Why was this written? Just to push the point that it’s not worth it to try and fight back against oppression? Because if I refuse to accept hopelessness in real life, why would I in accept it in a video game where the story is made-up, and therefore anything is possible if the developers so wish it.

Regardless, according to Solas, the Inquisition has enough power to support the reclamation of an independent Dales. I imagine this would require a lot of political maneuvering within the Orlesian governance, and therefore I think the best opportunity to do this would be with Briala ruling through Gaspard. This would then later open the door for Briala to be the leader of the newly independent Dales, too. I would like to see Briala as ruler of the Dales not just because she is a favourite of mine, but because I genuinely believe she is the best established character fit for the job. She was trained in everything Celene was trained in, has first-hand experience in court, has extensive connections, and has demonstrated her ability and desire to utilize these skills and assets for the benefit of elven kind.

Briala’s blackmail on Gaspard may help prevent Orlais from invading again while under his rule, but to last longer, the Dales would need to establish itself as a strong, independent Nation with allies. This is why I believe it would also be important to have Leliana as Divine Victoria in such a world-state where this could happen. Leliana re-canonizes the Canticle of Shartan, and in making it available for the common person to understand, would ideally help sway the minds of the average Andrastian into supporting the Dales’s independence. The nobility would of course be much trickier, because they and the Chantry are the ones who actually benefitted from its annexation—but there is little they would be able to actually accomplish if they did not have the power of the people behind them.

As far as allies go, Ferelden could only gain from Orlais losing control of the Dales, because it would mean cutting Orlais off from a lot of Ferelden’s border, therefore reducing the threat of another invasion. Additionally, a leader with just plain good morals like say, Alistair, would easily accept the elven kingdom’s return. But even Anora is willing to grant part of the Korcari Wilds to the Dalish if Mahariel requests it, and while this sadly doesn’t last, it does show a positive sign into her potentially being open to the idea of an independent Dales as well.

I sincerely doubt that all Dalish clans would return to the Dales and re-settle down. After all, they have developed differentiating cultures over the years of wandering in separated groups, with different ideals and different ways of life that they might not want to give up. But many would return, and that would likely create conflict between the elves coming from the Dalish clans and the elves coming from the cities. We know that some prejudice exists against “flat-ears�� as some Dalish call those from the city, and we know that city elves have adopted a lot of misinformation from humans into their views of the Dalish. It would take time and positive leadership to reconnect the people, without risking falling into some sort of hierarchy based on origin. This is why I do not believe one group or the other should single-handedly rule alone. Rather, I think there should be a Grand Council of High Keepers made up of those voted into the position each to represent a single district of the Dales. (I like the idea of there being seven High Keepers, not just because there are seven traditional districts of Mi’kma’ki, but because it works out that there seven of the Creators. So it makes sense that there would be seven High Keepers.) The Grand Council would meet and make decisions together, with one appointed leader at the head to act as the Council’s chair.

In terms of protection and order, the Emerald Knights should be reformed. This would include the Fade Hunters, to protect the people against demons and maleficarum, with there being no Circles or Templars.

Restoring the independence of the Dales would lead to a revival of elven culture in ways that could never happen before, because they would actually be free to pursue re-learning the language, re-discovering the history and culture, and sharing it all amongst each other. They would not have to fear arrest the crime of simply being an elf.

But what of the other races presently living in the Dales? I see no reason why they would have to leave, so long as they would be willing to follow the Grand Council’s leadership. I imagine many nobility would flee to Orlais, simply because they would not stand for it. But for the average human or surface dwarf, their life wouldn’t really even change much; they’d still be managing their farms the same as always. Hell, it might even improve things for them, assuming the Grand Council gives fairer treatment than the nobility previously.

#dragon age #the dales #elves #meta

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sanjoongie · 10 months ago

Text

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕊𝕚𝕩𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟: ℂ𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘

🥀Pairing: Dragon Hybrid! Mingi x Bunny Hybrid! Reader

🥀Genre: Smut

🥀Rating: 18+, Minors Do not Interact

🥀Au: Cotton Tails and Simmering Fires by @starlitmark and meeee, hybrid au

🥀Trope: established relationship, poly (background)

🥀Summary: when you crave some time with one of your busy boyfriends, the compromise turns out to be everything you need with an unexpected surprise

🥀Kinks: cockwarming, brief oral prep (m), cockwarming (she tried her best okay), special! dragon! cock, sudden female orgasm, soft! dom! mingi, soft! sub! reader

🥀Word Count: 1,241

🥀Betas: @flurrys-creativity

🥀Day Fifteen: Femdom/ Degradation 🥀Mini Masterlist 🥀Day Seventeen: Body Worship

The state of part arousal and part comfort you were in was slowly driving you insane.

You had wanted some quality time with Mingi but it was the period in his semester when he had little time to spare, between reading and grading papers, and fielding student questions. So the two of you had come to a compromise. He was heading into his on-campus office early Saturday morning to get some work done and you were going along with him.

Mingi tugged you out of your nest with Jongho and Yeosang, blurry-eyed and a little whiny at being pulled from the warmth of your two boyfriends arms. Mingi told you with a gentle smile that he could leave you here if you really wanted to stay but when you remembered how much your heart ached last week, seeing him drag himself to his bed and collapse on it, you dismissed the offer immediately.

In his office, which already had his faint personal smell of gingerbread, you sat on a couch that served as a bed when Mingi was too exhausted to drag himself back to the loft with the thunder. But it wasn’t close enough to your boyfriend. In fact, it was torture. Watching as the early morning lit hit his charcoal gray scales along his hairline, how his shoulder spread out his plaid shirt, the way his buttons looked like he was one big breath away from losing his shirt--

Mingi sighed rather loudly and closed his laptop. “Hops--”

Your ears pushed back in disappointment. “Don’t use my government name, Mingi,” You couldn't help but pout.

“I can smell the beginnings of sugar cookies like they’re in the oven,” Mingi continued, rubbing his face tiredly. “I can’t exactly nurse a hard-on AND focus on my student’s papers.”

“But--!”

Mingi sent you a stern look with his red slitted eyes and you deflated immediately. Not without adding, “You could use it though.”

“You’ve been hanging around with Wooyoung too much,” Mingi grumbled, “I am not bending you over my desk, Hops.”

You looked at Mingi with hopeful eyes. “It doesn’t have to be like that.”

Mingi watched you with a confused expression as you quickly rushed to his side at his desk. “I just want to be close to you. If you let me cockwarm you--”

Mingi groaned loudly and then clapped his hand over his mouth. “Hops,” he growled.

You threw up your hands in defense. “I’m not trying to trick you. I did it with San recently when he was gone for a business trip but I had a stacked schedule with my orders. It helped.”

Mingi scratched the back of his ear. “Yeah but I’m much bigger than San,” he reminded you.

“Can we please try?” You plead eagerly. Your tail twitched behind you, ears moving in anticipation and Mingi found he couldn't say no to you.

“Alright but--” He bit down on his lip just in time as your hands went to his pants immediately to undo the belt and the zipper of his tweed pants. “Treasure--” A delighted gasp left his lips as you pulled his cock out and pumped it to make sure it was hard for you. “Oh fuck.”

You sent him a sweet smile before taking him in your mouth. You gathered saliva in your mouth and bobbed on his length, taking in as much of him as you could before he hit the back of your throat. Mingi held your hair out of the way, partly to make sure nothing got on your hair and the other reason was to watch your cute little bunny mouth work on him. Just when Mingi was tempted to let you suck him off, you pulled off of him.

You pulled aside the loose shorts you wore for easy access, and with the lack of underwear underneath, it was easy to brace yourself on his thick thighs, and play with the spade head of his cock against your already wet folds.

“Treasure, be careful!” Mingi worried.

No matter how many times he had taken you, he was always concerned with your comfort and his cock. Not only was the length and girth something to worry about, his head was spade-tipped, curved perfectly to push past pussy lips. There were also ridges on the underside of his cock, starting at his tip, AND three beads along the top side. Mingi’s dragon cock was definitely one of the more complicated breeds out there but you never seemed to complain about taking him.

In truth, even though you struggled to fit him inside of you, it always sounded like you loved everything that came with his cock. “So big,” You sighed, only managing his head so far.

Mingi reached around you and rubbed a dry finger slowly around your clit, aiding in making you even more wet in order to take him. “You’re doing amazing,” Mingi encouraged you.

You slowly but surely sunk down on his length. Each ridge on his cock was like a landmark that you were getting it done. The relaxed way your pussy was swallowing Mingi’s cock was doing something to you, however. Mingi was still; he had massive control over his body, despite your tight, wet heat taking him centimeter by centimeter.

“Mi-mingi,” You moaned softly.

If you were being honest, you were drunk on Mingi’s cock. It was always like this getting it inside of you, but in this soft setting, the early morning rays making his office warm and Mingi’s heat at your back, you were lured into a sense of complete security. So when you rocked your hips forward to get the last final ridge on the underside of Mingi’s cock, it worked. However you were so wet from Mingi’s middle finger doing slow circles around your clit, that the remainder of Mingi’s cock that could actually fit inside of you slipped in. It was so sudden, but the sudden push of Mingi’s cockhead hitting your womb sent you into your climax.

You moaned wantonly, becoming jelly in Mingi’s lap and you collapsed back on him fully. Mingi could feel your cunt convulsing around his cock so he knew exactly what had happened. Luckily for Mingi, he had the control, and the practice of competing with Yunho over who would cum first, so he was able to hold on. He simply rubbed his cheek against your soft ears as you rode the waves of pleasure and settled down.

“Was that good, Treasure?” His deep voice rumbled from behind you and you simply nodded your head tiredly. “Words, please,” He prompted you.

“That was like having the slowest sex ever and then experiencing the most explosive climax,” You mumbled to him.

“Well, I hope it was that good because you’re going to have to remain here while I finish my papers,” Mingi announced, smacking a kiss on your head.

“Mingi!” You protested quietly. Because Mingi still was perhaps only halfway seated inside of you, so you were going to have to hold yourself up until the professor was done.

Mingi chuckled, the type that only came from a man who just gave his lover a good orgasm. “You wanted to cockwarm me, Treasure.”

“Yes, Mingi,” You said desolately.

You settled into Mingi’s warmth regardless. Perhaps you could nap. Which would have worked. If Mingi hadn't pressed his hand to your stomach to see if he could feel his cock from the outside.

🥀Day Fifteen: Femdom/ Degradation 🥀Mini Masterlist 🥀Day Seventeen: Body Worship

#joongfryefff24 #kvanity #kwritersworldnet #pirateeznet #cultofdionysusnet #mfu-net #ateez smut #song mingi smut #mingi smut #atz smut #ღatz #topaz's work #ctasf series

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jeonscatalyst · 4 months ago

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I read this from the cult arguments so the reason why they think jikook using Buddy program for enlisting confirms them not being couples is because in south korean military service as you might already know they prohibit the gay sexual intercourse while ON BASE and if you do you face the consequences right? So according to them now that jikook are using the Buddy program by chance IF in future they come out as queer and start dating each other the government is likely to investigate them for using the Buddy program for their advantage, or say they can get investigated for falsification and breaking the law of gay relationship n all during military service and given BTS are Big deal even if jikook come out after many years they will still likely face very serious consequences for breaking the law cause you know how sk is when it comes to BTS like e.g. suga's recent incidents.

So does anyone have a better understanding of this whole act of gay se* + military service and the consequences you face like this law as whole?

Hey anon,

I made this post a while ago about this topic. You can check it out

I’m not sure if you are the same anon who sent this link of this taekooker trying to “prove” why two people in a romantic relationship cannot enlist together but this is the link…….

My thoughts about enlistment and how it works can be found in the post I linked but just to something about what these screenshots say….

This right here is what I like to call manipulation. This person has a very good knowledge of the system and what article 92-6 actually states but they use their own words to completely twist things. I’m not a lawyer but i’ve watched enough shows to know that people have gotten away with murder or heinous crimes because of loopholes in the written law so I’m pretty sure who ever drafted out military laws must know this so they must have EXPLICITLY written down everything that they didn’t want to avoid any loopholes.

Anon, I’d like you to check out what article 92-6 states and show me anywhere that law criminalizes two people being in a relationship. Is there any place the law talks about punishing two people just because they are gay and are in a relationship? I must have missed it so maybe you can show me if you find it.

This is such a simple thing to understand so I truly don’t get why so many people choose to ignore it.

The military doesn’t criminalize people being in a relationship (atleast not officially) they only have a problem with people committing indecent sexual activity on base. So why on earth would there be consequences if Jimin and Jungkook leave the military and decide to come out at some point later? As long as they didn’t break the law by having anal sex or engaging in anything the law considers indecent sexual activity, they are good. Is there any law that states that two lovers cannot enlist together as buddies? There is literally NONE! Also, this makes no sense because not everyone who in romantic relationships have sex (surprise surprise) and seeing as the military has only mentioned having an issue with sex while on base, then why would they go after people who didn’t commit a crime?

If the South Korean military didn’t want two lovers enlisting together as buddies, they would have boldly written it down. Yes, queer people face some injustice and discrimination in the military and sometimes are deemed unfit for service because of their sexual orientation which is unfortunate and sad but the truth is, Jimin and Jungkook have never come as as queer have they? So officially they are just two normal bandmates and friends who decided to enlist together and even if they do come out later, the military would have to prove that they were a couple while enlisted if they want to have an issue with it (which I doubt they would) and we all know that they wouldn’t be able to prove that Jikook were a couple at the time of enlistment unless they got caught having sex, because guess what, it is possible that they could have only become a couple after their military service. So you see how the whole thing doesn’t even make sense right. If you want to consider that the military might try to punish people for being a couple while enlisted, then there are just too many loopholes in the law. I am not even a lawyer but I can make a very good defense case for anyone whom the military tries to prosecute for this using their own written laws.

#jikook #enlistment talk

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humbledragon669 · 4 months ago

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Lockdown Episode Write Up P2 – dialogue

Introduction

I don’t think there’s much linking the dialogue with the images (apart from the cake sequence), so I’ve broken this write-up down into tableaus and dialogue, because there are just as many Easter eggs (maybe more) to be had from the tableaus as there are from the script. This part of the write-up will address just the dialogue, with the tableaus addressed in a separate write-up. Right, housekeeping done, let’s get stuck in shall we?

Dialogue

So Crowley picks up on the second ring, sounding very irritated. Considering he’s about to tell Aziraphale how bored he is, you’d think he might actually be relieved about the prospect of somebody calling him. And poor Aziraphale; the brusque greeting clearly puts him off, presumably because he was hoping for a more enthusiastic response, particularly given that Crowley openly tells the angel he knows that it was him calling in the first place.

AZIRAPHALE: Uh… Hello. It’s me! CROWLEY: I know it’s you, Aziraphale.

My thoughts about this exchange? I strongly suspect Aziraphale is the only one that ever calls Crowley. Not only that, I think he’s probably calling the demon multiple times a day at this point. I mean, think about it – neither of them work for their respective agencies anymore. For the first time in 6000 years they can be open about their friendship, no more hiding. And for the first time in those 6000 years something other than Heaven or Hell is making it impossible for them to see each other. I know, they really could have formed a “bubble”, or just ignored the rules completely, given their otherworldly status, but they didn’t because don’t forget – this is a PSA film at heart. Everybody had to STAY AT HOME. Besides, it makes it so much more angsty if they can’t be within physical proximity to one another during this time.

AZIRAPHALE: Just calling to see how you were doing in Lockdown.

Aziraphale actually says makes it sound like this is either the first time the angel has spoken to Crowley during Lockdown (which had been going on for almost two months by the time this minisode was released), or that they don’t speak very often. Personally, I don’t buy this, not least because the demon openly says he’s incredibly bored. And what does Crowley like to do best when he’s bored? Hang out with Aziraphale. Be his personal nuisance.

CROWLEY: I’ve decided that if I can’t think of anything to do within the next two days, I’m going to have a nap and I’ll set the alarm clock for June.

I *think* this is the first time we have confirmation that he does sleep, at least as far as the show is concerned (I’m not counting cut/missing bits from the Script Book, or from the original book). There’s also proof here that he’s actually an optimist, despite his efforts to convince the world at large otherwise – he’s convinced that everything will be back to normal by June. Interestingly, the UK’s really strict national regulations had actually been eased by the time the minisode was released, allowing those who could not work from home to return to work (yeah, we didn’t really know what that meant either, considering those of us who were classed as key workers never stopped going to the workplace), but June was still a very optimistic estimate – whilst restrictions were eased as we went into July, local governments were given the authority to impose local lockdowns where necessary. And boy, did they.

AZIRAPHALE: Oughtn’t you to be out and about doing things?

It's interesting to hear Aziraphale actually encouraging Crowley to be more demon-like. And he doesn’t just encourage, he gives him very appropriate suggestions for things he could be doing to fulfil his demonly duties. To my mind, it suggests his preference for Crowley in a demonic state. Or it could be an opportunity to emphasise the STAY AT HOME message, seeing as (for once) Crowley seems keen to stick to the rules. Take your pick. I know which one I prefer. Either way, there are two pieces of information here that I find noteworthy – firstly, confirmation that Crowley can’t get sick because he’s a demon. I think it’s interesting what human weaknesses the angel and demon are susceptible to, and which not. Alcohol, for instance, albeit in larger quantities than a human could imbibe, has the same effect on their human bodies as it does to humans. Illness and disease on the other hand, it would seem not. Laudanum, as we see in series 2, has an entirely different effect on Crowley than it would do to an ordinary human, but Hastur informs us that ordinary fire would easily discorporate a demon. Makes me wonder if the effect that a Heavenly or Hellish being has on its hosting body is one to do with constitution – where the body has an increased resistance to toxic substances but is unaffected in its ability to deal with trauma.

The second piece of information in this little plea from Aziraphale is that he says Crowley still has a job to do. Which, given the outcome of season 1, he doesn’t. I don’t think it was made blatantly obvious that neither of them report to their respective agencies anymore, so perhaps this is just a slip of the pen, so to speak. It might have been a bit more difficult to slip in this blatant reminder to people that leaving home was a BAD thing to do and that staying at home was the GOOD thing to do otherwise, and this little speech is very clear about listing certain things that were being actively discouraged at the time.

CROWLEY: I could do that. I mean I could… but if I did then… well…people might follow my bad example and get ill. Or even die.

Crowley’s response is… less than enthusiastic. It’s funny to hear him say that people might follow his bad example – surely that’s exactly what he’s been contracted to do for thousands of years? But again, I am forgetting – the whole point of this piece of media is to remind them why we should all just STAY AT HOME. So, with that reminder, let’s look a little more about Crowley’s actual feelings on the subject, shall we?

CROWLEY: I know I ought to be making people’s lives even worse but everyone’s so miserable cooped up right now anyway I just… don’t have the heart for it.

And therein lies the problem for Crowley and his existence as a demon – he actually doesn’t like to make people miserable. He loves to cause mischief and make trouble, but not with the sole intention to bring misery into people’s lives. Ultimately, he’s just too soft at heart to be a very good demon, which David himself has described beautifully.

AZIRAPHALE: I’m not miserable. CROWLEY: Really?

I really love this little exchange. Crowley sounds genuinely shocked that Aziraphale is so certain in his proclamation that he’s not miserable. And it’s hardly surprising really – I strongly suspect the reason that Crowley is feeling so down in the dumps is because he’s not getting a regular fix of his angel, so it stands to reason that he would expect Aziraphale to feel the same way. He’s probably had a little bit of his heart broken to hear that his angel is seemingly coping without him so well. It’s a good thing we go on to hear that basically the reason why Aziraphale is so happy at this time is because he’s not getting any customers in with the threat of trying to buy one of his books, although the angel’s speech does present the writer with another opportunity to remind us of our obligations at the time – social distancing and STAYING AT HOME.

You have to be paying attention, but Crowley doesn’t seem too pleased with the idea that Aziraphale might have needed rescuing from some errant youths that he wasn’t able to help with; there’s a quiet groan from him when he hears the retelling of the story. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think there was some sort of double entendre going on here with Aziraphale’s tease of there being “a few young lads” who “broke in through the back”, so that groan could actually be one of relief rather than frustration. What is interesting is that Crowley openly mocks the only potential rescue scenarios that Aziraphale would have had available to him – he’s obviously smarting that he didn’t get to be the white knight for once.

CROWLEY: Did you smite them with your wrath?

I’d be very interested to know if the script had been finished and handed to David and Michael at this time, because that particular line feels like a very obvious reference to the smited/smote/smitten exchange. And if the reference is a genuine one, my double entendre idea doesn’t seem so outrageous, given Crowley’s tone – could he be a little bit jealous?

What now follows is the only time that the images in the minisode link directly with the dialogue going on at the time, and they’re all to do with cake. Trigger warning, what follows is a lot of pictures of cake. If, like me, you are inclined to go out and buy cake as soon as you see a picture of one, I would suggest you look away now.

What I love about Crowley’s reception of the knowledge that Aziraphale sent the little vandals away with cake is that he uses the same expression that Anathema uses when she asks about the name of Newt’s car.

CROWLEY: I’m going to regret asking…

His tone shows just what he thinks of the angel’s method for rescuing himself. And if you consider Aziraphale’s tale to be a truthful account of what took place, it does seem odd - that somebody could just have a little chat with some wannabe robbers to change their minds, and then send them away with some excess cake. There is however a missing scene in the Script Book where several thugs enter the bookshop and start to make a mess in an attempt to get Aziraphale to sell the land the shop sits on. In a somewhat “miraculous” turn of events (see what I did there?), they change their mind, clear up the mess they made, and leave without a fuss. I suspect the same sort of turn of events occurred to the lads that turned up to steal the cash box.

AZIRAPHALE: It turns out I have a whole cookbook section here in the bookshop.

I love this idea, that the bookshop is so sprawling and diverse that even Aziraphale doesn’t know what it contains, despite the fact that he must have stocked it in the first place. And I love it because that’s the how every second-hand bookshop feels to me. I’ve spent my fair share of time in Hay-on-Wye and its multitude of bookshops, and I genuinely feel like I could get lost in some of them. There are another couple of lines from Aziraphale that suggests that he does not think it possible to eat anything unless it comes from an eatery.

AZIRAPHALE: Well all the restaurants and cafes are closed […] and I got peckish.

Because he couldn’t just go to the supermarket and buy some cake, could he? Like the rest of us were doing (and were allowed to do). He even goes on to say that he had to miracle the cherries in for one of his creations – quite why it was only the cherries he miracled in I don’t know, I mean he must have gotten the rest of the ingredients from somewhere. Which leads me on to another question – where is the kitchen in the bookshop? There must be some facilities somewhere, otherwise he couldn’t make all of those delightful looking goodies. He’s got to have a kettle or a stove for boiling water/milk at the very least for making his cocoa, so where is all that stuff?

Aziraphale then goes on to reel off a list of cakes that he’s made (another nod to the domestic activities that were going on up and down the country – for those not based in the UK, you might not know that during Lockdown it was virtually impossible to get hold of flour or eggs, largely owing to the huge increase in home baking people did), which includes angel’s food cake (you could argue that all of the cakes he makes is angel’s food cake, hahah. Hah. I’ll get my coat). I don’t know whether it’s interesting, whether it’s an oversight, or whether it’s deliberate, but there’s no devil’s food cake on the list that he gives. I’ve made and eaten devil’s food cake before. It’s awesome. I don’t think that he wouldn’t have made this particular recipe because of its lack of deliciousness. I actually wonder whether its absence is an indicator of Crowley’s eating preferences (and as a reminder, I’m someone who is of the mind that he doesn’t enjoy eating – more on this shortly).

AZIRAPHALE: And then, once I’ve baked them, I have to eat them all myself.

This line makes me properly snort with laughter, because he simultaneously manages to make it sounds like eating all the cake is something he definitely doesn’t want to do whilst also expressing sorrow that he has no-one around to eat them in front of with. The idea that this angel would ever not want to eat food is laughable. Crowley takes the bait on the sub-text though, employing some his tried and tested temptation techniques to try to get what he wants.

CROWLEY: I could hunker down at your place. Slither over and watch you eat cake. I could bring a bottle of- a case of something… drinkable?

This is my favourite line of the whole thing. The throwaway reference to his serpent form is delightful, and who’s to say he wouldn’t transform for his trip over to Soho to avoid being stopped by humans? There’s the idea that he would very much like to get drunk with Aziraphale again, and this time without an impending Armageddon to spoil the mood, and with the knowledge that he wouldn’t be going home at the end of their binge. But most of all there’s that line about the cake. He doesn’t say he can help Aziraphale eat the cake – he says he can come and watch the angel eat it. Which would not only go some way to confirming my suspicions that he doesn’t like to eat but would also help to cement the popular theory that watching Aziraphale eat is a pleasurable experience for him. The whole line is said with such longing too, it’s impossible not to hear it.

AZIRAPHALE: I’m afraid that would be breaking all the rules.

If you listen carefully to Aziraphale’s rejection of Crowley’s (quite frankly, adorable) suggestion, you can hear another little bit of the demon’s heart breaking with disappointment. I suppose he probably shouldn’t be surprised that his request of Aziraphale to go against protocol wouldn’t have gone down well and besides we were all supposed to STAY AT HOME, remember? What sort of a PSA film would this be if people just went around to other people’s houses for some flirting nookie company when there was a Lockdown in place?

AZIRAPHALE: I’ll see you when this is over.

So of course, Aziraphale says no thank you very much (quite a lot of Tory party members could have learned a lot from the angel’s morals, and none of them are half as likeable as he is), but how incredibly sad does he sound at the prospect of not knowing when he and Crowley will see each other again? Crowley might have quietly voiced his disappointment multiple times during the conversation, but Aziraphale’s own disappointment here is stated loud and clear.

Crowley’s upset can be heard again after this very final sounding line from his angel (and this time it breaks my own heart a little bit) but he rallies well, changing his planned nap end time to July, rather than June as declared earlier. It’s a pretty perfect way to get out of missing someone, isn’t it? Just go to sleep until you can see them again; I’m sure there are a lot of people that would definitely be on board with that approach. He doesn’t leave any further room for discussion either:

CROWLEY: Good night, angel.

It’s very definite – conversation over, nothing more to say. My thoughts are that he’s just too depressed to carry on talking on the phone to the one person he would much rather be spending time with in person, and now that he’s found a quick and painless solution to the problem (a nap), he just wants to get on with it. Charmingly though, this parting line sounds nothing like the dismissal it seems like it is when you see it written down. The delivery of this line conveys the familiarity and comfort that exists between the two of them, and actually makes it sound like this is a regular conversation that they have, despite the dialogue suggesting otherwise. As it turned out, July wasn’t really long enough to get completely clear of the restrictions that would see our heroes united freely, but who can blame him for being optimistic? And at least if he’s asleep, he’s definitely STAYING AT HOME.

Well I think that’s the lot for this write up. So much for this being such a short episode that it wouldn’t need a lot of time devoted to it. It was a fun little thing; in truth I think it serves more as a PSA that as an additional source of storyline/character development but that hasn’t dampened my enjoyment of it. Time to move on to season 2 now (which I am both excited and a little bit nervous about – there is so much to say!), so for the meantime, questions, comments, discussion: always welcome 😊

#good omens #episode analysis #ineffable idiots #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #head canon #crowley loves aziraphale #aziraphale loves food #aziraphale loves crowley #aziraphale's bookshop #crowley loves watching aziraphale eat #good omens lockdown

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littlespacereader · 5 months ago

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Okay, so! @shadowlord23 and I were rant and raving about criminal minds, you know, as one would. We were talking about (spoilers) the season where Spencer gets arrested and is stuck in prison. @shadowlord23 made a great point to say “Well what if that happened and he was a caregiver?” CUE MY BRAIN EXPLODING WITH POSSIBILITIES!

I will warn those about to read this. It’s not the usual happy and fluffy fics I usually write. While I did give this a happy ending, the rest of the fic is sad and definitely hurt/comfort up until that point. Please be warned it’s a sad story for the most part.

While in my eyes I see it as Safe for work because I never write anything NSFW or anything +18, I didn’t put the SFW tag on here because of it’s darker tone. But please know that is doesn’t have any graphic violence or anything +18.

This story is one I enjoyed greatly writing! I loved the different type of story, one a bit angsty. Please let me know if you enjoy it! Thank you again for the idea @shadowlord23 ! 🥹🙌

Through the Glass📞

Caregiver! Spencer Reid & GN Little! Reader (plus BAU Family)

Tags - tantrums, lots of crying, hurt and comfort, BAU family unite!, hugs, forehead kisses, happy ending, angst…a lot of it, but a strong CG and Little connection,

TW- mentions of violence, mentions of weapons, talk of police, being ripped away from a cg, going to a prison

They explained the plan me not once but three times. Its supposed to be a simple, Spencer goes into the drug deal alone, he pretends to be the seller in order to get the buyer to show up and somehow manages to get this buyer to confess to the murder of our cases victim.

But there was plenty of things that could go wrong. What if the buyer got spooked and shot at him? What if the government didn’t agree with what we were doing? What if-

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Spencer asked looking concerned.

Spencer and I sat together on the bed in our hotel room. Apparently this plan had already been approved by the team…all but me.

“You told the team first because you knew I wouldn’t be okay with it.” I stated the facts plain and simply. I don’t lift my head up, instead I play this plan over and over in my head.

Spencer sighed before nodding his head, “I know it’s risky-.”

“Risky?! Risky isn’t even the word for it! Spencer you could get shot, arrested or kidnapped?!” I look into his eyes, frantic and scared.

“I know. But you also know that all of that could happen outside of this case too.”

“It doesn’t make it okay…”I cross my arms and look away.

“It doesn’t.” Spencer sat closer, wrapping an arm around me, pulling me into a hug.

Spencer wasn’t a hugging type of person but with me he’s the most cuddly person alive. He knew I needed the comfort in this moment, needed the closeness.

“I just-…I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” I turned and cried into his shoulder, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“And nothing will happen. The team will be monitoring everything. You will be monitoring everything with the team. But…”

“But what?”

“But if something was to happen-“

“Don’t say that! You said-.”

“Nothing is going to go wrong but I also don’t want to leave you without knowing what to do if something did happen.” Spencer quickly explained. “If something did go wrong, I would want you to listen to either your Uncles or your Aunts, okay? They would know what to do.”

I shook my head. I didn’t want to think about this. The BAU is my family. Rossi, Hotch, and Morgan are my uncles while Emily, JJ and Garcia are my aunts. But I didn’t want to go to Uncle Hotch or Aunt Emily. I just want him to be okay.

“B-But you’re going to be okay?”

“I’m going to try my hardest to be okay.” He hugged back tightly. “In and out. Then after we’re done and back home, I promise a certain someone that we would go to the aquarium right?” He said, bouncing the Little in his arms.

“To see the sharks?” They lifted their head up.

“Yes sweet love to see the shark. Just like you wanted. It’s a date, just you, me and the sharks. A Caregiver and Little date. And if it’s a really nice day I may be persuaded to get someone some ice cream after.”

He knew bargaining wasn’t the best tactic when it came to discussing something so important but he knew it would put Y/N mind as ease for the time being. Soon enough they started to relax a bit more in his arms. The once worried adult turned calm Little in his arms.

“And see the fishy?” They lifted their head off his shoulder.

“Yeah all the fish you can imagine!”

“Nemo?”

“Yup. I’m sure they’ve got Nemo there. Maybe even Dory.”

“Wow!”

“I think they also have jellyfish and a starfish.”

“Like Patrick?”

Spencer laughed, “Yes sweetheart just like Patrick.”

“But for now my starfish has to go to bed. We have a big day tomorrow.” Spencer brought them into his arms and laid them down on the bed with him, their head resting on his chest. He leaned over and turned off the lamp.

The two sat like that, just holding onto each other before the stressful day tomorrow planned on bringing.

Out of the darkness, a simple question.

“You’ll be okay, right?”

“I’ll be okay Y/N,” he leaned down and kissed their forehead, “I’ll be okay.”

~~~

There’s a lot of problems with this mission. For one, the BAU was working in a country with a government that wasn’t the fondest of America. Their government is mostly corrupt, and while they knew of our presence and what our case was about, there’s a whole lot of trust issues between the two of us.

The next problem was the setup itself. The team and I would be set up far away from Spencer. Close enough to see the setup with binoculars but far away that yelling would have no real reach. This made it so we could spy on everything but have cover so it wouldn’t create suspicion. The biggest issue with this is it made it so if something went wrong we would be too far away to do much about it.

That plus the million other probabilities played in my head on loop. With the binoculars in hand I looked again to the setup, knowing Spencer would be arriving soon.

“Y/N?”

Morgan placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. Everyone on the team must’ve known I was beyond stressed about this plan. And if they didn’t, they could just profile me and tell immediately. Can’t get away with anything when your Cargiver and Aunts and Uncles are profilers.

“Doing alright there kid?”

And if all else failed and the profiling didn’t help, then the fact they’re all Caregivers would’ve given them all they need to know about me.

It wasn’t a secret to the team that I’m a Little. They’ve all known for years, some even babysitting me. They still respect me as a member of the BAU regardless of my need for regression.

“Yeah, just nervous.” I reply back.

“Really? Because I couldn’t tell. I thought everyone grips binoculars that tightly.”

I looked down at my white knuckles around the binoculars and quickly let them go.

“Y/N, Spencer is going to be-.”

“If you say ‘Spencer is going to be fine’ I’ll lose it.” I quickly say, nerves getting to me.

“Sorry Morgan you don’t deserve that. I just-…” I look out to the scene once more before looking back to him, “They couldn’t have chosen someone else to do this? Like someone not on our team? Someone who’s not my Caregiver?”

“I know, I agree with you. But the higher ups fought Rossi and Hotch tooth and nail to get this setup underway. The government seems to really want this guy in for questioning.”

Before I had a chance to argue, Hotch walked over and interrupted, “Everyone get into positions, Reid is on his way.”

And so it begins. Spencer’s car pulls up to the building. He gets out and immediately goes into the building. JJ and Hotch sit together listening to the microphones hidden in the building while I watch the building with Morgan, while Emily and Rossi monitor all the other areas surrounding it.

20 minutes goes by with nothing, no sight of the unsub or anyone else. My nerves start to get to me. My binoculars shake as I hold them up again, looking at the building once more.

“The unsub is here, 3 o’clock.” Emily calls out.

I turn my binoculars to look and sure enough there he is, white suv pulling up to the building. They enter the building and from there I feel as though I can’t breathe.

JJ relays to us in bits and pieces what’s being said and what’s happening. I keep my eyes on the building hoping to just see Spencer give us the signal to move in.

“Guys we’ve got activity at 9 o’clock.” Morgan calls out.

“What?” I turn my head to look. There shouldn’t be any activity outside of the building, not before we move in.

“What the hell is that?!” Rossi calls out angrily.

I turn my binoculars to look. Not one but six black SUV’s speed towards the building. I look in horror towards the team.

“Who is that?!”

“I don’t know.” Morgan replies looking through his own binoculars.

“They’re going to mess with the setup! What if the unsub shoots Reid? What if these people shoot him?” I start to yell out, but no one seems to hear. Everyone’s eyes are on the building as the SUVs pull up.

Once the SUVs reach the building squad patrols exit the car and start rushing into the building. Men and women in swat gear and assault rifles storm the building from the outside. The SUV outside turn their lights on.

Hotch grabs an extra pair and look to the building as well, “This isn’t drug related. They’re government swat teams.” Hotch almost sighs saying. He knew the implications, this was about to get a lot more complicated.

I kept looking towards the building with my binoculars. The world around me almost frozen in fear.

“Doesn’t the government know we’re working out here?” JJ asked.

“They do but they have jurisdiction over us when it comes to crime related issues.” Rossi replied.

“What the hell does that mean?” Morgan asked, getting angry himself.

“It means whatever happens is out of our hands till we reach an agreement with their government.” Hotch sighed again before looking to me.

I wasn’t listening to a word they were saying. I couldn’t. Reid hadn’t come out of that building yet and I wasn’t going to move till he did.

Then suddenly…

The swat patrol pushes the Unsub from the building, handcuffed and bleeding from his head. “They’ve got the Unsub in custody! Maybe Spencer talked to them.”

But just as I finished my sentence, another swat officer came out of the building with Spencer, hands behind his back cuffed, a black eye and a bleeding lip. The sight made my heart stop.

“They’ve…They’ve got Reid.” I say looking in horror.

“What?!” JJ grabbed a pair of binoculars and looked as well.

“They’re arresting him too. They must think he’s in on it.” Morgan tried to reason.

“W-We can go over there and tell them he’s not!” I put the binoculars down. “Come on, we can get in the SUV and tell them!” I practically begged to Hotch, pulling on his arm. But by the looks on his face, the answer was one I wasn’t going to like.

“Y/N,” Hotch said sincerely, trying to take my hand but started shaking my head, back up as tears began to fall down from my face.

“No! No! We can all get in the SUV and we can go get him! He can’t just be arrest for something he didn’t even do?!” My regression wrapped around me like a vice as my panic blossomed. What’s as going to happen to my Caregiver?!

“Y/N we don’t have jurisdiction here. We are not allowed to get involved with their government.” Rossi tried to say.

“I don’t care what we’re allowed to do! It’s Spencer!! We can’t leave him there!” At this point was was practically yelling, begging the team to do something, but they all just looked at me with worried and concerned eyes. Not the same eyes of my team, but eyes of Caregiver’s worried about a Little.

“Kid, I’m sorry.” Morgan started to say realizing that they were right. There is no other way.

“No! NOOOOO! No! I won’t let him be taken away! I WON’T!” I stomp my foot twice, screaming at the team. I couldn’t help but let my frustration and anxiety get the better of me. I couldn’t stop worrying about him.

“Y/N, honey we have to go. If we don’t and they come here, we’ll all be arrest on conspiracy.” Emily tried to explain.

“I’m not leaving him!” I cried out as tears fell from my eyes, “I’m not! If you won’t go get him, then I will! You can all leave without me!” I take my binoculars and throw them towards the team before storming off and walking towards Spencer direction.

In reality there was no way I could walk there on my own. But I wasn’t thinking logically. I just wanted him so badly and I wasn’t going to stop till I got him.

Hotch and Morgan shared a look before Hotch nods his head, almost giving Morgan permission. Morgan nodded back before he runs over, catching up with me.

“I’m sorry about this kid but you’re going to have to trust us on this.” With one swift motion Morgan picks me up and throws me over his shoulder. “Right now, we know what’s best.”

I absolutely lose it. I start kicking and screaming as Morgan carries be back towards the team. “Noooooo!!! Dadeee!!” I called out, my arms stretched towards the building in the far distance. “NOOOOO!!!”

“Pack the essentials back into the car. We need to leave immediately.” Hotch orders.

Everyone starts rushing around and throwing things into the trunk. By the time Morgan comes back to the SUV I’m just crying, begging to be put down, crying out for Spencer.

Morgan helps me into the backseat and quickly buckled me before I had a chance to bolt again. JJ sits to my right and Emily to my left.

“It’s going to be alright sweetheart. It’s going to be okay.” The two of them say back and forth. But I can’t be consoled. I just cry and cry and cry, clinging onto JJ for comfort, wishing it was Spencer instead.

~~~

Everyone glances back to check on Y/N as the car drives back to the hotel. All worried about Y/N and about Spencer. Their priority is to go somewhere secure to talk, one without anyone listening.

Eventually Y/N’s cries die down to little sniffs and silent tears. Every so often someone tried to talk to them but they stayed silent, in shock from the events of the evening. That worries the team more.

Arriving back at the hotel, the team split into two. Hotch, Rossi and Emily split off to make phone calls and see what they could do about Spencer while Morgan, and JJ stayed with Y/N.

JJ lead the way and Morgan followed behind with Y/N in his arms. The Little just played with the collar of his shirt but doesn’t say anything. Silent tears fall from their eyes as they rest their head on his shoulder.

“Is it okay that they’re so quiet?” Morgan whispered to JJ.

“They’re in shock right now. I think it’s going to take them a moment.” JJ answered back.

With Y/N keycard, they opened the door to there and Spencer’s hotel room. The moment there were back in the room though, the shock start to dissipate.

They lifted their head off Morgan’s shoulder and looked to the bed, almost as if they were expecting Spencer to be in the room. When he wasn’t, they wriggled and pushed to be put down.

“Okay, kiddo just give me a second,” Morgan said as he gentle put them down.

Immediately the moment they were set on the ground they took off, searching the bathroom, the closets and the rest of the room, as if Spencer was hiding somewhere.

Morgan went to go to Y/N but JJ stopped him. “They need to figure this out themselves.” She said softly. Her eyes looked so sad as she watched Y/N look for Spencer in the room.

But everywhere they looked, he was still gone.

Even though it wasn’t a new realization, it hit Y/N as if it is was. They stopped and looked at Spencer’s jacket thrown over the desk chair.

How simply the morning was, the two of them getting ready for the mission tonight. The storybook he read the night before sat absent on the nightstand.

The whole room had the makings of Spencer. All without him being there.

Tears started to fall from Y/N eyes again. They grabbed his jacket and wrapped it around their shoulders.

Everything became so overwhelming at once. The reality of the day was setting in. When would they ever see him again? Would they ever see him again? Would they ever be able to get him out of prison?

Too many unanswered question rattled around in their mind. And with it? Anger. Anger about the fact this happened, about the fact they warned Spencer about doing this, and about the fact they couldn’t do anything about it.

So, like any toddler would. They began to throw a tantrum. First it was cry, and screaming. Then it was throwing every pillow off the bed and onto the ground. Then it was every blanket.

This time JJ wanted to step in and try to comfort Y/N but Morgan stopped her for a moment. “Like you said, they need a moment. This time I think to let it out.”

~~~

An hour later Hotch, Rossi and Emily walked into the room, only to find it looking like a tornado had passed through. Every pillow was on the ground along with the blankets and sheets. Clothes from their suitcases were also everywhere.

JJ was sat on the bed next to a crying and screaming Y/N. She gently tried to rub circles on their back to calm them down but it didn’t seem to be helping. Morgan was standing by the door, unsure how to help.

When the rest of the BAU came into the room, both Morgan and JJ looked exhausted. Hotch quickly stepped in, Emily following closely behind to help JJ out and give her a well needed break.

Once JJ got up Hotch replaced her spot, sitting close to Y/N. Emily took a seat on their other side. All the commotion got the attention of Y/N who stopped crying and screaming for a moment and lifted their head off the bed.

They quickly looked to Emily, tears stained face, “Dadee? Come home?” They simply asked.

Emily looked to Hotch then back to Y/N before replying, “Y/N, getting Spencer back is going to be a bit more complicated than we expected.” She starts to explain.

Rossi join the two, standing near the end of the bed, “We talked with our higher ups and updated them on the situation but…we need to give our reports and we need to start a lot of paper work before we can start the work to get him out.”

Y/N looked between Rossi and Emily confused, what did this mean for Dadee? What did this mean for them?

Hotch right away noticed the confusion. He places a hand on their shoulder, “Y/N, in order to begin working on getting Spencer out of prison, we need to go back to the U.S.” He let those words sink in.

And boy did they sink in like an anchor. Though it seemed impossible at this point, fresh tears started to fall from Y/N’s eyes. “W-We can’t leave him here.” They said in a broken voice.

“We’re not going to sweetheart. I promise we’re not. But for right now we have to head back home so we can begin the process of getting him out. And to do that we need to leave this country just for a little while.” Emily explained taking their hand.

“But we can’t, he’s stuck here! We can’t leave!! I-I don’t have…anyone…” Y/N tried to say before going hysterical again. It was all too much. Too much information at once. They were just about to start hyperventilating.

Hotch, making an executive decision, pulled the Little into his arms and cradled their head on his shoulder. Y/N held onto him tightly, crying into his shoulder. He started gently rocking and bouncing them in his arms.

“Y/N, breath. Take deep breaths with me.” Hotch guides them, helping them out of their hyperventilating.

“You’re not alone Y/N. I can promise you that.” Hotch lifted his head from Y/N and looked at his team of Caregivers. Though he didn’t ask, he knew that they would all be willing to step in and help take care of Y/N while they tried to free Spencer.

“We’ve got you.”

~~~

Four months had passed by. Four long months. It feel like just yesterday I saw Spencer arrested and pulled away. Every day I hope he’s okay and wonder what’s happening across the ocean in that prison he’s stuck in. It leaves me with crazy anxiety.

As for me? I’ve been the traveling Little. Every week I go to a different BAU members house. One week I’m with Hotch, the next I’m with Emily, then Morgan and so on. They’ve all treated me so nice and each house feels like a home with them.

They’ve all comforted me through the process of dealing with the temporary loss of my caregiver. Late nights waking up to the same nightmare. Hotch running into the room and comforting me through a crying fits. Or Garcia making me a cup of coco as a special treat.

They all really live up to their nickname BAU Family.

It’s been months and we aren’t even scratching the surface of getting Spencer out. It’s been killing me having to do this the paper work route and not just break him out myself…if I could.

But while they’re working on it back in the States, Morgan, Garcia, Emily and I made a trip back to the country to visit Spencer in prison.

I just…I need to see him. I need to see him again, talk to him again, and make sure with my own eyes he’s okay.

Once we arrived I stick close to Morgan, holding his hand tightly in mine as we stepped foot in the scary looking prison. I leaned close to his side as we walked down the scary hallways with prisoners yelling and shouting at us.

Finally we made it to the visiting room. Each section was like a small cubicle. A phone hung on each side of the wall with a piece of thick glass separating the visitors from the prisoners.

I promised myself I would try hard not to regress. I wanted to talk to him, see how he was doing and try to help him through the glass as much as I can. But as we entered the room, I could feel my regression screaming to take over.

The guard stopped us before we walked over. “It’s one at a time. And each of you only gets ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?!” Garcia said just as shocked as the rest of us.

“Yes only ten minutes each.”

“Could I give my time to them?” Emily asked, seeing that I was the most anxious to see Spencer.

“No. It’s ten minutes each. Your time starts now. Reid is at cubicle six.” And with that the cold hearted guard walked back to his post.

I looked up at Morgan who gave me a comforting smile, “It’s okay Y/N. Just go spend every minute you can with him.” I nod my head and begin moving to cubicle six. As I walk down the rows I see the other prisoners talking with their friends and family.

But nothing in this world will ever replace the feeling of reach that cubicle and seeing Spencer again.

He smiled warmly at me. His hair is much longer now and his face scruffy, two things I’ve never seen on Spencer before. I start to tear up seeing him. It’s been so long and I’ve been so worried about him. And now? Now he’s here right in front of me.

I immediately take my seat and grab the phone, Spencer does the same. There’s a moment I don’t even know what to say. All these emotions hitting me at once. Tears start to fall from my eyes as I look into his. Thankfully Spencer must’ve realized it and starts the conversation.

“Y/N! It’s so good to see you! I’ve missed you so much!” He smiles again, pure happiness ok his faces.

“I’ve missed you so much. I’ve been worried about you every day wonder that’s happening, what going on there, what’s-.”

“Y/N, Y/N,” he stops me, “I’m okay. I’ve been doing okay here. I promise.” He shared a sad smile with me. Though I know he was trying to reassure me, I didn’t believe him 100%.

“Your hair is so long!” I chuckle.

“It’s is. They don’t give haircuts here.” He joked.

“I like it. It looks nice on you having long hair.”

“Really? Huh. Maybe I’ll keep it then.” He adds pushing his hair back dramatically, I can’t help but chuckle.

“I think about you every day too. I haven’t forgotten our date you know.” He smiles, “The sharks are waiting for us.”

“Yeah…the sharks…” Memories flash back to how we ended up here. I look back up into his eyes, but they’re not the eyes of normal me. They’re the eyes of a Little.

“I miss you.” My voice cracks as more tears start to fall, “I miss your bedtime stories and your cuddles and your hugs.” I begin rambling.

I stop, looking back into his worried eyes, “I just want you back.” I place my hand on the glass, wishing and hoping it would somehow disappear.

He placed his hand on mine, the glass blocking us from actually touching. “I wish I was back with you too. I wish I could be giving you all the cuddle and snuggles you could ever want.”

“I’m working Dadee, I’m working every day to bring you home.” I don’t move my hand from the glass, tears still fall from my eyes as I look into Spencer eyes.

“I know you are darling, I know you are.” He smiles warmly.

“Tell me how you’ve been doing.” Spencer says, trying to change the subject to one more uplifting.

I begin explain everything that’s been happening while he’s been gone. Going between everyone’s houses, the adventures they’ve taken me on.

“Aunt Garcia taught me how to play animal crossing and Uncle Hotch almost set his kitchen on fire when he tried to cook.” I giggle.

“He almost killed my Little?” He joked back.

“No! I saved him with the fire extinguisher!” I say proudly.

“Wow!! I didn’t know you were a firefighter too?” Spencer smiles, making me smile as well.

“Uncle Morgan is trying to get me into jogging with him.” I can’t help but chuckle.

Spencer laughs and smiles, “He’s trying to get you into jogging?“

“Yeah but can’t keep up with him. He’s too fast.”

“I don’t think we’ve jogged a day in our lives.” Spencer laughs some more.

“We haven’t!” I laugh as well, “We just walk in the park. Not running or jogging. Just walking.” I smile, thinking about all the times we’ve walked through the park to our favorite spot. We sit on a blanket together as he reads and I lay down and watch the cloud roll by.

I start rambling, “Me and Mr. Bear have been making a list of all the things we want to do when you’re back. We’ll have tea party, and go to the park, and-.”

“TIME’S UP!” I heard the prison guard yell down to me.

I look over worried then back to Spencer. “No!” I cry out. Looking back at him, trying to memorize his face before they come to get me. “I don’t want to go! I can’t go! Please don’t go!!”

My hand doesn’t leave the window, I hold my hand there not quite ready to take it away. Not ready to leave him. “Please don’t leave! Please!” My eyes meets his, mine looking worried while his look sad. I start to cry.

“It’s okay, Y/N. I promise you I’m going to be okay. I want you to know how much I love you and that I’m thinking of you every day. And how I can’t wait for the day you’ll be back my arms again.” Spencer quickly starts to say, trying to get every last word in.

“Dadee,” I try to catch my breath, “I don’t want to leave you again.” I choke out, trying to catch my breath between sobs.

“We’re not saying goodbye forever bug, we’re just saying goodbye for now.” The world seems to pause for a second as he looks at me and says, “I’ll see you again. I’ll see you soon.”

I nod my head, tears still falling from my face. “I love you.”

Spencer smiled back at me, “I love you too Y/N. I love you so-.”

~~~

Y/N turns to look away from the glass and off to the side. They put their phone down and start shaking their head to someone. Spencer can’t see what they’re looking at or who they’re talking to.

Spencer’s heart shatters as Morgan comes over, placing a hand on their shoulder before he scopes Y/N into his arms. Morgan and Spencer don’t get to talk, but the small nod and look in Morgan’s eye tells him everything he needs to know. Y/N’s in his safe hands.

He watches as Y/N turns and cries into Morgan’s shoulder as he carries them away. With one final glance, the Caregiver and Little lock eyes before Y/N is carried off.

The moment Y/N is out of sight, Spencer breaks down. Trying to put a tough face on for Y/N in showing that he’s alright. But he isn’t. He’s always running the risk of getting beaten up. He’s gotten into one or two of fight which didn’t end well for him. It’s hard being a cop in prison, let alone an FBI agent.

Spencer looks down, crying into his hand. The tough front of ‘everything’s okay’ drops and he’s finally able to let it out. His heart breaks for Y/N. He’s supposed to be there taken care of them, and instead he’s lock up, countries away. All the moments he’s missing out on, all the time.

The phone picks up and someone sits across from him. He doesn’t lift his head till they start talking.

“Reid, I’m so sorry.” Emily tries to say. “These guards aren’t happy with us being here to begin with, and you and I know Y/N would happily fight all of them to have more time with you.”

Spencer wiped his tears and nods. “How-,” he clears his throat, trying not to sound so upset, “How have they been doing?”

“I won’t lie to you, it was definitely a grieving process in the beginning. Then it was getting used to traveling around to everyone’s house every week. But,” She looks off to where Morgan is, holding Y/N in his arms, lightly bouncing them and rubbing their back, “But I think they’re finally starting to settled with us, comfortable regressing.”

She looks into his eyes and shares a comforting smile with him, “They’re doing okay.”

Spencer nods his head taking it all in, “That’s great to hear. I’ve been so worried they haven’t adjusted well, or they’ve been upset about everything.” He rambles.

“They have their moment but they need to have their moments of crying and being upset. Sometimes they need to let it out. I’m just thankful they have people to care for them and allow them a safe space to let it out.” Emily shared a small smile with Spencer.

“So, let’s get down to business before they cut me off.” Emily places her brief case on the table and begins going over their plan for getting him out.

They talk a while longer before Emily’s time is up. Then just when he thought his visit was over, Garcia took a place infront of him.

“Spencer! I love your hair this length! You should keep it this way!” Garcia smiled.

“It’s good to see you too Penelope.”

“So! I’m sure Emily went over all the business stuff with you.” She starts to say, “I’m not here to talk business, I’m here to cheer you up and tell you Y/N’s okay.”

Spencer right away smiles sadly, nodding his head.

“How are they taking it?”

“Very rough, which is to be expected.” She says honestly, “But…they’re not fighting us or trying to go against our help. I think they realizes they need people they can regress freely around so they can process the situation.”

Spencer nods along, listening intently.

Garcia chuckles, “You should only see Hotch and Morgan with them. Talk about softies! You think they’re the toughest men of the BAU? You should only see them when they’re trying to cheer Y/N up. There’s not much they would do.”

Spencer join her in laughing, picture the two of them with Y/N. “That’s something I’d love to see.”

“And I know you will soon. Between our team’s efforts and Y/N determination to find a loophole in the system, you’ll be out of here soon enough.” She smiled warmly.

“I just wanted to take the time to tell you that we’re taking good care of Y/N. Emily paints their nails, JJ and Morgan takes them to the park, Hotch and Rossi have been teaching them how to cook, and I’ve been showing them every movie and playing every video games imaginable.”

Spencer smile again, “Thank you Garcia. Thank you for taking care of my Little one.”

“It’s been our pleasure.” She smiles back. “Hang in there, okay? We’ll see you soon.” She kissed her hand and pressed it to the glass.

Spencer did the same, sharing a small smile with her.

As she stood up and walk away, the guard behind him call his name, visiting hours were up. He sigh, standing up and walking back to his cell. Before he felt empty and now? Now he felt a small glimmer of hope.

~~~

Two more months later there we stood, outside the gates of the prisons waiting endlessly for Spencer. The whole BAU was here to ensure Spencer was brought out safe and sound.

I stood next to Hotch nervously picking at my nails as we waited. He grabbed my hand gently, stopping me from the nervous habit. “It’s okay Y/N. You have nothing to worry about.” He took my hand in his, gently rubbing his thumb over my knuckles.

“But what if-.”

“There’s nothing they can do to keep him in there.” Rossi cuts me off. “They have to release him today.” He reassured.

I nod my head, still not so sure. So there we wait, and wait, and wait.

“Did they give us a time?” JJ asks.

“They said 12 o’clock.” Emily replies.

“And it’s…” Morgan asks.

“It’s 1:37.”

We all sigh.

“If they don’t release him by 2 we’ll raise hell. But for now we’ll wait.” Hotch replies to the group. Looking to me and sharing a small smile.

So we wait some more.

I lean against Hotch’s arms watching the gate endlessly.

Suddenly there’s a loud alarm sound and the gate starts to open. I squeeze Hotch’s hand. “Is it Spencer? Is it him?” I look to him eagerly.

“Let’s wait a moment and see before we go over.” The group watch as the gate opens and a prisoner walks out.

There’s no denying who that is. His hair much longer, almost to his shoulders. His face unkept. But his smile towards the group is the most recognizable sign that it’s him.

I look to Hotch who gives me a smile and a nod.

With that I take off! I start running like my life depends on it. Spencer smile only grows as he sees me running towards him. He kneels down, opening his arms wide.

After months of being without him, it lead us to this moment. I tears fall from my eyes as I finally embrace him, running right into his arms. He wraps his arms around me and picks me up, spinning us around while hugging me tight against him.

We stop, just holding onto each other, tears running down both our faces. “Spencer!! Dadee! I miss you!! I missed you so much!” I cry into his shoulder, holding onto him to tightly.

“I miss you so much. I’ve thought about you every day, thought about this moment every day. I couldn’t wait to hug my little bug again.”

We’ve both been waiting for this moment forever. Long nights sleeping in my bed wishing I could just be cuddled up with Spencer, nightmares that I wish he could protect me from, adventures I wish he would take me on.

It was all over. I held onto with a tight grip. As if I didn’t he would disappear. Finally no more glass to separate us any longer. We are finally back together again. And we’re never leaving each others side.

We break apart but only for a moment as we look into each other’s eyes, “I did it. I got the paper work and I demanded they release you. I never stopped fighting for you.” I cry.

Spencer reaches up and wiped the tears away, “I couldn’t be more grateful for you. Thank you Y/N.” He pulls me back into a tight hug, kissing the side of my head.

The recovery was going to be a long one. Spencer was definitely going to need some time away from the BAU and so was Y/N. They needed to catch up on loss time and deal with what happened together. But for now…

“Now we can go to the aquarium!” I mumble, squish in our hug.

Spencer chuckles. We break apart and he takes my hand in mine. “It would be my honor to finally take you to the aquarium.” He smiles back.

Together we walk towards the rest of the team, hand in hand. Reunited at last.

“What fish are you most excited to see?” I asks as we walk.

“Maybe a star fish.” Spencer replies.

“A star fish?!”

“Yeah. What’s wrong with that?”

“But that’s not even a fish?”

“It’s close to a fish but not technically a fish.”

“Then why is it called star fish?”

“I…don’t actually know. We’ll just have to ask one when we see it.” Spencer smiles, squeezing my hand. I giggle at the silliness and squeeze his hand right back.

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 2 years ago

Text

A Day with Duckie (Sequel to Three Generations)

Pairing: Rooster / Fem!Reader (Wife!Reader)

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Rooster is a Dad; Female Reader with No Name or Physical Description, No Y/N, Third Person POV; OC Bradshaw Kid without Physical Description (minus a reference to his smile being similar to Rooster's)

This work, all of my other works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only.

Summary: Maverick takes Kai to the zoo for the day and finds out why Rooster was so insistent upon needing a babysitter.

Part of Three Generations Universe

Master List

About three months after the mission, the Bradshaw family permanently moved from Virginia Beach to San Diego. And they even moved into a house that was only a seven-minute drive from Maverick’s small residence. So, Maverick was over just about every other day. He tried to not encroach on their family time, but Rooster and his wife assured Maverick that they loved having him around.

And the free babysitting offers.

Rooster’s wife always sounded worried that she was completely inconveniencing him when she asked Maverick to pick Kai up from daycare or watch him for a few hours, but Maverick hadn’t turned them down once. He already missed so much time out of Kai’s life and Rooster’s, so any opportunity that he had to spend with either of them, he was going to take it.

And today, Maverick was going to take Kai out to the zoo for the day. Rooster texted him a few days ago, practically begging for Maverick to watch Kai for a few hours, and even offered to pay him. As if Maverick would take any money for watching Grandbaby Goose.

Gliding through the relatively quaint streets of Miramar, Maverick hummed a tune to himself as he made his way to the Bradshaw family home. He pulled into the driveway and parked his Kawasaki beside the Bronco. Turning off the engine, Maverick reached up to undo the strap of his new helmet that Penny bought him only a month ago.

It followed an afternoon where Kai was learning how to ride his bike and gave his mom a bit of sass about not needing to wear a helmet since ‘Mav doesn’t wear one.’ And, so, every time that there was even a chance that Maverick would see Kai, he wore his helmet. Penny even somehow got one customized to replicate the markings on his pilot helmet.

Walking up to the Bradshaw house, Maverick knocked on the door and waited patiently to be let inside. A few seconds later, Rooster opened the door. But before Maverick could even greet him, he was attacked by a very excited four-year-old with seemingly limitless energy.

“Mav!” Kai screeched happily, wrapping his little body around Maverick’s leg.

“Hey, Kai,” Maverick chuckled, stumbling back a little bit. “You excited to go to the zoo?”

“Yeah!”

“And what do you say to Mav for taking you to the zoo?” Rooster asked his son, in that classic ‘parent giving a lesson’ tone.

“Thank you, Mav!”

“Anytime, Kai,” Maverick chuckled, ruffling Kai’s hair.

“Thanks for taking him again,” Rooster replied, letting Maverick hobble inside with Kai on his leg. “We really appreciate it.”

“Stop thanking me for it,” Maverick told Rooster with the classic grandparent tone.

“Can we go?” Kai pleaded, grabbing Maverick’s hand and tugging it a bit.

“Kai, wait a second. Your mom’s still packing your bag,” Rooster stated somewhat firmly. “And you need to put some sunscreen on.”

Kai let out a sigh, but stopped tugging on Maverick’s hand. When Rooster walked off to grab some sunscreen, Maverick squatted down to Kai’s height and motioned for him to come closer, like he had government secrets. Kai quickly perked up and cupped his little hands around his ear for Maverick to whisper his ‘secret.’

“Don’t worry. The zoo’s not even open yet. We’re not missing out on anything,” Maverick assured Kai, poking him in the side.

Kai let out a little giggle and curled away from Maverick, rubbing his side. But the smile on Kai’s face quickly dropped when he saw Rooster returning with sunscreen in hand. Kai didn’t fight his dad, but he certainly pouted through the whole thing. He even shot Maverick a look that screamed ‘see what I have to deal with?’ that made Maverick have to hide a chuckle behind his hand.

As Rooster was finishing up with Kai’s sunscreen, Rooster’s wife walked into the room with a small bag for the day. She greeted Maverick with a wide, kind smile and a quick squeeze of a hug.

“Thank you again for taking him to the zoo,” Rooster’s wife stated as she handed the bag over to Maverick. “He’s been dying to go since we moved out here.”

“Any time,” Maverick assured her, putting the bag on his shoulder.

“Can we go now?” Kai called loudly, sliding out of his dad’s grip easily due to the sunscreen.

“Yeah, you can go,” Rooster replied, handing the bottle of sunscreen over to Maverick. “Behave for Maverick, okay, Kai?”

After a quick set of goodbyes and Kai all but dragging Maverick through the front door, they headed out for the day. Rooster handed Maverick the keys to his wife’s car, which was the car with Kai’s car seat already in it. Maverick set up Kai in his seat and put his little backpack down on the ground before walking around to the driver’s seat.

“Alright, talk to me, Duckie. Am I clear to maneuver?” Maverick asked Kai as he started the car.

Kai made a dramatic show of whipping around to check the driveway and the road for any sign of cars or other hazards. And Maverick, although he already knew that he was clear and was going to triple check for any dangers anyways with precious cargo in the backseat, waited patiently for Kai to finish up with his thorough check.

“You’re clear, Mav!”

“Copy that, Duckie.”

~~~~~

The zoo was rather full on a nice Saturday, but Maverick and Kai intended to have a good time anyways. Kai was still bursting with energy and pointing at everything that he could see and identify. And even though his identification skills were not always accurate, he certainly sold his story.

Kai waved to his ‘Uncle Coyote,’ even though the animal in question was certainly not Javy Machado and was actually a wolf, not a coyote. He also practically screamed in greeting to ‘Grandpa Goose,’ even though the animal was actually a spoonbill.

Maverick was having a wonderful time and happily snapped plenty of photos of Kai for Rooster and his wife in front of just about every exhibit. They made their way through the penguins, the big cats, and now they were on their way over to the reptiles. And, of course, they had to stop by the grander bird exhibits before they left.

Walking around the outside exhibits, Maverick led Kai by the hand as they entered the tortoise area. However, Maverick quickly noticed a frazzled looking zookeeper diverting people further down the path. And when Maverick saw what the tortoises were doing, he quickly understood the situation.

“Let’s keep walking, Kai,” Maverick tried to urge Kai, but Kai inherited his father’s stubbornness.

“But I want to see the turtles,” Kai stated, tugging a bit on Maverick’s hand. “They’re right there.”

“Oh, yeah, they are,” Maverick chuckled nervously, sharing a look with the flustered zookeeper. “Alright, we saw them, so—”

“—What are they doing?” Kai asked curiously, turning to the zookeeper.

“Um,” the zookeeper grunted out, forcing a smile, “they’re, uh . . . they’re just playing with each other.”

“Oh,” Kai held out, nodding along. He turned to Maverick with an innocent smile. “I saw Mommy and Daddy playing like that!”

The zookeeper let out a noise between a squeak and a gasp and slapped a hand over their mouth. A set of heads swiveled over to Kai and Maverick as Maverick tried to not let his eyes pop out of his skill. Maverick didn’t get embarrassed often or severely. But holy hell, he wanted to get away from those stupid turtles or tortoises or whatever the hell they were in that exact moment.

And, well, maybe he figured out why Rooster was so desperate to have someone babysit Kai.

“That’s . . .” Maverick trailed off, unable to find the right word to use. After a few more moments, Maverick quickly whipped around and pointed over at the next exhibit. “Oh, look, Kai, there’s some ducks over there!”

“Where?” Kai asked, whipping around too.

“Oh, you just missed them, but they went this way, come on,” Maverick replied, dragging Kai with him.

“Okay!”

~~~~~

After a dinner of burgers, fries, and milkshakes and a quick stop at a hardware store, Maverick and Kai returned to the Bradshaw family home.

The sun had already started to set, but there was still a glow of light left in the day. Kai was a bit sleepy, so Maverick scooped him up and carried him inside. Kai insisted that he was old enough to not take a nap, but his energy still seemed to have a limit. At least after 5 PM.

The door was already open for him by the time that Maverick walked around. Rooster stepped outside, dressed in a pair of gym shorts and a casual tank top. He smiled softly when he spotted Kai half-asleep against Maverick’s shoulder.

“You tuckered out, Kai?” Rooster called out to his son.

“No,” Kai protested sleepily.

“Alright,” Rooster replied with a light chuckle, taking Kai into his arms.

“I got a you, Daddy,” Kai stated, picking his head up as he transferred hands.

“A me?” Rooster asked, sounding confused.

Maverick opened the bag that he was carrying and held up a brand-new stuffed rooster from the zoo gift shop. Rooster let out a light laugh before pressing a kiss to the top of Kai’s head.

“Yeah, you did, bud,” Rooster agreed as he headed inside. As Maverick stepped inside behind Rooster, Rooster’s wife walked over.

“Hi, Kai. Hi, Mav, how was the zoo?” she asked kindly.

“Well, I can’t speak for Duckie, but I had a great time,” Maverick replied, smiling proudly.

“Was it fun, Kai, honey?” Rooster’s wife called again, rubbing his back soothingly.

“Good,” Kai mumbled out quietly.

“Ok, let’s get you to bed,” Rooster’s wife stated, pulling Kai into her arms and heading for the stairs. She shot Mav a smile and a small wave. “Thanks for taking him, Mav.”

“Any time,” Maverick replied, returning the nod. Once Kai and his mom were out of earshot, Maverick turned to Rooster. “But I have one last gift for you.”

“What? What gift?” Rooster asked, sounding confused.

Maverick led Rooster out to the car and pulled out a bag from the trunk. Handing it over to Rooster, Maverick motioned for Rooster to open it. Rooster shot Maverick a look, but begrudgingly opened the bag. Pulling out the door lock that Maverick bought him, Rooster took about three half-seconds to register what the gift was, before turning pink with embarrassment.

“He told you?” Rooster groaned, holding a hand to his face.

“Well, apparently there were two tortoises who were ‘playing’ like ‘Mommy and Daddy’ at the zoo,” Maverick replied, folding his arms over his chest. “He forgot about it in about three seconds, but I thought that I should get you a lock. Just in case.”

“You cannot tell anyone,” Rooster begged Maverick, grabbing his shoulder gently. “Mav, I’m dead serious. My wife wouldn’t even look at me for a day after that.”

“I won’t,” Maverick assured Rooster. “Just wanted to spread the embarrassment.”

“You know that I can’t bring this inside, right?” Rooster replied, holding up the lock.

“I’ll leave it in your car,” Maverick stated, plucking it out of Rooster’s hand and putting it into the Bronco. Chuckling to himself, Maverick shook his head, far too proud of himself and this little joke. “You know, if you and the missus needed some alone time, you could have just said that. I babysat you all the time so that your parents could—”

“—Mav, as much as I would love to talk about that,” Rooster interjected, causing Maverick to laugh. “But thank you for watching Kai. We really appreciate it. And he really looks up to you and likes spending time with you.”

“I’m always here if you guys need me,” Maverick promised, nodding curtly. “And tell Duckie that I’ll have the side car attached to my old bike in about a week.”

“I will,” Rooster returned, before he paused. “Wait, what!?”

#rooster x reader #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun fanfiction #tgm #tgm fic #pete maverick mitchell

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strawberry-milkbunny · 1 year ago

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Naruto is my Roman Empire and I’ve been reading MadaTobi fanfics so these r my Founders Thoughts that nobody asked for:

- Tobirama had a crush on Madara and it PISSED HIM OFF like they def had hate sex at one point LMAO

- they literally worked together ur rlly gonna tell me they didn’t have SOME moments of civility btwn them?? (lowkey that’s wild tho having to see ur brother’s murderer everyday at work-I like Tobi but I’m just sayin)

I WANT A WORKPLACE SITCOM WITH THE FOUNDERS SJSKKSKS:

- Tobi doing experiments and scaring the villagers

- Tobi teaming up with Madara to make Hashi do work

- Hashi making flowers w/government documents

- Mito sipping tea while encouraging Tobi to revive the dead

- everyone in the Tower side eying the sexual tension btwn Madara and Tobi and them never denying they’ve fucked before

- Toka cackling in the background

- Hikaku spraying water at Madara like a cat every time he throws a temper tantrum

- Kagami popping in to make sure his clan head doesn’t kill his teacher PERFECT SITCOM MATERIAL

- totally personal preference: Naruto should’ve had more BLOOD AND GORE. I wanna see the grittiness and horror the shinobi world actually is and how revolutionary Naruto as a character is by choosing peace over violence. The only time we get that is Obito vs Kiri nin, Uchiha Massacre, Wave Arc, Orochimaru…before it turns into DBZ fights

I’ve said this before: Sasuke was in a seinen Naruto was in a shounen

- the warring states is literally the perfect place for exhibiting the horrors of war and humanity. Bloodline thieves, child hunting squads, GIVE. IT. TO. ME. Madara and Hashirama experiencing all of this and wanting PEACE FOR THEIR YOUNGER BROTHERS UGHHH ROBBERY‼️‼️

SORRY TW IMPLIED SA !!:

I HC that bloodline thieves is prob why Madara wears gloves….being a YOUNG (he’s been on the battlefield since he was 8??) powerful, prodigy and future clan head of a famous kekkai genkai it makes sense why he doesn’t like skin-contact/sexual repression and repulsion. And why we don’t see female Uchiha shinobi (excluding misogyny) simply bc there’s such a high risk of SA in this era

Moving on:

- Tobi and Izuna were jealous of how their brothers were being taken away. It goes past the senju/uchiha rivalry like they were just kids and were plain jealous.

- Madara and hashirama def share 1 brain cell LOLLL. Like they’re besties for a reason, Madara acts likes he smarter but nah he’s as much of an idiot as Hashi is. They’re both dreamers let these boys live and skip rocks together!!! 😭😭

- let’s be honest: Tobi built the village. Mans was doing ALL the logistics and infrastructure

- tobirama is soooo second son/eldest daughter coded it’s not even funny. The SPARE, serious and emotionless bc he needed to always clean up after his siblings, DUTIFUL, prob has a praise kink etc.

- Madara is an eldest daughter who also prob has a praise kink and touch starved

- NONE of the founders r well adjusted like they went from spending everyday of their lives at war to tryin bring peace and start essentially a ninja-revolution (PLS GO TO THERAPY)

- madara was just the most open about it: being isolated and feared by his own clan BC he was powerful, trying advocate for the village and peace, all while grieving for his last brother…yeah it makes sense y he went crazy or at least wanted to leave (fuck Kishimoto for that Kaguya bs and fuck Zetsu)

- I don’t actually believe he was trying destroy the village idkkk. I think he was trying to do an SNS aka using fighting as a way to communicate with Hashirama and well…yIkEs

- tobirama is 1000% unadjusted: mans literally created a Justu to revive the dead. You cannot tell me that doesn’t REEK of desperation and loneliness. He’s lit rally the OG mad scientist

- hashirama rlly thought sealing the Bijuu and giving them to each village was a good idea….sir WHO TF GIVES NUCLEAR WEAPONS TO SHINOBI???!! 😳😳

- I think hashirama and naruto lowkey can be summed up as: a powerful idealist. Which is a very dangerous combination. Take that how you will especially considering how shinobi thrive off of violence….it kinda makes sense how we ended up with canon Naruto

- Madara has a god complex and knows it. Hashirama has a god-complex and doesn’t know it. (God of Shinobi title def got to him and understandable)

- the founders failed and they know it. But I also kinda love it?? They’re so flawed and human as leaders and you can see how their mistakes drag into Canon Naruto. It also makes me so sad knowing that Konoha was built to prevent child soldiers and give protection only for it to actually be WORSE (Kakashi ITACHI SANNIN ik for a fact it must’ve hurt Hashi to know ur own granddaughter left the village)

Uchiha are: love is the death of duty while the Senju are: duty is the death of love and neither of them will forgive each other for picking one over the other‼️‼️‼️

- proving this ^^ w/Hashirama’s weird af characterization: aka him being a loveable idiot but at the same time CONGRATULATING Itachi for killing his own clan for Konoha…. I feel like that rlly showed me how much of a war veteran/shinobi Hashirama actually is and how he will always pick duty

- we were ROBBED of baby Kagami/hokage Kagami 😤😤😤 I’m sorry Kagami should’ve been made Hokage it just makes sense personality wise and politically wise. The only way I could see him not take it is bc he needed to be a clan leader/placate the Uchiha/help Hikaku.

- I wanna see him process the loss of his clan leader, teacher, and eventually friends to a point where Danzo takes his eyes

- everyone on Team Tobirama had a crush on Kagami at one point

- one of my fav HC: Tobi and Madara co-parenting Kagami. There’s no way Madara didn’t check up on Kagami being taught by THE senju which makes his defection hit harder for Kagami 😭😭

- BABY SANNIN ‼️‼️‼️ Tsunade was old enough to meet and remember Hashirama it makes sense that Oro and Jiraiya meet the founders

- omg could u imagine being Edo Tensei Hashirama?? Ur granddaughter’s weird friend revives u using the Jutsu ur brother invented that you specifically FORBID 😭😭

- Hashi and Tobi staring at Orochimaru like “you look familiar???” IT HAS SO MUCH COMEDIC POTENTIAL

- Mito revolutionized female shinobi like she’s def the reason ppl realized that girls can fight (Senju Toka was an exception) STAN MITO 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

- Mito pulled a Tsunade and mentally yeeted out of Konoha after Hashi and Tobi died. Bc the way we NEVER hear about her and Hiruzen interacting except for Kushina, even tho she’s literally RELATED to the other 2 hokages….ROBBED 😵‍💫

- I HC: she was dealing w/grief (the fall of Uzushio made it worse) and she was lowkey pushed out of the council by Danzo FUCK DANZO

- I love the idea of Mito wooing for Hashirama’s hand/politically smart Mito!! It was a political marriage that grew into love. There’s no way she DIDNT suspect an attack on Uzushio lik it’s literally an island w/Kiri as it’s neighbours….Konoha gets recognition and stability while Uzushio importantly gets mainland allies

- Mito tops btw she’s def pegged Hashi before 🫢

- if Madara or Hashi had sisters/born women they would’ve def had a marriage to solidify their alliance. This makes Japanese homophobia not make sense esp in the shinobi world bc their clans trusted each other w/o backup like marriage?? Idk I’m just kinda confused y it was never even brought up for an alliance…

*cue MadaTobi arranged marriage au 100k, enemies to lovers, slowburn*

- also to dude bros homophobia has no place in the Naruto world (and IRL BTW) outside of making heirs. They’re literally MERCENARIES You telling me Kakashi has never fucked another man for information before??? Pls be serious I’m begging y’all 🙃🙃🙃

- there’s def family drama amongst the senju!! Idk I feel like Hashirama and Tobirama have the relationship of: “they love each other but don’t like each other” which makes Madara’s inclusion even worse for the brothers’ relationship. Like they def always had each other’s backs but never actually felt like they understood each other.

- I wish more fanfics/canon covered the shinobi-civilian politics more (I love politics lol give me world-building kishimoto 😤)

- Civilians hold power. THEY have all the MONEY to pay shinobi

- I’ve rlly only seen 1 fanfic that involves the Fire Daimyo during the Warring States Era (Into the Wide Blue Yonder it’s a KakaSasu Time travel fic that actually ✨works✨ 12/10 recommend) but it’s true.

Wtf is the Fire Daimyo doing during this era??? Why is he being so placate about Senju/Uchiha war unless he just sees it as entertainment?? How have shinobi NOT fought against rich civilian politicians before?? (Introducing Maoism to the naruto world lol 🤔🤔)

- Kishimoto curse ur goldfish brain….

- the uchiha and senju were def broke in this era, LMAO especially the Uchiha and I mean resource wise. War is EXPENSIVE the Uchiha don’t have Hashirama and Mokutan, they couldn’t just grow food whenever they wanted. It makes total sense that they would agree to a ceasefire just to prevent STARVATION

- once again…. robbed in terms of seeing the aftermath and devastation of war and learning how to live in a morally grey, politically unstable, resource limited world which could’ve brought in the ultimate themes of peace and the cycle of violence, and the question of if violence and war is ever justified, but…..no ❤️

#naruto #MadaTobi #hashirama senju #mito uzumaki #senju tobirama #madara uchiha #kagami uchiha #brainrot.txt #roman empire #silly little thoughts #warring states era #I think I’m a Madara stan now???#I blame ao3 for my MadaTobi brainrot phase #pls give me a founders sitcom #tw sa implied

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whereserpentswalk · 5 months ago

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The Night Hunt

I need to eat. It’s not eating anymore. It doesn’t feel like thirst or hunger. It’s not something I would have understood as a human. I feel like I’m going to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t think anyone would mind if I did. My mouth is shaped so differently than it once was, I can’t move my jaws, I feel empty, I need it to fill me, and I feel empty.

The upper west side vampiric community center was cramped, getting everything it could from limited funds and real estate. The walls were white and the lighting sterile, their deadness only broken by overly enthusiastic posters. It was strange looking at the other vampires in the building, most of them seemed to be doing much better than me. Even most of the ones that ones you could tell weren’t human at a glance usually looked more human than me. It felt like everyone I saw was doing better than me, the petite girl in a black dress talking to her parents on the phone, the bearded man with cats eyes dressed in fancy clothes he had probably owned some version of for centuries, the snake mouthed person guzzling down a can of commercially sold blood like it was soda. I could assume a lot of the vampires I saw here had supportive families, and many others were old enough to be well adjusted to their lives. It almost hurt looking at vampires who could pass better than me, or who could better mask vampiric traits, this embarrassing envy, that I was a monster even by the standards of monsters.

I could have socialized, but I was too tired, and too thirsty. I had just been denied a good behavior slip by the New York State government, and thus denied a month’s supply of donated blood, and the building stopped being somewhere I wanted to be. Most vampires can’t get a good behavior slip, A lot don’t even try just because of how humiliating and restrictive life during the audit can be. A lot of them live off of relatives’ and friend’s blood, or buy it wholesale. I don’t have the option for either of those, at least not consistently.

I walked up Broadway, when I left, below the safety of the dark sky, and the calming yellow light of the windows, past the old brick buildings of a childhood that now seems alien to me. Best to get outside time in while I can, it’s summer, giving me few hours before the sun rises. It’s strange to remember when I walked down that street as a human. That deep loss of something I can remember but will never feel once more. Remembering how easy things were. When the restaurants smelled good to my body, instead of sickly sweet. It would’ve made me cry to see myself reflected in a window, if my eyes had tears to cry. To see I was the type of vampire other even other vampires shunning, too vampiric perhaps, to close to what they all fear being, too close to what they’re all accused of. I used to think of losing my humanity was a horrible fate, and now I am the bad ending for so many other nonhumans. I wonder how many of my kind’s advocates think I’m worthy of oppression. They say not all vampires look horrifying to humans, but I look horrifying to humans. They say not all vampires think violent thoughts about humans automatically, but I find myself doing that so often. They say not all vampires are weak to sunlight, or are hurt by symbols of their prior faith, but I am, and it hurts, and if acceptance means telling people it doesn’t hurt I’ll just get hurt more.

I tried to think of something to distract myself. Tried to think of friends who still cared about me, about that show I wanted to finish, tired to think about that Lord of the Rings fanfic that I wrote in middle school that I had though about on that street, on a bright day so alien to the humid night I walked through. No matter what I thought about there was always blood in the back on my mind. Even when a vampire isn’t thinking about blood directly, when they’re low, as almost fatally low as I was, it’s always able to be felt in the background. I could feel my body’s desire for blood, feel the pain and weakness of not having it. It was strange, to know that my body hurt because it wanted like, that my body only transformed into a vampire because it would have died from being bitten by one if it hadn’t. My body wanted to live as a vampire so much more than I did. My hands shook, my gate more unbalanced, more stumbling than it usually was, my twisted and inhuman mouth, the most inhuman part of my body, salivating. The staggered and almost animalistic walk must have made me look even more like a monster. The pigeons flew away when they saw me, they must have known, or maybe that’s just what pigeons are like.

My once tan skin now so pale my organs are visible, my once fit body now skinny, my brown eyes forever white, and my mouth perfectly round and unmoving and filled with sharp tooth after sharp tooth like a lamprey. All so perfect to drink blood, all built to drain blood. It hurts to think I’ll probably be in this body for centuries. The same hoodie I’d been wearing for days still covers me a bit, as does my mess of uncut hair, I don’t really have to wash these things without human oils on my body anymore. It’s not good to think too long about that fact. There is no wonder my parents would rather consider their precious daughter basically dead, than know that she lived as this. I might do the same if I had a choice. I think about when I was turned sometimes, how I didn’t get to be turned out of love, or lust, or spite, how the bite was meant to kill me, how it would have killed me if I wasn’t rushed to the hospital, or if I hadn’t fought the attacker off. I never even knew the name of the vampire who attacked me. I didn’t know why he did at the time, I assumed it was from hate, I understand now, I would never defend attacking someone like that but I understand, he was hungry, I know how it feels to want blood like how he must have. People would have had me better in their memories if I had died, nobody admits it, but it’s true, my parents convinced themselves I had on religious grounds, saying my soul had left my body, I understand why, my reputation was not tarnished.

As I walked past stores and restaurants that had closed hours earlier, saw how little the world wanted me. I wondered how I would keep existing. I remembered that my transformation has made it so I wouldn’t age, couldn’t die a natural death at all, I realized how strange it would be for me to exist in a body like the one I did for hundreds more years, thousands if I got lucky. There was the feeling that maybe I’d be murdered, most of society didn’t even want the most human passing, most privileged vampires to live, it sucked even for people who had it so much better than me, maybe I’d just die, maybe one of those monster hunter gangs would finally due me in like they always threaten to online. But what if I didn’t, what if I had to still live. If I actually had put the work in to having positive relationships with the community maybe some vampiric elder would be able to tell me. As it was I felt lost, I didn’t know what I could be doing a hundred years from where I stood. Would things be better than, for me, for us? Would I be ok?

For a moment my eye caught a girl around my age. As a human I would have felt lust for her, she had that exact look that I used to like. Glistening hair dyed a candy colored red, a pale pink Cowboy Bebop t-shirt covering her chest. I would have felt lust, or perhaps a more noble sounding attraction, but now that part of me is gone, and seeing a young healthy body like that just makes me think about what it would be like to drink her instead of making me think about being in bed with her. I knew it was wrong, but it would feel so good, to feel my mouth punch into her neck, and drain her dry. I don’t want to feel this way, the logical part of my brain doesn’t like feeling this way, but it’s a feeling in my body. When I looked at her soft skin my teeth ever so slightly extended outwards, and the tiredness from the pain of thirst temporarily ceasing as my body filled with energy, my dreaming mind fantasizing about holding her as I drank her blood, as ashamed as I am of such thoughts, as little as I’d want to ever hurt someone like her, it felt so good in the moment just to fantasize. It was the closest I still had to feeling anything sexual or romantic, as many social media posts as there are telling you it’s a myth that all vampires lose their sexual or romantic feelings, it’s true for me, I don’t even have breasts or sex organs anymore, as horrifying as that is to even acknowledge about myself. Just another thing that makes me seem less human, and just another thing that makes drinking human blood seem to desirable. I didn’t want to hurt her, just looking at her walking, she seemed so happy, so pure.

I did nothing, yet she still crossed the street. I understood, it was late, and I was a ragged looking vampire walking near her, she had a right to feel safe. I ran, as thirsty as my body was I didn’t want to be near her, and didn’t want to cause a scene.

Best to flee uptown, Time Square is filled with Faeries, and Central Park with werewolves, and neither take kindly to my kind in the places they tend to hang out. There is a safety in being human, despite all the stories of young maidens scratched up in monster’s arms, with blood contrasting on top of their pretty white skin, most monsters with ill wills are way more likely to target other species of monster rather than humans. Humans are often well armed, and well defended by the law, and so many monsters are so eager to prove their kind’s validity through their hatred of another species of monster.

My running only stopped when I had to cross the street to avoid a church. One of those big ornate ones you’d see a vampiric villain hang out in in a thriller movie, with that shining stained glass they haven’t built in generations. They say it’s not anything divine that burns vampires that are weak to holy symbols, it’s just the memory of faith that hurts, the memory of the most human of all actions. Doesn’t change the fact that the pope still says we don’t have souls. The church ghosts all fled, they floated somewhere else just from seeing me, I wanted to yell to them “What? Are you too good even to haunt me.” I didn’t of course, I didn’t want to cause a scene. Maybe I would have if I wasn’t so weak from thirst.

I can’t get blood. The state won’t give it to me. My friends would say no if I asked. I can’t afford to buy it. I dropped out of school when I was turned, there wasn’t accommodation, and late classes were hard to get. Most of the friends I still have either treat me like a tragedy to fawn over, or like I could kill them at any time, they’re only human after all. I guess that’s why they recommend socializing with other monsters. I barely look for work anymore, even well-meaning humans are uncomfortable around me, though to be fair I’ve done nothing not to make them uncomfortable, and it’s impossible to ask them to close daytime windows, or keep silver and garlic away. I spend so much time on the internet. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be this thirsty. I don’t want to look this way, and I don’t want to need blood. I never chose any of this, never chose to be bitten, never chose to be saved.

For a moment I saw another person on the street, alone with me. Some rich kid staggering drunk and barely knowing where he is, a sweatshirt from some fancy wizarding school clinging on to his body. His rosy yet pale cheeks, so vulnerable, not so privileged that he could hurt me, just privileged enough to feel like every bad though I could have towards him was punching up. He was the exact type of asshole that I’d expect to call me a slur, to be proud that wizards like him had engaged in just enough vampire hunts in the thirties and forties to be considered another type of human. But he didn’t. He didn’t notice me at all, he just sang to himself with his earbuds in and his eyes glued to his phone as he stumbled past closed stores.

I can smell blood on his lips. I remember that there is another way to quench my thirst. I’d have to drain him dry so that nobody would know. I don’t want to. I don’t want to be that type of vampire. His body is so fresh, I’d be full for like a year. I can’t stop looking at him and remembering my life. He’ll run but I can catch up to him, and he’ll taste so good. And I would be so hard to catch if I drained him to death, he’s a stranger, the case would go cold. I need blood, and he has blood, it’s like a trolly problem, you don’t need sadism to pick yourself when you’re tied to the tracks. And I can’t think of another way I could get blood before starving to death. It feels weird to grab his wrist as he struggles, too thirsty to think too deeply. I don’t want to look at his face when he screams, but something deep within me is excited to hear a human scream. I feel sorry for him I think, he didn’t deserve this, I didn’t deserve this, if things were different… well they aren’t different. God my voice sounds demonic with this mouth. “I’m sorry, but I have to do this.”

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mockerycrow · 2 years ago

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Undercover III (Soap x GN!Reader)

undercover series masterlist — previous | next

Summary: After your undercover op has been exposed, Soap has to record an interview of your account of everything, along with any sensitive information you’ve learned. You begin to sort through memories that drag you into a dark hole.

A/N: there is usage of scottish slang, such as bonnie. bonnie is a gender neutral term, i know it’s often used in fem! fics, but please note it’s not feminine specific. also, thank you so much for the love on this!! also i’m lowkey making this a slow burn on accident, my bad—

[WARNINGS: angst, flashbacks, panic attack, very vague unintentional self-harm, violence, vague descriptions of corpses - gore.]

“It is not the bruises on the body that hurt. It is the wounds of the heart and the scars on the mind.” -Aisha Mirza.

I keep my eyes on the pillow that’s across my torso and lap, feeling like if I move my eyes to anywhere else, my heart will fucking crawl out of my goddamn throat. I hear Soap shift in his seat ever so slightly, and I think he’s leaning forward because his breathing sounds ever so slightly closer than before. “We had six weeks to prepare our new lives, six weeks to adjust to our government assigned personalities, six weeks to move some personal belongings to different areas of Russia, six weeks to brush up on our Russian, as well as our Ukrainian.” My voice is quiet because I’m afraid if I talk any louder, it’ll tremble.

I have a hard time swallowing whatever spit has accumulated in my mouth, the entrance to my throat fluttering. “I.. I got on the next flight to Russia, said goodbye to my old unit. In the United States, I temporarily, well.. no longer existed. They had to make it look like I never existed in the first place.” I pause for a moment, remembering how much of a pain in the ass it will be to officially exist as a U.S. citizen again after living as a Russian one for a couple of years.

“I was no longer [Name] [Last Name], I was Zhenya Antonenko.” I take a deep breath and decide to risk it; I look over at Soap and he looks.. intrigued, troubled even. His finger twitches over the pause button before deciding against pressing it. “Was’it difficult to get into Makarov’s organization?” He asks, his left eyebrow eyebrow furrowing inwards like he’s hearing something he doesn’t want to—or maybe he feels bad. God. The last thing I want from anyone is pity. “A bit,” I glance at my fingernails to keep myself preoccupied. “He did, heh, ‘loyalty tests’.” My tone is a sneer, and my gut tightens at the memory of what I had to do to show my loyalty to the cause. There’s a heaviness to the air, the tension so thick you would need a meat cleaver and hack at it a couple of times to get through it. Soap is quiet and I reluctantly make eye contact with him, and we both know the unsaid question. ‘What did I do?’ I scan his face, his posture, his body language. Anything to tell me what he’s thinking.

Soap is certainly.. conflicted, like he knows he needs this information but he’s uncertain if it’s right to even ask. I close my eyes for a moment to regain my composure, but that was surely a big fuckin’ mistake because as soon as my eyelids closed, I see the blood of an innocent person spilled, dripping onto the floor, painting a horrifying picture behind my eyes of the different bodies—the different families I’ve torn apart and mangled. I jolt and my eyelids snap open as my heart skips a beat and settles into an unsteady rhythm underneath my rib cage, my heart monitor following along to the inconsistency. Fuck, fuck, why can I smell it?— that mortifying, dreadful smell of metal, licking at my nostrils. I phase out the beeping of the machines, fuck, my chest—it hurts, can’t breathe, I’m sorry, I had to, don’t you fucking understand?? I had to kill them, the world’s fate was on my fucking shoulders!!-

I grab at my chest as my lips part for air, my need for air following into an unsettling similar, inconsistent rhythm like my heart rate. Fuck. I have the sudden need to bolt, so I yank my handcuffed hand, and I barely feel the sharp pain of the metal digging into my palmaris longus muscle, the way it’s slicing through my skin, fucking unlock it, please, just—“Let me gO!”

Warm and callused hands on me—don’t touch me—I think I yell, but I can’t tell, numb, numbnumbnumbnumb—gunpowder, shit-

I form a fist with my free hand and I use all of the strength I can muster—I don’t punch, but I use that strength in my forearm to push them away, hopefully making them stagger. Just fucking leave me alone, please—!

“…amin’ bloody hell, bonnie, breathe!”

Soap’s voice manages to cut through the sheer panic that’s overflowing everywhere around me—his hands are on my face?? Why is he touching my face, don’t fUcking touch my—One of his hands leaves my face and returns with something fucking ICE COLD, sending a shock through my system. “wHa-“ I cough and try to push him away again but I hear a muffled, soft apology before the cold thing moves from my face to the back of my neck. The shock.. feels like my system got reset in a way. I blink rapidly as I pant, my vision flooding back to me, along with my hearing. I have this fucking ugly, heavy feeling deep in my stomach.

My eyes remain unfocused as I look at the man next to me and his proximity makes me jolt; Soap is right up next to my bed but on the other side this time, one hand holding my handcuffed arm and the other holding.. I think an ice cold hand towel? His face comes in and out of focus, and I catch glimpses of worry and concern. “Back wit’me now?” Soap’s voice is a low, raspy murmur as he speaks, like I’ll bolt any second. I nod and shakily take a deep breath to control my breathing completely, and he nods in response. “Good, there ya are.. Take another one, yeah?” I follow his instructions and repeat my last deep breath, the oxygen flooding my lungs, flooding my veins.. Now that my chest no longer aches, or at least ache in the way it does when you have a panic attack there’s this.. stinging pain lining my wrist. I wince with a hiss and look down and the metal ring of the cuff around my wrist is lined with blood, dripping down onto the blanket. “Goddamnit.” I whisper, my voice hoarse. I go to turn my wrist to see if I’m able to view how much I fucked up my skin and joint, but Soap’s hold on my arm tightens and he makes a quick tsk sound. “Don’t’cha move that, maybe it’s a better idea t’let the nurse take a look.” I mumble “maybe” and I try to rest my wrist, but I can’t. No matter what I do, it fucking hurts. Soap stands up which makes me look at him and he reaches over to a button pad near my pillows and presses the big red button, a soft alarm going off down the hall. He situates himself back in his seat.

I make eye contact with him and his gaze is so.. intense. So many questions, his eyes searching mine for.. something. I don’t know what that ‘something’ is though, and it’s bothering me. “We can continue the report tomorrow,” Soap’s hand gently lets go of my arm—which I completely forgot he was holding—but he keeps his other hand holding the small hand towel to the back of my neck to keep me calm and grounded. “I honestly dinnae ken ta’reason why they’ve decided to do this shite so early.” I blink as I try to make out what he’s saying because his accent is thick, but luckily I’ve spent some time around some Scots in my lifetime to give me a head start. “Early?” I repeat back to him in a question. Too early to.. get the report?? Of course they’re going to want the information as soon as possible, it’s fucking Makarov! “Early.” Soap confirms back to me. “You’ve barely been awake enough to properly process this.” My eyebrows furrow together; why is this random guy concerned about that? His only job is to literally make sure I don’t try to do some stupid shit before my evaluation. Like kill myself or someone else, something like that. Before I’m able to retaliate what I’m able to sense in his voice, a middle aged man wearing this green scrub outfit. He gives me a wide and fake, polite smile. I fucking hate this. “Hi, I’m Mr. Sutton, one of your nurses for the day. What is going on?” His tone is laced with faux-politeness, and I can see the corners of his smile are tight, like there’s strings pulling his lips into something that isn’t a snarl. I feel my muscles tense and suddenly I feel lighter—but my heart rate monitor picks up a skipped heartbeat and I can’t feel my fingertips again.

Oh.

Sutton immediately eyes my monitor and furrows his eyebrows, looking back at me. “Are you feeling alright?”

I don’t answer, I can’t.

It’s like I’m fucking stuck in that godforsaken chair again, waiting for Makarov to come up with a new attempt to beat the fucking shit out of me, to wring out my plans.

The adrenaline.

Soap calls me by my name but I don’t look at him. I keep my eyes trained on Sutton.

Fuck, I can barely think.

Why am I suddenly like this? Why is it this particular nurse?

“Maybe it’s best if a different nurse treats ‘em.” Soap suggests to Sutton, his tone laced with a warning.

Yeah, thanks for stating the obvious, captain.

My eyelids flutter open and I stare at the ceiling as I wake up—my wrist was disinfected bandaged, and handcuffed one again. There’s no noise besides the faint beeping of my machines. I was given medicine so I could sleep, I really wish they hadn’t given me that stuff because now I’m laying here with the image of a mutilated body burned into my memory. Her name was Anya Kozlova. She didn’t do anything, yet Makarov had me slaughter her and leave her remains out like I was a poacher. My fingers twitch as I feel discomfort around my abdomen, which is where some of my surgery stitches are, so my pain medicine is probably wearing off. I stare at the fluorescent lights of my room until I can feel the dull pain of looking at a bright light source for too long settling in my eyes. I blink harshly to “reset” my eyes, my free hand coming up to rub my eyes gently, then going up to my eyebrow muscles and apply pressure, rubbing in slow, firm circles to relax the muscle. I freeze for a moment because this is a habit that developed after I successfully got into the organization—a clear sign of stress.

My thought process is interrupted by a loud snore, making my skeleton nearly fucking jump out of my skin. I quickly look to my right side and.. It’s Soap?? He’s still here??

He’s leaned back into the chair in a position that cannot be comfortable—these are the chairs that have squishy padding as a seat until you sit in it for ten minutes and then your ass goes numb. His legs are spread out in front of him in a manspreading kind of way, one of his hands on his chest and other on his lap which is holding a.. book of some kind? Maybe a sketchbook? Looks like it. His head is limp and is resting against his left shoulder, his lips parted with a line of drool, soaking into his shirt. The corner of my mouth twitches. I notice a pencil behind his ear, which he must’ve been using for his notebook, er sketchbook… Maybe. I feel my muscles slowly untense and honestly, I barely noticed how tense I was a few moments ago, how paranoid I felt when I thought I was alone. I glance at the door and then back at Soap’s his snore dying down into a soft rhythm as he adjusts his head’s position in his sleep. I wonder about the story surrounding that chin scar? The scar runs deep into the skin there, so it must’ve been something nasty. My eyes trace the way his nose is shaped, how the beginning of his eyebrows are furrowed inwards. His long eyelashes flutter ever so slightly which I take as my cue to look away, dragging my eyes across the room to scan for anything new, which of course there isn’t.

This is the reason why I hate being stuck in one room for a long time. Of course, the familiarity is somewhat comforting, you don’t have to stare frantically search for something that may be different, a weapon, a bomb, something, but at the same time? It gets me antsy. I’d much rather be able to get up and leave this room, but one, I don’t think anyone would let me—even if I managed to get myself out of these cuffs—and two, I’m not sure if I can stand. Fuck. My chest tightens at that thought; I’m not sure if I can stand. I can’t help but think back to Makarov and what he did to me, how he found out I was not born Russian. A part of me wants to resent Soap and whoever the fuck was in that room, and trust me, a little part of me does because they did a piss poor job at basically slapping a couple of bandaids on my wounds and then decided to try to waterboard information out of me?? If I didn’t say anything to Makarov, what did these fucks think they’d get out of me? I take a deep breath, feeling my chest expand as my lungs fight to make room for the oxygen. I hold it for a couple of seconds and slowly exhale through my lips. I need to calm down.

The door swings open to my room, making my heart rate spike again, my fingers instinctively grabbing the pillow on my front. Dr. Erikson and Mutton-Chops enter the room, and I don’t feel any better. Their eyes land on me and I can see the surprise stretched across their faces, at the fact that I’m awake, but I have a hard stare and I keep it. My shoulders ache as my muscles lock up once again. The door opening jolted Soap awake, my eyes flickering to him once I hear his sharp inhale from being startled. His head is turned and his eyes are also on whoever entered the room—scanned the room like a soldier. I hold back a quiet chuckle because of fucking course he woke up from that, he is a soldier. “You’re awake, [Name].” Dr. Erikson points out as he walks over, holding a clipboard. I don’t respond; my throat feels tight. He pauses at the fact that I don’t respond and he glances at Soap, then Mutton-Chops, then back at me. Dr. Erikson’s hand gestures to Mutton-Chops. “This is Captain John Price. We know you are having some trouble.. recounting what happened on your end, so Hudson thought it might be helpful for Price for catch you up to speed on his, considering you both have similar goals.”

Soap’s groggy yet loud voice cuts in. “What?” His tone is incredulous as he properly sits up in his chair, closing the notebook sketchbook thing in his lap. Mutton-Chops—the man who now has a proper name, Price—shoots Soap a look, like it holds so many words unsaid. Whatever his look said is enough to get Soap to quiet down. My fingers grip the pillowcase again because the silent, unspoken communication causes this weird fucking anxiety to flare up in my stomach. I don’t like it. I don’t respond again. Dr. Erikson approaches the IV machine—an infusion pump I think it’s called?—and presses a few buttons. I panic and I grab his wrist and yank it away because what if he’s sent by Makarov to finish me off, what if—“He’s just adjustin’ yer meds, bonnie.” Soap’s voice is low but close and I don’t bother to look at him, but I slowly let go of the doctor’s wrist. Dr. Erikson’s face has a troubled expression before he writes something down and takes his leave through the swinging door he came through in. That leads me to look at Price, as I’m left alone with him and Soap. He comes over to the other side, opposite of where Soap is sitting. I keep eye contact with the man and I must be unintentionally glaring at him because he’s looking back down at me with a challenging gaze. Gaze that screams ‘you have a couple of loose screws, don’t you?’

I can’t tell if I’m imagining it or not anymore, especially when he finally speaks. Price’s voice is rough, like gravel, yet incredibly soft. Which I hate because I feel like he’s treating me like a ‘civ.

“We need to get your head on straight.”

🏷️; @glitterypirateduck @darling006 @elowynnlane @hardnutpost @boycigs @wolfyland07

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 20 days ago

Text

Zhihn moya -Oneshot

**I’m pulling some inspiration from a previous short story/long oneshot I wrote before. Hope you like it!** *zhihn moya: my life Word count: 4471

Y/N first met Bucky after he’d returned to the States to join the Avengers. He’d been rehabilitated in Wakanda, officially freed from the Winter Soldier programming. The trigger words no longer worked. Overall he was fine, but sometimes he wasn’t.

The nightmares never ceased, they were just…quieter now. And sometimes he would lose track of where he was, who he was with, and have bouts of memory lapses, like he was on autopilot. It didn’t really affect his work with the Avengers, but after a mission where he’d gone too far in capturing a bad guy, almost killing him, Sam knew he needed more help than the government-assigned therapist with a bad attitude could give.

With Fury’s help they had found a woman who had been found during an old Hydra base raid. Y/N Y/L/N was born with the ability to read and manipulate thoughts and feelings in others, had been found by Hydra and then experimented on to see how far they could push or use her abilities. The experiments had made her abilities stronger, and once she was found she had been rehabilitated and gone through years of therapy. Fury figured that with a shared past with Hydra, she would be helpful in not only understanding and relating to Bucky, but her abilities could help ground him back to reality.

Bucky was hesitant when he first met her. “I don’t need another person in my head,” he said gruffly.

“She won’t be in your head, Barnes, just helping you snap out of these lapses you’ve been having,” Fury said.

“That’s not the point,” Bucky sighed. He looked at Y/N. “I’m sure you’re great. But nobody needs to see what’s going on in my mind.”

“She was taken by Hydra, too, Buck,” Sam interjected. “She knows what it’s like to be–”

“I can speak for myself,” Y/N said loudly. They all looked at her in surprise. “If you don’t want my help then I’ll leave. I won’t waste my time fighting someone who doesn’t want or think they need me.”

“No, wait, please,” Sam said, raising his hands and then turning to Bucky. “Can you just try meeting with her once? For my peace of mind? Please?”

Bucky stared at Sam for a moment, then sighed heavily and closed his eyes. “Fine,” he said, then looked at her sharply. “You won’t like what you see.”

“I’ve seen a lot, Sergeant Barnes,” Y/N said, her chin rising in challenge at him. “You won’t surprise me.”

Bucky huffed a bitter laugh at her. “You say that now.”

A week later they were in the room she was given to stay at the compound. Y/N was sitting criss-cross on a large, comfortable chair across from Bucky who sat on a long couch. He looked her over, analyzing and scrutinizing. She was pretty, her curvy body reminding him of the old pin-ups that were actually curvy from his army days, not the ones the other men usually liked, even while she was covered by a comfortable sweater and sweatpant outfit. They stared at each other for a moment, silently daring one another to speak first. She analyzed him back, her head tilting as she watched him. “You’re feeling a lot of things right now,” she said quietly.

“Get out of my head,” Bucky snarled.

“I’m not in your head,” Y/N sneered back. “Feelings are just loud.”

He frowned. “What does that mean?”

Y/N settled back into her chair, leaning her head on her hand propped up on the arm rest. “Reading minds takes effort and focus for me. Always has, even after Hydra experimented on me. But feelings, emotions, they’re like…” She paused, frowning as her eyes searched the room in thought. “Vibes, literally vibrating off people’s bodies.”

“Okay, then what am I feeling?” Bucky asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“Anxiety,” Y/N replied easily. “Worry. Fear. Curiosity. Sadness. Anger. And…missing someone,” she said, her face softening.

Bucky’s lips tightened. “They said you could manipulate emotions, too.” She nodded. “Why would you do that?” he asked. “How would that help me?”

Y/N smirked. “It would be easier for me to show you than tell you.”

Bucky immediately tensed. “What are you going to do?”

Y/N sighed. “Relax, Bucky, it’s nothing crazy or painful. All I need to do is touch you. Do I have your permission to touch you?”

Bucky scrutinized her, watching her face carefully for signs of trickery or lies. “Touch me where?”

“Preferably your chest, just over your heart,” Y/N said, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward in her chair. “But anywhere works.”

Bucky’s anxiety spiked. He was much more open to touching people now, but was hesitant over what she was capable of. He nodded and she stood up, walking over to him, then surprised him by kneeling down in front of him between his legs. His eyes widened at how close she was, his jaw ticking as he swallowed harshly, trying to keep his panic at bay. “Relax, Bucky,” Y/N said, her voice sounding much more soft and caring than earlier. “I won’t read your mind. All I’m going to do is put my hand on your chest. You don’t need to do anything but relax. Okay?”

Bucky tried to steady his breathing, nodding as his hands clenched on top of his knees. Y/N gave him a reassuring smile, then slowly lifted her left hand toward his chest. He watched her, his eyes flicking from her face to her hand repeatedly. When her palm settled over his heart he tensed again. “I won’t hurt you,” Y/N whispered. His eyes focused back on her face. Her eyes were kind, soft, and she was looking at him like she could see right through him, being able to read him without even trying. Sam and Fury had said she had been used by Hydra, just like him, that she understood. He blinked rapidly and nodded again.

Her hand pressed into his chest a little more firmly, and after a moment of silence Bucky felt a strange sensation. He looked down and saw her palm glowing, and he gasped as he felt a warmth spread where her hand laid on his chest. It felt like honey, oozing through his skin slowly and then seeping into his veins, firing synapses along its path. It enveloped him, almost tingling when it reached the top of his head. Bucky sighed heavily, his head hanging down, his hands unclenching. The worry, fear, anger, all the things she had said he was feeling all slipped away from his mind and his heart, the anxiety being replaced by the warmth. It felt like…peace. Calm. It felt like the first time he’d been able to relax after overcoming the Winter Soldier programming. Like the times he and Steve had been laughing at baseball games. It felt like she was injecting him with the opposite of all the emotions he felt before.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but after a little while the feeling began to recede just as slowly as it had come. When the warmth returned to under her palm and the glow fizzled out it was like he woke up, his eyes snapping open and seeing her again. Y/N was crying, and it took him a second to realize he was crying, too. He also didn’t realize that his metal hand was holding her hand to his chest still. “I’m so sorry for all that they put you through,” she whispered, her hand turning over in his metal one and holding it against his chest. “So much pain. You didn’t deserve that. But I need you to hear me when I say this, okay?” Bucky absentmindedly nodded as she stood up on her knees to be at eye level with him. “No human being could have withstood all you have,” she said quietly, her free hand moving up and wiping away his tears. “You are stronger than you know, Bucky, in mind, body and spirit. I can feel it,” she tapped her fingers against his chest. “Your mind will be in a state of healing for the rest of your life. But your friends, your chosen family, will always be there to pick up where your mind leaves off. And I…I will be there for you, if you let me.”

Bucky stared at her in amazement. He sniffed and swallowed harshly, nodding at her hopefully. Maybe she would be able to help pull him out of his head when he got lost on missions. She smiled at him, and he had a feeling that she would very quickly become his favorite person.

***

“Miss Y/L/N, an urgent call incoming for you from Sam Wilson,” Friday’s voice chimed overhead.

Y/N frowned and looked up at the ceiling. “Answer,” she instructed, and listened as the phone line opened up to frantic breathing. “Sam?” she called out.

“Y/N! Thank god,” Sam panted. “Something’s wrong with Buck.”

Her eyes widened. “What happened?”

“I don’t know!” he said, sounding like he was exhausted. “We were almost done and then he just…shut down. He looks like,” he paused, and she could hear him audibly gulp. “He looks like the Winter Soldier.”

She gasped. “Has he done anything?”

“No, he’s just standing there, with that staring problem,” he said. “So far he’s done as we asked, but if anyone gets close to him he reacts defensively. Forcefully pushing us away. It’s like he’s waiting for something.”

“Are you almost here?” Y/N asked, getting up and pacing her room as she thought through a plan of action.

“10 minutes away,” he replied.

“Okay. When you land, let him get off first, and follow him to see where he goes. Then we can figure out what to do next based on what it is his subconscious mind is directing him to do,” she said firmly.

“Okay,” Sam said, sounding appreciative that at least somebody had an idea of what to do. “We’ll see you soon.”

“Good luck,” Y/N said. She tried to calm herself. Panicking would do nothing to help fix the situation. They had come a long way over the past year since she’d come to the compound to help Bucky with his mind issues. But every once in a while there was a hiccup like today. They would all have to tread carefully to find the best way to help him through this episode. He would be kicked off missions again for a while, she thought, which he would love and hate at the same time.

Ten minutes later she got a text from Sam.

Just landed. He’s on the move.

She waited, sending him a thumbs up emoji.

Heading to the personal rooms.

She tried to even her breathing.

Passed his door, I think we’re coming to you?

Y/N frowned at the text, then a few seconds later heard a knock on her door. She looked at her door in shock, slowly walking over and unlocking it. She opened the door and peeked around it to find Bucky standing there, ramrod straight with a frown on his face. But his expression didn’t meet his eyes. They looked empty, devoid of emotion. This wasn’t Bucky.

“Bucky?” she whispered.

He didn’t respond. “We’ve had to use the word ‘Soldat’ to get him to respond,” Sam said quietly behind him, looking ashamed at even having to say it.

She nodded and looked up at him. “Soldat?” she asked. His eyes looked down at her, the only part of him that was moving other than his chest as he breathed. “Mission complete,” she said, unsure of how to proceed.

He still didn’t move, just watched her intently, before his lips parted. “Zhihn moya,” he murmured with a slight nod. Joaquin took a step forward. “Maybe if we get a Russian speaker–”

Bucky whipped around, punching Joaquin in the stomach with his flesh hand, sending him flying back into the wall opposite Y/N’s door. Sam raised a taser at Bucky while Bucky backed up and covered Y/N with his body, his metal arm protectively holding her behind him. She gasped at everything happening so fast, her hands reactively holding onto his metal arm. “Soldat!” she cried out, and he barely turned his head, glancing at her before glaring back at Sam. “It’s okay,” she said, reaching one of her hands up to his shoulder, trying to pull him away. “They’re your partners. They aren’t here to hurt you, or me.” She looked at Sam who sighed then reluctantly holstered the taser.

“I think you’re his new mission, Y/N,” Sam said, turning back and checking on Joaquin, who had the wind knocked out of him. “He’s not gonna hurt you. But if something happens you tell Friday and we’ll come running. Use your abilities on him. Wake him up.”

She nodded, pulling Bucky back another step. She and Sam exchanged a knowing look before she closed the door, enclosing her in with the Winter Soldier. Bucky’s stance didn’t let up at first, until he could hear Sam and Joaquin move away from beyond the door. After a few minutes he stood straight again, turning and looking at her. His dead eyes scared her, and she tried to think of what to do next. He seemed very protective of her, so she decided to play into that.

“Thank you for protecting me,” she said quietly. “Your mission is complete now.” He didn’t respond, just staring at her. She was normally able to feel his emotions easily, but now it was just…silent. She had never come across someone who felt literally nothing. Y/N took a deep breath and took a step toward him. He watched her as she took another step, then reached a hand up toward his face. She went slowly, not wanting to spook him, and when her hand cupped his cheek he merely blinked. Confusion rolled off of him in waves, and she felt a little comfort at finally feeling something from him. “Would you like to sit down?” she asked, her other hand gesturing to her bed.

He frowned, more confusion bristling under the surface. His eyes snapped to the bed then back to her. Y/N frowned then remembered, sighing heavily. “Sit down on the bed,” she instructed. His frown relaxed and he immediately walked over to her bed and sat on the end of it, waiting for her next instruction. Y/N rubbed her face tiredly. This was gonna take a while. She turned to face him, looking him over for any injuries from the mission. She couldn’t see anything, and took a step toward him. “Take off your tactical suit,” she said firmly.

Bucky started unbuckling and unzipping everything, focusing on the task until he was able to strip it off and set it down on the floor, leaving him in a black undershirt and his pants before looking up at her again. She slowly approached until she was standing right in front of him. His confusion came back mixed with a hesitation that made her heart break. She kneeled in front of him like that first day when she had worked with him, then looked up at him. “I’m going to touch your chest,” she said in forewarning. He didn’t react, but she could feel his heart rate spike, the hesitation getting worse. She slowly raised her right hand and set it over his heart, his chest slightly flinching at her touch. She swallowed harshly then let her power flow through her hand. She could feel his panic as his eyes flaked down to her hand and back at her face in alarm. She gave him a small, reassuring smile. The power flicked its way over his body, his eyelids fluttering as it relaxed him. A small flicker of something in his eyes gave her hope. It looked like recognition, and his frown returned as he stared at her, his left eye slightly twitching as his mind worked to try and figure out what was going on.

Y/N sat up on her knees, her left hand reaching up toward his face. “Feel, Soldat,” she instructed him. Her left thumb settled on the spot between his eyebrows, her left index finger on his temple as her other fingers and hand settled on his face. Both those fingers started to glow like her palm, and they both gasped as her power injected itself into his mind. Y/N closed her eyes and searched through his head for Bucky. It felt like she was clawing through old memories, haunting images of blood, pain and death intermingling with old days with Steve, Wakanda, Sam and her face popping up more often. She couldn’t help but smile as she dug through until she came across, at the center the spider web of synapses, the huddled body of Bucky, shivering and crying as his one arm covered his head, his left metal arm missing.

“Bucky,” she called out to him.

He froze, slowly raising his head until he could see her, his eyes wide as he choked back a sob. “Y/N?”

“Yeah,” she said, crawling toward him. There was a strange pull at her ankles, like something was trying to keep her away from him. She reached her hand out. “Come back to me, Buck.”

Bucky crawled to her, losing his balance with only one arm, reaching his hand out. “I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know how he pushed me back.”

“You did nothing wrong,” Y/N said, her fingers barely skimming his fingertips. “We’ll figure it out together. But first you have to come back to yourself. Come back to me.”

The thing at her ankles tried to pull her back more harshly, and she had to concentrate her power more and push forward, kicking at whatever it was. Bucky gritted his teeth, his fingers gripping her more firmly. With a big burst of energy, Y/N used both her hands to pull his hand, and he flew up toward her. She embraced him, wrapping her arms and legs around him. What felt like a pull in her gut sent them both whooshing back to the present until she gasped and opened her eyes just as Bucky did the same. Her hands were still where they’d been when she entered his mind, but now Bucky’s body looked sweaty, his face red with effort. His wide eyes stared at her, his panted breaths fanning her face. His metal hand was holding her right hand over his heart again, his flesh hand gripping her wrist near his face tightly.

“Y/N?” he rasped.

“Yes, it’s me,” she nodded, her hand on his face moving to cup his cheek comfortingly. “You’re back. It’s okay, I’ve got you.” His eyes flicked back and forth between hers for a moment, like he couldn’t quite believe it. The hand holding her wrist let go and shakily reached toward her face. She let go of his face and moved that hand to cup her cheek, nuzzling her face into his palm. “You’re here. I’m here. You came back to me.”

Bucky’s face fell, and he broke down crying. He fell off the bed and kneeled with her, hugging her close to him with his arms around her waist, his face nestled into the crook of her neck. Y/N held him, twisting her body so that she was leaning against the end of the bed while sitting on the floor, making him sit with her like she was cradling him. His legs curled up tight at her side as he held her, crying hard against her shoulder as his hands fisted her shirt at her back. “I thought I had gotten rid of him,” he sobbed. “Why is this happening to me?”

Y/N felt herself crying with him, turning her head to kiss the side of his head. “I don’t know Buck,” she replied quietly. “But we’re going to figure it out together, like I said. I promise. No matter how long it takes. You will heal.”

He cried harder at her words, his tears dripping down her chest. Y/N continued to hold him, rocking back and forth as her fingers ran through his hair. She started to hum a song from the 40’s she had heard him listen to repeatedly. She didn’t know how long they stayed there, but she wasn’t moving anytime soon.

“Miss Y/L/N, Sam Wilson would like a progress report.”

Bucky flinched at Friday’s voice interrupting their moment, and Y/N sighed before looking up at the ceiling. “Just tell him Bucky’s back and I’ll talk to him later.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Bucky sighed, reluctantly pulling away from her. “I’m sorry,” he said, sniffing and wiping his face as he got off of her. “I’m sorry for all this. I’ll go, I just–”

“Don’t,” Y/N said quickly, taking his hand. “You can stay here as long as you like.” His jaw ticked, his eyes filling with tears once again as he peered up at her. “What you just went through was traumatic. No one expects you to just shrug it off and go on with business as usual. Stay,” she urged, squeezing his hand. “Rest.”

Bucky blinked rapidly, more tears falling as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

***

Later that night after Y/N had made sure Bucky was fed and showered before settling into her bed, she held him against her chest as he started to fall asleep. He kept jerking awake, afraid of slipping back into the Winter Soldier, but she kept reassuring him she would be able to feel it if it happened and wake him up to help him out of it. She mulled over the events of the day, coming up with a game plan of how to handle his treatment in the coming days.

“Bucky?” she whispered.

“Yeah?”

“What does zhihn moya mean?”

He stiffened then looked up at her curiously. “Why?”

“I heard it recently and was wondering what it meant,” she said, trying to play it off as a simple question.

He stared at her, his eyes softening. “My life.”

Y/N inhaled shakily then nodded. “That’s beautiful.” She broke eye contact with him and moved his head back to settle against her chest. She didn’t need to talk about that with him right now. She contemplated what that meant. He had recognized her even within Winter Soldier mode, and something within even the emotionless husk in his brain told him that she was something special that needed to be protected. “My life,” she thought, a small smile spreading on her face.

***

Bucky woke the next morning against the comfiest pillow he’d ever felt. He snuggled further into it before realizing the pillow was moving…breathing. His mind struggled to catch up to what was happening as he slightly pulled away and looked up to see Y/N, her face smooshed into her pillow as she breathed deeply through her mouth, her eyes moving behind her eyelids as she dreamed. He smiled, taking a deep breath and burrowing back into her chest. Her sleep dress had shifted in her sleep, revealing quite a lot of cleavage to him that he tried to ignore as his arms tightened around her. He was still exhausted from the events of the day before, of which he was desperately trying not to think about. He just wanted to be present, right here and now in this moment of calm and peace.

It was still dark out when he awoke, and he used the cover of darkness that most people wouldn’t be able to see in to look her over. The sleep dress was hiked up to her hips, her legs tangled with his under the covers. His metal arm felt from her lower back over her hip, hiking her leg up over his hip more comfortably. As that hand moved back to her lower back, pulling her lower half closer to him, his face pressed against her chest, nuzzling her breasts until he could get comfortable. At least, that was his reasoning behind him being a creep in the moment. They had been close before, falling asleep in the same bed after she had helped him with hard days, but never like this.

Bucky was extremely appreciative of her saving him yesterday from the Winter Soldier. As invasive as it had been for her to have to dig through his mind to rescue him, he couldn’t describe the elation he’d felt at seeing her face in the deepest, darkest recesses of his head. He absentmindedly kissed the swell of each breast, his lips skimming over the skin of her sternum up to her throat.

Stop it, she wouldn’t want this.

She shifted against him, her breathing quickened and her hand in his hair scratching at his scalp. Y/N hummed, holding his head against her neck. “Buck? Are you okay?”

He silently cursed himself for waking her up. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“No,” she said, clearing her throat before pulling away just enough to look at him. “It’s okay.”

He shook his head and shut his eyes tight, unable to meet her kind eyes. His hands tightened in her shirt. “I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry.”

She was quiet for a moment, then her hand moved from his head to his chin, pulling him up to look at her. He didn’t dare open his eyes, afraid that he would see her disappointment in him. Instead he felt her breath fan over his face, then the brush of her lips against his. His eyes snapped open at that, his eyes flickering over her face, blinking rapidly. “I can feel you,” she smirked at him. “I like you, too.” He let out the breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Though I think we should take things slow,” she added with an arched eyebrow at him.

Bucky chuckled and nodded. “You’re right, as always,” he agreed, nuzzling her nose with his.

“And don’t you forget it,” Y/N said, nuzzling him back.

“Never, zhihn moya,” he replied cheekily.

Her smirk softened to an adoring smile. She dipped her head down and kissed his lips softly. Bucky inhaled sharply as their lips finally met. It felt so easy, all the pent up emotions and worry all for nothing. He hummed as he kissed her back, deepening it as he angled his head slightly, but not pushing for too much more. When she pulled away to look at him again she sighed happily.

“My life.”

#marvel #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #request #ask #anon ask #bucky barnes oneshot #oneshot

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manicrouge · 3 months ago

Text

Episode Five: Bear the Burden

[𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛] || [𝙰𝚄: 𝙿𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚢 𝙱𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜] || 𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

[𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍]: 10/09/24

[𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝]: Blake faces the consequences of his actions whilst you face the consequences of your association with John Price.

[𝙲𝚠]: violence, non-con touching (nothing sexual), blood/ gore (nothing too bad).

[𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝]: 8.4k

[𝙰/𝙽]: I am so sorry this took so long... I hope this makes up for my absence !! Also please let me know if I've missed and warnings.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Please don't post my work anywhere else without my permission !!

He lurks like a virus, you find.

One you can’t quite shake. His annoying tendencies and loud mouth make him a villain – you can’t perceive him as anything other; whatever your mind attempts to conjure up always leads you in circles until you eventually find yourself back at your original assessment.

You're staring at a pretty woman sitting on a throne, although you cannot take your eyes off her eyes. They're haunting – primal. And despite her well-kept golden hair and the richness of the clothing surrounding her, none of the jewels she is adorned in can distract you from the rubies in her eyes.

Despite your assessment of the piece, you cannot help but sense his grin as it radiates like a toxin, infecting the area surrounding the pair.

It’s early and the general hubbub of the city is left behind you. And strangely, you find that the gallery's silence leaves you with a profound emptiness.

The Hindsight’s loudness as proclaimed by your old boss, was the one thing that was supposed to deter you from working there, and yet, you miss the calamity and feel the urge to rush out the doors all to hear the drunken babbles of the patrons you’ve become so accustomed to during the time you’ve spent there.

‘It’s quiet today,’ Graves says, turning his head slightly to glance at you, ‘you’re quiet too. Somethin' wrong?’

‘You’re not talking,’ you remark, looking down at the small purse in your hands, ‘there's been no mention of the guns. I haven’t heard a thing… I- I don’t think they took them.’

He scoffs. ‘That’s what they want you to think.’

You shake your head, your hands tightening around the handles of your small bag. ‘You told me that Ky– that Garrick said that–’

‘Oh,' he begins, 'we’re on a first-name basis with them now, ay?’ Graves chuckles, ‘I hope you’re not growing a soft spot for them, ‘need I remind you that they’re criminals?’

‘I know they are,’ you say, although your voice is unsteady as you profess their sins. ‘But I don’t think they have the guns.’

‘Then who has them?’

‘I don’t know,’ you shrug, ‘I’ve heard that the communists are planning on having a protest at the train station this afternoon. They’re demanding fairer pay and treatment… they think the government has abandoned them after the war.’

‘They made it home,’ Graves said, ‘they should be happy with that. The world isn't gonna fall to its knees for them; everyone’s lost something or someone. They’re being greedy.’

His words leave you thinking of Blake. The man is much too big for his personality, although you suppose he needs the extra space to fit the heart inside his chest. Greed isn’t how you’d describe a man like him and the war took more from him than most people; you can see it in his eyes.

‘The capital keeps this place running, same as the States. We lose that, we lose order – fall into whatever Russia has landed itself in. It’s unruly, unjust, and, quite frankly, a mess.’

You hold your tongue, fearing you’ll be guilty of speaking as your heart compels you to say, settling in the spot you’ve been standing in as you shift your feet, swallowing your heart.

‘Yes,’ you mumble.

‘I’ll look into it, have some police on the lookout. Speaking of which, I heard the owner of the pharmacy was attacked. Does that have something to do with Price?’

‘I don’t know,’ you speak truthfully, biting down on your lip, ‘I have to go.’

‘Your shift doesn’t start for another hour,’ he says, looking down at his watch.

‘I have nothing else to say to you,’ you answer, turning on your heel, and heading towards the exit.

You’re stopped as his hand clasps your upper arm. ‘If I find out you have been lying, Mr Churchill won’t be pleased.’

‘I’m not,’ you answer, ‘now let go of me.’

‘Promise me,’ he says.

‘Promise you?’ you scoff.

He takes offence to that clearly as he scrunches his nose up, and as he speaks again, you note that he is gritting his teeth – addressing you as though you have become the next target on his list. ‘That you’re not lying to me. You’re a good girl, it’d kill me to know you’re falling for their trap.’

Whatever he's talking about you're convinced is the byproduct of paranoia. No sane man ponders that hard and comes to such a demented conclusion.

Your stomach twists and you yank your arm out of his. ‘I’m being honest with you,’ you say, 'not giving him any more of your time as you rush towards the museum's exit. 'I don't appreciate your tone with me, I advise you fix it.'

'I don't appreciate your secrecy.'

'It's not secrecy,' you breathe, 'rather doubt.'

He sticks up his nose at your confession, turning his back to you as though to resume looking at the painting the pair of you were looking at but a moment before the outburst.

'He has the guns.'

'And what proof do you have of that?' He falls silent. 'You have no right to blame me for having reasonable doubt. Garrick had no idea what you were talking about.'

'People can lie,' he says firmly.

'I know,' you insist, 'I'm not a child, I understand how the world works. Stop treating me as though I know nothing.'

He grumbles something under his breath, shaking his head. 'So what do you want me to do? Pack up shop and tell ol' Churchy boy that his guns are gone because you think Garrick is telling the truth?'

His condescending tone is enough to have your heartbeat ringing in your ears. You ball your fists and chew so hard on the inside of your cheek that you almost bite through it.

'You keep doing your job, I'll have the boys raid the house of a few known commies, and see if they know anything about it. But if I find nothing, I'm meeting John Price and asking him in person.'

You know whether or not you're okay with what he is saying to you is pointless and you struggle to contend with what you acknowledge to be your personal bias against the man who has invited you to the races with him. If you speak now, you fear it will simply be word vomit – an attempt to justify a man beyond redemption (supposedly).

—

A profound concept is what you are to him and as he spies you, he’s unable to shake the thought that, for the first time in his life, he is doing something truly wrong.

His eyes feel too dirty to look at you and the occasional line in his peripheral vision acts like a clump of muck on you. He blinks quickly to chase it away, of course, he does, he wouldn’t leave you with the burden of his truth for longer than a few seconds.

You’re grinning at the man you’re talking to – he’s much too drunk, wobbling a little as you converse with him. The conversation is not secret either; he has a gob that could replace a foghorn and a laugh that could give a gunshot a run for its money. Your responses, however, remain a mystery as you sit; you’re much too gentle to return his drunken enthusiasm.

You eventually lift your head and your eyes lock for the first time since you poured his drink. You offer the man a smile before heading away from him and approaching Price.

‘You want a refill?’ you chirp.

A voice as sweet as the song of a bird, he thinks, nodding his head as he holds his glass up. ‘Fill me up, love.’

The cork in the top of the bottle squeals as you open it, pouring more drink into his cup. ‘You look tired, is everything okay?’

Your question is one he wishes he could answer, only, he doesn’t want to bear you with the burden of what his morning will entail. The request he had been provided with the day prior has been weighing on him monstrously and he’s left offering you a lopsided smile as he shakes his head, downing the drink you have just poured him in the blink of an eye.

‘Had a bad night's sleep. Nothing a drink an’ smoke won’t sort.’ Your skepticism at his claim is charming and he smiles. ‘Really, love, I’m fine. Don't worry about me.’

‘Do you get much sleep?’ you ask. ‘It’s just… I’ve heard a lot of people – especially men who were in the war struggle to sleep.’

‘I sleep fine,’ he says abruptly, nearly choking on his tongue, ‘just excited about the races.’ Your face lights up with the mention of the races. ‘You found a dress yet?’

‘You only asked me last night,’ you exclaim, ‘I haven’t had the time yet.’

‘Well that’s no good, is it?’ he says, ‘you can have a day off later this week – go get yourself something nice.’

‘Who will run the pub?’

‘Sure Johnny will do just fine until you get back.’

‘All the liquor’ll be gone by the time I get back,’ you laugh.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he says, glancing at his watch.

Despite a peculiar force keeping him seated in his chair, he pushes against it, forcing himself up and away from you. He catches the furrowing of your brows as he gets up to leave and a part of him wishes to stay all to engage in an empty conversation with you.

‘Keep this place safe whilst I’m gone, ay? Any issues, tell one of the boys about it.’

You grin. 'I can take care of myself, John, don't you worry about me.'

As though taking a page out of his book, you speak with a mocking gruffness in your tone. If you were anyone else, he very well would have taken insult to the words you're speaking to him. Only, he can't help but let out a small chuckle.

'Heard you loud and clear, sweetheart,' he says, not missing the bruising scarlet on your cheeks as he offers you one more smile before turning on his heel and heading towards the exit of the pub.

—

‘Simon Riley,’ Graves addresses the man as he slowly stalks the shadows in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the brooding man’s face. Only, his disappointment is measurable in the curve of his mouth as he catches the mask covering his face. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you,’ he confesses with a smile, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants, and shifting on his feet.

Simon simply stares at him, not bothering to even muster up the strength to blink. Graves hums, filling the void of the silence. The man’s trying to intimidate him; he’s seen that old tired tactic one too many times to fall for it. Especially from a man like Simon.

‘I’ve been trying to get a hold of that boss of yours. Slippery man, ain’t he?’

Simon keeps his mouth shut.

Graves lets out a short laugh. ‘Not the talkative type, are ya?’

‘If you were tryin’ to get a hold of him, you wouldn’t have beat Kyle,’ he firmly says, crossing his arms across himself, rolling his neck seemingly in an attempt to cling to composure.

Still, Graves has never really been one to threat in the face of evil, rather, he compromises – plays their game. That’s how you get through to them; he’s done it throughout his career and he’s sure it wouldn’t keep him from succeeding now, even if he is in a foreign land- nothing has stopped him before and he doesn’t intend for anything to stop him now.

‘I wanted to scope the area out before addressing the boss,’ Graves answers.

‘Y’ scared of Price,’ he says, ‘cause, if you weren’t then you woulda just went straight to him instead of spying on one of his workers.’

‘Kyle is one of his closest workers, is he not?’ he responds, narrowing his eyes, ‘don’t tell me how to do my fuckin’ job, kid. I imagine I could teach you a thing or two about it.’

‘No,’ Simon says, shifting as he moves slightly closer to him, ‘you took one look at whatever files you got from the government and decided that he was the easiest out of all of us to go for,’ he corrects strictly, narrowing his eyes. ‘I’m not a fuckin’ idiot, and neither are any of the lads, so don’t try an’ play me as one.’

‘Anyone in the right mind would believe that you are threatening me right now.’

‘I am,’ he states blatantly, uncaring for the consequences. ‘You gonna beat me like you beat Kyle, hey?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he says with a grin, all to burst into a fit of laughter, ‘I know I’m not fooling you, Simon. And, if you want my honest answer, I would say that you would just have to wait and see.’

The man hums, his unhappiness as prevalent as a gigantic pimple on someone's chin. ‘You’re here for the guns. Not for us. Keep it that way.’

‘And why would I do that?’

He’s silent for a while, his eyes dragging up and down Phillip’s face before he eventually relents, his eyes narrowing to form crescents. ‘Cause, otherwise, you’ll be goin’ back home in a box.’

‘I didn’t think men like you would have the decency to even send me home,’ he says with a laugh, raising his hand and bringing it against his chest, ‘I’m touched, Simon, truly touched.’

‘Don’t want the blood of someone like you spoiling the dirt around here.'

He leaves without another word, not stopping even after Graves calls his name. So, the man stands and observes his pathing, finding that he is walking right towards The Hindsight. Rolling his eyes, he crosses his arms over himself.

Wonder if he speaks to her like that.

—

Simon Riley is a peculiar case, one that cannot quite be answered. Every time you take a glance at the man, you're left more confused than the last time as questions swirl around in your head.

'You wanna ask me something?' he asks, startling you.

Slowly, you turn to see him staring at you, the glass of whiskey he's nursing being engulfed by his hands. Never had you ever seen a man so big in stature. He's similar to Blake in a way, only, quieter. Whatever troubles he's having are reserved for his mind.

'Sorry,' you mumble out.

Much to your surprise, he shakes his head, beckoning you to approach him. You're cautious at first, acting as though he is a stray dog who appears as though he's going to snap at any moment.

'John told me about the chain around the door last night. You okay?'

There's something in his tone which makes the darker inflexions soften as he addresses you and you're unable to hide the smile that forms on your face as you swallow down any prior doubts you had about the man.

'I'm fine,' you say with a smile, 'nothing out of the ordinary for places like this, I'm sure.'

He shakes his head. 'Yeah,' he breathes, 'Johnny's gone round to ask people if anyone's seen the fella who had something to do with it today. We know it's Fisher's group — just don't know who's in charge now.'

'I saw John this morning,' you say, 'he seemed like he was in a rush when he realised the time.'

'Don't worry about him,' Simon says, pulling his mask up to expose his mouth, taking a sip of his whiskey. 'Still acts like a Captain even though we're outta the war,' he snorts.

'Old habits die hard, I guess,' you say, grabbing the whiskey bottle, 'you want a refill?'

—

The pair walk side by side as though there is not a fault in the world, and for a while, Price allows himself to believe that. It’s kind to let the mind rest for a while, he remembers remarking that during their time in the trenches. It’s just a shame that Blake's mind never seems to stop. He’s walking with his hat in his hand, scrunched up in his hands as he stares at the ground, his head occasionally bobbing as he listens to John.

Life is greedy. But the business is bloodthirsty.

And it’s something he has come to terms with, at least in his execution. Admittedly, the difference between being a soldier and a businessman – in terms of the business he is in – is very little. His fingers are so used to wielding a weapon that he wonders if his hands would still close similarly if he had never been exposed to violence. But he’s a violent man and always has been one. And everyone sees him for what he is.

‘I was talkin’ to my lady this morning,’ Blake says, the rocks below them crunching as they tread closer to the water. ‘She’s real worried about me. A- And I’m sorry.’

His eyes steer clear of the man beside him as he spies two figures obscured by the fog of the early morning. Despite such, the pointed brim of their hats is blatant and even causes the outline of their figures to appear slightly rough around the edges. He spies danger in their exterior and he wonders if Blake sees it too.

‘You see those men,’ he asks, motioning towards the evasive figures.

‘Yes, Cap’n.’

He answers like a child answers a parent.

‘You killed an important man, Blake,’ he says, ‘their brother.’

‘I didn’t mean to, you know that, Cap'n.’

‘You think they care why you did it?’ Price asks, furrowing his brow, ‘scrambled mind or well one, it doesn’t matter. You killed one of theirs.’

‘I- I know I did and am sorry–’

‘You upset the wrong people, Blake,’ Price says, looking across the water at the two old men perched on the edge of old discarded crates.

The closer they get to the men, the more he can see of them.

One of them takes a puff from the cigar between their lips, the grey smoke whipping to the left with a harsh breeze. There’s the stench of the rotten water below them, reeking of sewage and whatever else has been dumped in there (John might have an idea, but he would never tell).

The world is a state, he knows that as his hand firmly grasps the gun sitting at his waist. Blake stands with his back to him, keeping his eyes trained on the billowing smoke from the factory, a short breath escaping him as he hears his Captain cock the gun.

‘I- I didn’t mean to, Cap’n,’ Blake says, glancing over his shoulder briefly, just long enough to capture John’s eyes. 'You know I didn't mean to... it's just me mind. There's something wrong with me.'

‘I know you didn’t,’ he said, rubbing his mouth with his free hand, ‘I know you didn’t, but you’re causing’ more and more trouble all because you can’t get your shit together, ey? And how does that look for me?’ he asks, ‘I’m your boss and I’m supposed to have all the power in the world and I still can’t control you, an’ look where that’s got us now.’

‘Cap’n, please, I- I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again, please.’

His pleading leaves him dizzy as he addresses the two men standing on the opposite side of the dock awaiting what he has promised. The business is terrible, he concludes.

Even the war was easier than this.

‘I- I don’t wanna die, I got a little girl at home an’… I wanna see her grow, I wanna be there for her when she needs me.’ Blake sobs, reduced to an infant himself. ‘She can’t sleep if am not there, Cap’n. A girl needs her daddy to read her a bedtime story – she needs me to chase away whatever monsters are in the shadows. And if am not there, how am I supposed to do that? She needs me.’

‘Are they her monsters or yours, Blake?’

The sobs escaping him calm for a moment and he feels his heart breaking in the silence. ‘You’re a good man. But they don’t know that and they don’t want to know that. I can't force them to listen cause you killed one of theirs.’

He bows his head, not caring to look John in the eye. He’s quite sure he can hear his heart pounding from where he is standing and the gun in his hand feels heavy. Too heavy.

His big hands are balled into fists hanging on either side of him and in a small voice, Blake mumbles, ‘look after me girls f’r me, yeah, Cap’n?’

It’s so weak, something he expected to leave the mouth of a child – not a grown man. He manages out a grunt as he readies his finger on the trigger, sucking in a breath. To offer him a response seems unjust, there’s nothing he can say as of that moment as he’s all too aware of the eyes watching him.

He lands with a thud as the sound of his pistol rings out around the yard, his body falling onto a boat passing by. His pistol smokes as he moves his hand to station it back to his side. The men sitting across the window offer him a half-assed nod as they push themselves up off the crates. They offer him nothing else: no condolences, no ‘thank you’ for what he’s just done.

No.

Instead, they head on their merry way, leaving Price to watch as the boat drifts down the canal, red splayed across the back of Blake's head.

The sight leaves him feeling empty, like a de-gloved puppet. He has no purpose, simply sworn to a haphazard purgatory until the next time his violence is needed.

—

He's tired and he knows it.

Truthfully, he doesn't understand why he has even entertained your suggestion and the rudeness you exerted in the gallery has left him with a bruised conscience as he stands outside of the home, listening to the littered curses of the residents as they are pulled outside.

Tapping his foot against the ground, his mind is taken hostage by a woman across the street. Her blonde hair is tied neatly into a bun against her head and she seems much too disturbed by the fabric of her skirt. She walks with a sneer — uncommon for a woman as, typically, they know anything other than a smile is sure to make them an outcast.

And still, he's intrigued by her.

He's sure he knows her from somewhere.

And then he sees him. John Price, in person. He's walking with his typical arrogance: head held high, hands behind his back walking as though he's still in the position he favoured. The entirety of the man is a waste, he concluded. Nothing is redeeming about him and his desire to revisit the life he lost is simply pitiful to observe.

The woman he approaches looks at him and they share a few words before Graves notes that her eyes catch his own for a split second before turning back to Price. It's that that ultimately provides him with the go-ahead to approach the pair of them, uncaring for the commotion he's caused in the household behind him.

So, he crosses the street, putting on the brightest grin he can muster as he proceeds towards the pair of them. He doesn't need to be beside Price for the man to turn around and address him. Immediately, he's greeted by a casual coolness.

'Mr—'

'Detective Graves,' Price cuts off, narrowing his eyes. 'I've heard you've been looking for me.'

'That I have,' he nods, a smile plastered on his face.

'And to get my attention... you beat one of my men?'

'He wasn't cooperating.'

The woman beside Price pipes up. 'That's not what I heard.'

Her tone is thick and professional, and she seems to be just as much of a cynic as he is. 'Your men left him bloody and half-conscious in an alleyway. The barmaid had to help him inside,' Price says, 'I wouldn't call that not cooperating. If you wanted to speak to me, you could have asked me. But you didn't.'

'Forgive me,' he says through a huff, 'for not wanting to trust a criminal,' he adds, 'but I have reason to believe that you're the man who took a shipment of guns.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' he says, 'an' Gaz told us about that. You wanna work with us.'

'That I do. If you're not a guilty man then it should be no problem.'

'No,' he says, 'not after how you treated him. You can take your deal and shove it right up your arse,' he says in an all too polite manner. 'I want no part in whatever it is you're doing.'

'But you'll gladly get your hands dirty for Blake, eh?' Graves asks.

The woman standing next to Price shoots him a confused look, her thin eyebrows bunching together in the centre of her forehead as her mouth hangs open ever so slightly. Rather than answer, Price places his hands on the woman's shoulder and begins to usher her away.

Graves watches as he does so, resting his hands on his lips with a grin. 'I look forward to our proper meeting, John!'

—

The coldness of the night seeps between the cracks of the pub as you ready yourself for your walk home in the dark. You give it little thought as you get ready to leave; it’s no different to any other night, aside from the one where John walked you home, of course.

You can’t seem to escape the thought of last night, and even though it was a measly day ago, you find yourself grinning at the idea of the pair of you walking side by side. Neither of you said anything, only offering a quiet ‘thank you,’ and ‘good night,’ when you reached your doorstep and left him.

And, as you’re turning off the lights inside the pub, you find there’s an ache in your chest that the pair of you didn’t fill the void with some form of conversation, although, you’re charmed that the pair of you could walk in silence and not feel the need to speak.

Not even Graves can give you that. And he isn't the criminal.

It’s odd and you feel like a schoolgirl again, bumbling and stuttering over yourself while daydreaming about the bad boy in school. It’s corny, you know it is (that’s the worst part, really), and it certainly isn’t what you’re here to do. You’re here to find the guns and nothing else. The weasel your way into the mind of John Price and crack the code of what exactly has happened to the weaponry. Yet, you’d be a fool to deny the thudding of your heart within your chest every time you heard his voice.

The pub is submerged in darkness as you shuffle towards the doors with a sigh, your bag slung across your shoulder containing the coins John offered you earlier today. There’s so much you could buy with the money he’s given you and you’re embarrassingly excited about the dress you’re going to get, even though you’re unsure as to what you’re going to purchase at this very moment. All you know is you’re dressing to impress, especially, if you’re going to be the woman who he has on his arm for the entire event.

As you pull the first door open, you close it firmly behind you, locking the latch at the top of the doors, and pushing them to ensure they’re both securely shut. You nod to yourself when the door doesn’t budge, proceeding to head out of the door stationed in front of you.

As you push the door open, you are still at the sound of footsteps to the left of you, slowly craning your head in the direction in which you hear them. Still, you keep a tight hold of the bar on the inside of the door as you do so. There’s a shadow which covers your frame and as you slowly start to pull the door to a close, you jump as a hand plunges from out of the darkness, taking hold of your forearm.

You’re pulled away from the door, a short breath escaping you as your forearms are grabbed. You stare the shadow right in the eyes, wincing as their hold on you grows tighter. You open your mouth with the intent of screaming to catch someone's attention, as, quite frankly, the sudden altercation has left your chest rattling and all your strength after a long day in the Hindsight has been sucked out of you. Only, the man standing before you quickly lets go of your arm, placing his hand over your mouth to keep you from crying out.

As he cranes his neck towards you, you feel his hot breath on your face as he forces your head backwards against the door, keeping you completely pinned. There’s the faint smell of booze and smoke on his breath and he offers you a grin, showing off his yellow teeth.

Your mouth runs dry as you look at him in the eyes, unable to even move in his hold. The flesh in his hold feels as though it is rotting, and the horrific grimness of this situation dawns upon you.

You’ve never been one to be played as a fool, however, as you look at the grotesque man standing before you, you feel as though you’re about to burst into a fit of tears. You’re exhausted, you’ve had a long shift and all you long for is your bed. Yet, even the universe cannot grant you that one simple pleasure.

‘I was hopin’ to catch you,’ confesses the man, his leg bouncing as he twitched with a peculiar excitement. ‘You’ve been the talk of the town, y’know? The barmaid. Everyone has been sayin’ how pretty you are and I wanted to see for meself… and they weren’t wrong.’

All you can do is stare as he addresses you as though you’re an apparition.

‘They’ve said that John Price is real fond of you,’ he says, ‘and you know what’s the best way to get to a man?’ he asks, leaning closer as he lets go of your forearm, still keeping a secure grip on your face.

He beckons his head as you watch his hand disappear into the night. So, in an attempt to keep yourself alive, you slowly shake your head, hoping he’ll leave you be.

‘Dumb girl – you got the looks but not the wit about you, ain’t that right?’ he laughs, moving closer and closer to you until his forehead is pressed against yours and you have no choice but to look him in the eyes.

You feel him shift against you, a worrying action as he’s obscuring your view so all you can see are his sharp features and his bloodshot eyes. Your breath is caught in your throat as your mouth runs dry, there’s no sense of security in the eyes of a criminal like him, you know it, and during your fit of panic, you feel your body begin to tremble. He pushes his hand against your mouth harder, forcing your head to press against the glass on the door to the Hindsight.

‘Lemme tell you a little somethin’ about this business,’ he sighs, ‘us men like three things, you take one of them away and… well, you might as well shoot us there and then, yeah?’

You feel something blunt press against your throat.

‘Money, power, and our women,’ he claims boldly, ‘take that away from any man and he has nothing. And I don’t intend on keeping you around just cause you’re giving me puppy dog eyes cause you’re a mutt who's in with the wrong crowd.’

If he knew the truth, you’re unsure whether or not he would have changed his tune or if he would remain the same cruel man he is right now.

'Does it feel good, hm? To work for a fuckin’ scamming lowlife?’ he asks, pulling away from you slightly, ‘bet it feels pretty fuckin’ good, ey? Since you’re choosing to stick around for him, anyway.’

An immediacy hits you as you note that you are going to die if you do not do something – anything: your mission would be all for nothing. Your spirit would haunt The Hindsight and an eternity roaming the ale-soaked halls of that pub leaves your blood cold and throat dry. You hear the gun beneath your chin cock.

‘Please,’ you whisper, and he pulls his hand from your mouth, allowing you to catch your breath. ‘Please just let me go; I- I won’t tell anyone anything.’

He chuckles, ‘The dead can’t speak, but the living can lie.’

A tear rolls down your face as you come to terms with what you’re going to have to do in order to escape him. You’re no killer, you don’t take yourself for one, anyway. Morality always comes first, however, when it’s between the choice of your life and someone else’s, should you really be calculating just how long of a stay you’re going to have in hell?

You wince at the feeling of the cool metal being pressed under your chin, a burst of adrenaline shooting through you as you lift your leg, driving it right into his crotch. The pressure from around your face is relieved as he staggers backwards whilst you sink your hand into your bag, holding the handle of a blade in your hand before driving it into his stomach. The man grunts, his skin suctioning around the blade – almost pleading to keep the hole you’ve just created plugged up to avoid his immediate death.

However you show little mercy in the eyes of the man you perceive to be the devil, and if you have sinned, you shall address that in the afterlife.

He falls to the ground, gripping his side and you stand over him, your hand falling from out of your bag as you hold your arms in front of you, teary-eyed.

‘I- I- I…’ your words waver as you stand, dropping your hand out of your bag. The gun he held to your throat lays on the ground beside him and you can’t take your eyes off of it. Truthfully, there was no innocence in what the man tried to do to you and you know that justifying his actions will only make you the villain.

You are not a monster, but you are a murderer.

The thought hits you like the first lick of light at dawn and you’re blinded by the sight of blood staining your hands. A voice rings from down the road behind you and you take that as your sign to leave. You have little time to rationalize where exactly you’re running to as you find your legs are carrying you before your brain fully processes the fact that you’re moving, resulting in a few clumsy steps as you rush up the road.

You’re winded by the time you make it to the top of the road, and instead of taking the turn to your house just a few streets away, you stop in front of one of the doors at the top of the street. You intend to knock lightly, knowing the people in the house will not take lightly to such a rude wake-up call, but your trembling fist simulates that of the pound of a bailiff. You knock three times, your fist hovering as you go to do it again, all for the lock on the other side of the door to click.

Much to your relief, you spy John Price standing at the door. He’s still in his typical business attire, only the top few buttons of his white shirt have been undone. Your eyes well with tears at the sight of him and you fight off the urge to throw yourself into the arms of a criminal as you stare at him with wild eyes.

You’re aware he can see your bloody hand, but he ignores it as he cautiously reaches his hand out to you, acting as though you’re a feral cat. You don’t move, only lightly flinching when you feel his coarse fingertips brush against your chin as he gently moves your head up to get a good view of your neck.

His face settles from concern to anger as his eyebrows furrow. A tear falls from your eye. ‘I- I’m sorry,’ you croak, ‘I know it’s late a- and–’

‘Don’t be stupid, love,’ he said, wiping away the tear with the pad of his thumb.

You wait no longer, throwing your arms around him as a sob rips through you. Your rationality tells you one thing: you’re not better than he is now, although, you’re unsure whether or not that is such a bad thing. He may be a criminal in the eyes of the law, but with how he holds you, you wonder what else he is beyond the label. He’s respectful with the way his hands wrap around you, one in your hair, pressing your head into his chest lightly, the smell of a discarded cigar haunting the fabric, whilst his other hand captures the wrist of your bloody hand.

‘H- He was gonna kill me,’ you weep, your words muffled by his chest. ‘I didn’t know what to do, I- I wanted him away from me but I didn’t want to kill him.’

Your confession comes with silence, and you push your face away from his chest, looking up at him as though he is God, awaiting a punishment: eternal damnation.

‘Where is he?’

His tone is one of anger, one which desires retribution, a potent hunger which diminishes all signs of humanity.

‘Outside the pub,’ you mumble, holding his shoulders, ‘I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–’

‘You’ve done nothing wrong,’ he refutes quickly, not giving you a chance to change his mind.

Leading you inside of the house, he closes the door behind the pair of you, motioning for you to take a seat on the sofa. You do as he says and take a seat, your blood hand staining the fabric of your cream skirt. He pours you a glass of whiskey, holding it out to you. You take it and bring the glass to your lips, taking a small sip. The burning in the back of your throat causes you to wince as the sensation works to tell you that you’re alive: you survived.

‘I- I was locking up and he grabbed me and… and pushed me up against the door,’ you say dully, ‘he put a gun under my chin, said he was gonna kill me b- because I was associated with you.’

John’s face falls at your confession.

‘I didn’t know what to do. I- I couldn’t think straight and I panicked. I didn’t mean it, I didn’t want to kill him,’ you say, your voice cracking as you bring the glass back up to your mouth. ‘I- I promise I didn’t mean it. I didn’t want to kill him, but it was him… or me.’ He remains silent causing you to look up at him, your eyes creasing as you snivel, ‘I’m a murderer… a monster.’

The whiskey sloshes in the cup as it settles on your knee, more tears pouring down your cheeks. You're heaving for your breath, unable to keep your panic at bay. Strings of saliva cling to your lips as they part once more as your conscience seeks to defend itself further. Only, you close your mouth as John pushes himself off of the sofa, kneeling before you as he takes your blood hand in both of his, looking up at you.

‘You’re not a monster, love,’ he breathes, ‘far from it,’ he adds, letting go of your hand as he reaches into his pocket and retrieves a handkerchief, gently holding your wrist as he begins to clean your hand of blood. ‘I’ve met monsters. You’re nothing of the sort.’

You seek sorrow in his eyes as he wipes the blood away, the tenderness of his action momentarily deceiving you into thinking the pair of you are in your fifteenth year of marriage. In reality, the pair of you are barely friends – strangers.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there.’

The word strangers seems cruel.

You let out a small laugh. ‘You weren’t to know.’

He chews on the inside of his mouth like he’s chewing on a stick of gum. ‘Shouldn’t have left you to walk home alone,’ he refutes, shaking his head as he turns your hand over, continuing to wipe away the blood. ‘Especially not after findin’ that on the handle of the pub. That was stupid of me. I’m sorry love.’

‘It’s okay,’ you say quietly.

There’s silence for a while and you have no desire to break it.

‘Stay here for the night,’ he says, ‘you can have my cot.’

It’s as though he's offering you his life. You sense something – it’s exuding from his pores in the dim candlelight, the fire to the right of the pair of you leaving half his face illuminated with orange, specks of white meeting your eye as you stare at him. He seems afraid, whether it is for you or something else, you’re unsure.

‘Okay,’ you whisper, placing your hand over his with a smile. You close your hand around his, uncaring of any consequence.

‘Good,’ he says.

You feel compelled to answer him instead of falling back into silence, mustering up a quaint but firm, ‘It’s not your fault, John.’

You spy a brief moment of resentment on his face before it settles as he looks at you with thin lips and glistening eyes. All he can offer you is a curt nod, and you suspect that if he does open his mouth, the likelihood of him becoming reduced to a puddle of tears is startlingly high. There’s a peculiarity about the situation you’ve found yourself in, knowing the details of the man and the words that authorities have chosen to describe him as, criminal, murderer, failure.

If you possessed the paper right now, it would fuel the fire burning beside the pair of you.

‘I won’t let anythin’ like that happen to you ever again,’ he says, clearing his throat. In spite of his best efforts, the congestion of his tone is blatant and you know better than to blame his smoking habits on the sound.

‘It’s not your fault.’

‘It is,’ he insists, ‘you shouldn’t have blood on your hands. You don’t deserve the burden of it,’ he says, closing his hand around your bloody one, ‘it changes the way your brain works and… well, I don’t want that for you.’

‘This isn’t your burden to carry,’ you say, ‘I held the knife, I pierced his flesh. His blood is on my hands.’

‘Whose name did he say?’ You bow your head, unable to shake the feeling of guilt. ‘It’s my name that’s deadly, not your actions, love. He wouldn’t have done that to you if you weren’t associated with me.’

‘It’s unfair.’

‘It’s the truth,’ he says, the tips of his fingers lifting your head so your eyes meet again. ‘I’m used to it, love. Don’t lose sleep over someone like me, yeah?’

You ponder your exchange while he leaves you to sit alone with your thoughts for a while. Expressing concern for your safety was one thing, you’re grateful for his words of course you are, however, when you hear the voices of two other men and busy footsteps down the stairs, you choose to nurse your dry mouth with the glass of whiskey he poured you a while ago.

Kyle appears first. Had it not been for the sound of his pounding steps you would have taken the smile he’s giving you at face value – but you know better than to do that. Whilst his anger is not on his face, there’s a potency in his eyes appearing in the form of a minuscule shadow.

‘Don’t worry, lovie,’ he says firmly, pulling the front door open, looking behind his shoulder as more footsteps fill the room. ‘You’re safe with us.’

Disappearing into the darkness of the night, you wonder what sort of sin he is going to commit because of your clumsy hand and desperation to live. Simon Riley is next down the stairs, paying you no mind as he walks through the door frame, nearly having to duck to keep his head from hitting the top of it. The door closes with a slam and you stifle a gasp, the whiskey soaking your upper lip as you bang your teeth against the rim of the glass.

Wincing, you pull your lips off the glass staring teary eyed at the closed door. You’ve never been so emotional in your life, an urgency striking you like a knife to the chest to flee from your vulnerability; to be a damsel in distress is to be everything you have desperately been trying to avoid. And still, when Price appears with a head of ruffled hair, you finish the last of the whiskey in your glass. It outstays its welcome, dragging its feet as it slides down your throat.

‘Where are they going?’

‘Don’t worry,’ Price says, holding his hand out to you. ‘Let’s get you up to bed.’

You choose not to fight his words and follow him up the steps. He stands guard as though there’s an enemy in the house waiting to strike as you wash your hands in the water basin in the bathroom, your reflection split into fragmented pieces due to the shattered mirror on the wall. Your cheeks are stained with the tears you have cried throughout the night, your bloodshot eyes challenging the redness of violence in the remnants of the mirror. You spy your soul in pieces and your chest aches.

Who am I?

The blood is officially off of your hands after a generous amount of scrubbing and when you turn around, you’re greeted by the sight of one of John’s shirts sitting atop the closed toilet seat. You take it into your clean hands, staring at it. His kindness is striking and you feel little remorse as the straps of your ruined navy dress fall from off of your shoulders, permitting the white fabric of his shirt to wrap around you.

Pulling open the door, you step out onto the landing with your dress balled up in your arms. ‘I’ll have Kate fix it,’ he says, taking it from your hands.

‘No, it’s fine.’

‘Blood’s difficult to wash out, love,’ he says gently, ‘rather you keep your hands clean.’ The dress slips from your grip and he rests it on the banister. His statement is a reminder of who exactly you’re in the presence of – that the reports aren’t rumours but facts.

But you don’t care.

Not when you slip into his bed, and not when he sits in a chair beside you, refusing to take the space you possess. Any other bad man would have been between the sheets with you in a heartbeat, and despite your attempts to protest, he insists on leaving you alone in the bed he sleeps in. So you settle with your head against his pillow, his hand resting just above your head, mindlessly brushing his crooked fingers through your hair.

‘You thought any more about what dress you're gonna get for the races?’

A smile forms on your face, ‘no.’

‘I’ll give you some coins, get you a pretty dress.’

Your mouth forms a frown. ‘Because you want to or because you think you have to because of what happened?’

‘Because I want to, love,’ he says, the chair creaking as he shifts. ‘I was thinkin’ red.’

‘Red?’ You ask.

‘Looks good on you.’

Your cheeks are stained with scarlet and you lean further into the pillow. ‘You think?’

‘I know,’ he hums, the tips of his fingers resting atop your head. ‘But it’s your choice.’

‘Red it is,’ you say.

The pair of you sit in silence as you grow tired, and when you feel his hand begin to pull away, you move your hand from under the sheets, grabbing his wrist. He understands and, without a word, he continues to brush his hands through your hair, sweeping stray strands from out of your face as you slowly succumb to slumber.

John doesn’t sleep, however.

Instead, he spends his time watching you. Every sharp breath from you is reminiscent of the gunshots in the trenches. How brutal the mind could be to one. He supposes it is simply his punishment for being unable to save Blake from his own. The destitution of the mind leaves the body with too little to spend. He wishes he knew that without bearing the burden of his actions and faults – without getting you involved. It’s a difficult life, but he’s a difficult person.

The sight of you quells the beating in his chest, and as you sleep you pull your hand from out of the sheets. Sitting idly, he taps his foot against the ground while staring at your hand. The red under your nails, while subtle, sounded the scratching in his mind and he fell queasy at the sight. Reaching out his hand, he took yours in his, leaning forward as he did so and resting his head upon his free hand.

To bear burdens is his job: to hear the scratching in the walls before bed, to brutalize his men, to keep secrets. And now you’re here, he fears all his efforts for money and reprimand have been nothing but a waste of his time.

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

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(Once again I apologise)

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