#the weaponization of Barnes father against her

[waldosakimbo]

OH MY GOD Heretic (2024) has me by the throat. I feel like this one is definitely worth rewatching, because it TELLS you so much, it advertises SO MUCH right away, and it's sinister how it plays out!

Does Sister Barnes have faith? Does Sister Paxton actually believe she's seen evidence of god from, hilariously, some amateur porn? You're given the idea Sister Paxton believes more but she has no converts and no baptisms. Sister Barnes is questioning, but she's more successful. Why is that? (Is it the big sad eyes?) When they spot the teenagers in the street and Sister Paxton earnestly says "I love them," they immediately betray her. She loves the world. Its cruel. She wants to save this man. He's cruel. Faith and cruelty. Iterations. The butterfly image. The dead moths coating the window. Belief and disbelief and god damn it's tasty. Quick aside, did anyone else think he drugged those drinks or not? I worried initially, but I think it was genuinely just another one of his tests for later. Also it's insidious how Reed tells them "truths." He tells them the walls and ceiling have metal but they don't know that would block cell phones. He tells them the front door locks by a mechanism timer that doesn't come undone until daylight, (but he can switch it off). He tells them the house is wired weird. He tells them he put the aromatic pie there, he tests them, and it's so. Good! So when he tells them about religion, his motivations, his study of theology, and the challenge from Sister Barnes (the faithless? Who choses Belief and stands up to him? Who has her throat slit as the sacrificial lamb? Beautiful, tragic) is the other side of that. The flipside of the coin. Hugh Grant is AMAZING in this, because he's Hugh Granting it up but instead of a comedy, it's a horror. Unsettling to the max. Why? Because it's just the power of humanity and faith. It's JUST. The power. Of humanity. And Faith. It's nothing supernatural. It's using knowledge, history, the arts, humanity and psychology. As a weapon. Longlegs fell short for me because it was eventually supernatural and I thought it clunky and mishandled in the second half. This one? It's just humans. It's just an evil man. And it's visceral. More grounded, which makes it Terrifying. Even when faced with a miracle, we learn it's false. It's a magic trick. Even when we could pray, we're told BY THE PERSON. WHO IS FAITHFUL, that it means nothing, but sometimes it's beautiful to still pray for someone. Which brings me to the point where Sister Paxton was stabbed and praying in level...three? of his twisted Dante's inferno house? Actually, quick aside to that, I love the back and forth of quoting Spider-Man or Voltaire. Quoting Virgil or the Swamp Thing. It's again putting them on opposite sides, another mirror. But also showing the house itself as a labyrinth, yes, but specifically I think that was Dante's Inferno poster in his office, making Paxton Virgil, travelling the levels of Hell to the frozen pit/horrifying chamber of cages where he keeps other pious women, going Through to get Out. "Sister P" Is praying even though she Just said it does nothing. Reed crawling towards her, his own throat slit. But there's this moment where he's draped over her, sobbing or choking, looking for the warmth of her prayer, I think trying to feel her belief because he's been searching for it for so long and he's left empty. Before he can find peace (or kill her, did he have his knife to her throat to kill her? I think he would, but I still think he had this moment where he wished he could believe to find peace with someone, especially after seeing that interview where Grant stated backstory of Reed that he was a lonely man who lost someone dearly to him and he searched through religions to find comfort and couldn't) he's killed. He's smashed in the head with the McGuffin from earlier. Victory. Did Barnes come back? I think she was saving her strength and had one final moment to help her friend. And then that fucking ending. Is she dead? Is she alive? Was the butterfly real? Did she believe? Is it only her belief, her butterfly, or is a final hallucination before she passes? Did she make it out of Hell? Anyways, I'm going to have to see this again soon. Delicious. Horrifying. Loved it.

[winterarmyy]

Against All Odds | Part I

An arranged marriage with the duke's illegitimate son!bucky.

Summary: In a medieval kingdom where magic and political intrigue are woven into the fabric of society, Y/N, the youngest daughter of a noble Earl family, finds herself in an arranged marriage to James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke. Known as the Winter Soldier, Bucky's reputation as a monster in war had instilled anxiety into Y/N's heart. But that fear quickly begins to crumble when she discovers that her husband is not the brutal figure society depicts him to be.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 8.1k++

Pairing: duke's illegitimate son!bucky x noble!female!reader

Warnings: fantasy/medieval au, i did not write this with much knowledge of fantasy nor medieval lore. I write it solely for plot and the couple dynamic lmao. if you're expecting full blown fantasy novel; this ain't it, man. anyways, 18+ contents, no minors allowed, nsfw, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, loss of virginity, praise kink, breeding kink (if you squint), marking kink (i think), soft fluffy smut, a wee bit of dirty talk. soft!reader and even softer!bucky. (idk what else, so tell me if there's something i miss.)

P/S: This is the fic for an idea I had earlier this year. The first chapter will only cover the original post but what happens next is something you will need to look forward on the upcoming chapters. Enjoy your read!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N stood in front of the grand mirror in her chamber, her reflection staring back at her with wide, fearful eyes. The delicate lace of her wedding dress was the opposite of the twisting anxiety in her stomach. Today, she was to marry James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke of the kingdom, a man labelled to be more beast than human.

He was known as the Winter Soldier, a title whispered with both fear and awe. Tales of his gruesome feats in battle, his merciless brutality, and his cold, metal arm was deemed as a horror story for the children in the kingdom. People spoke of him as a monstrous weapon, a beast moulded by the Emperor to do his bidding without question or hesitation. 

Y/N had heard the stories many times before; and it has always been a hushed conversation that floats around whether a ballroom of a gala, or at the tables of the garden parties, sometimes even in between the racks of books in the library.

They always painted a picture of a man who lived only for war, devoid of humanity.

She couldn't help but let these tales feed her imagination. What kind of man was he truly? Did he revel in the violence, or was he a prisoner to his fate? Y/N shuddered at the thought, her heart heavy with fear and uncertainty.

Her father, the Earl, had made it clear why she needed to marry him. It was a political manoeuvre, a strategic alliance to strengthen their family's position. The duke, Bucky's father, wielded considerable power, and their union would bring the Earl closer to the heart of the kingdom's influence. 

And when he heard that the duke was looking for a wife for his bastard son, he knew that she would be perfect. That was when Y/N, the youngest daughter, became the pawn in this game. Her father's ambitions certainly outweighed any consideration for her feelings or desires.

Y/N had always longed for a marriage of love, a dream she clung to despite her circumstances. She was a hopeless romantic through and through; much like her late mother. She remembered the nights when her mother would read to her and her siblings, spinning tales of prince charming and valiant heroes.

The fire crackled warmly in the hearth as her mother’s soothing voice filled the room. Y/N and her siblings, her older brother Eric and sister Clara, lay tucked under blankets, their eyes wide with wonder.

"And then the prince, with a heart full of love, swept the princess into his arms, vowing to protect her forever," her mother read, her voice a melodic whisper.

Y/N, her eyes sparkling with innocence, declared, "When I grow up, I want to marry a prince charming too!"

Clara, ever the practical one, nodded in agreement. "Me too! He has to be brave and kind."

Eric, being a little boy, scrunched his nose in distaste. "I don’t want to get married. I want to be a knight!"

Their mother chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from Y/N’s forehead. "It does not matter if he is a prince charming or a humble knight. As long as you marry the one you love, that is what truly matters."

Y/N's heart ached at the memory. How she wished her mother were still here to guide her through this terrifying day. The gentle knock on the door brought her back to the present.

"Lady Y/N, it’s time," one of the maids said softly.

Y/N took a long and deep breath, smoothing down the fabric of her dress. She followed the maid down the corridor, her mind a swirl of emotions. Reaching the grand doors of the church, her father waited for her.

"Remember, Y/N," he said, his voice stern. "Do not mess this up. Just endure it. And you'll be fine. This is the most useful you can be to our family."

Her heart sank further; yet she nodded obediently.

Compared to Y/N, her elder brother, a celebrated swordsman, and her sister, a master in the art of business, had always outshone her in their father's eyes. Y/N's talent with languages; ancient and modern – was seen as a useless skill, something that brought no tangible benefit to the family. 

Her father had never been cruel when she was younger but everything changed when her mother died. In fact, everyone in the family had lost a piece of their soul when she left. Now, his lack of affection only increases the number of scars on her heart.

The doors opened, revealing the crowds of high-ranking nobles; who were mostly strangers – staring at her. Some were judging her; some pitied her. She reminded herself that she was doing this for her family, for the greater good. But the little girl inside her who dreamed of prince charming certainly felt a pang of sorrow.

As she walked down the aisle, her legs trembled, and her hands shook so violently that she had to clasp them together to steady herself. From afar, she saw the silhouette of the man she was destined to marry. His tall and huge figure stood out compared to anyone in the hall. As she got closer, she kept her gaze fixed on the floor, too afraid to look up at her husband-to-be.

When she finally reached the altar, the priest began the ceremony. His speech was long and dragging, giving Y/N too much time to entertain her growing curiosity that she dared to glance up at the man next to her. Even from behind the veil, she could see his towering and broad-shouldered build, his presence commanding the room. His long hair was slightly untamed, and a scruffy beard framed his face. His metal hand, glinting in the sun that leaked through the church’s windows, was a jarring reminder of the rumors that surrounded him.

There were no heartfelt vows to recite to each other; only their promise of "I do" was exchanged. And that was the first time Y/N heard his voice. It was deep and resonant, sending a shiver down her spine; but there was a certain warmth in it that contrasted sharply with his fearsome reputation.

When the priest announced their union and Bucky lifted her veil, Y/N was struck by the unexpected gentleness in his eyes. They were a brilliant, mesmerizing blue, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. Bucky's eyes softened as he looked at her, his gaze tender and almost reverent. Slowly, he placed one hand gently around her waist, pulling her slightly closer. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle against her skin.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as he leaned in, her breath catching in her throat. When his lips met hers, they were soft, warm, and so unexpected. She could smell his cologne; an earthy, woodsy scent mixed with a hint of something fruity; like peaches or tangerines. It made her head spin and her heart jumped all at the same time. 

The kiss was gentle and unhurried, very much differs to the forceful gesture she had feared. As he pulled away, Y/N found herself blinking slowly, her cheeks flushed and her fear momentarily replaced by confusion and a surprising awe. She was caught off guard by the tenderness of his touch, the way his lips had brushed against hers so gently.

Could the rumors about him be wrong?

"I’m sorry if I startled you," he said, his voice low and gentle. "I hope I didn’t scare you, my dear."

Y/N blinked slowly, trying to process the sudden shift in her emotions. The fear that had gripped her so tightly seemed to dissipate, replaced by a confusing mix of relief and intrigue. Her hands, which had been trembling, now rested at her sides, feeling strangely steady. Her eyes met his, and she could see softness in his gaze that contradicted the harsh rumors she had heard.

“I—no, you didn’t scare me,” she managed to say; her voice barely more than a whisper. She took a deep breath, her cheeks getting warmer as she processed the endearment he just called her. On the other hand, her mind was racing as she tried to reconcile the man in front of her with the fearsome figure of the Winter Soldier.

Bucky’s eyes mellowed even further, his gaze glazed with a tenderness that seemed to pierce through the weight of the room. A warm smile spread across his face, and he held her gaze with a comforting assurance.

“Good,” he said, his voice carrying a gentle affection. “I’m glad to hear that.”

The reception that followed was a blur of faces and polite conversation. Y/N moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations and well-wishes, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Bucky than the rumors suggested. Every time she caught his eye, he gave her a small, reassuring smile that made the butterflies inside of her go wild.

As the evening drew to a close, they were escorted to one of the Emperor’s palaces, a grand and opulent residence that was to serve as their temporary home before they traveled north to Bucky’s territory. The palace, with its lavish furnishings and golden accents, seemed to mock the uncertainty Y/N felt. She had been assigned a chamber to prepare for the night, and the palace maids were bustling around her, helping her into a set of elaborate, far-from-modest lingerie.

The palace’s maids’ whispers and side glances did nothing to ease her growing anxiety. Their condescending tones and occasional snickers were laced with cruel speculation about how roughly Bucky would treat her. The more Y/N overheard, the more her apprehension grew. Despite the gentleness Bucky had shown her earlier, she found herself doubting its sincerity.

Could he really be the caring husband he appeared to be, or was it all just an elaborate show?

The maids finally left, their laughter fading down the hallway, leaving Y/N alone in the grand chamber. Her heart raced, and cold sweat formed at her brow as she sat quietly on the edge of the ornate bed. She kept her gaze firmly on the floor, her hands fidgeting in her lap. The room felt enormous, its sheer size heightening her sense of isolation and dread.

The door creaked open, and Bucky entered the room. Y/N’s heart nearly stopped as she heard the heavy, measured footsteps approaching. She couldn’t bring herself to look up, her body tense and her mind a swirl of panic and unease. She almost held her breath entire when she felt the slight indentation of the mattress beside her.

“Y/N,” Bucky’s voice was soft and coaxing, a distinct difference to the coldness she was expecting. “Look at me.” He continued. She hesitated momentarily; torn between obeying and disobeying but ultimately decided to raise her eyes to meet his.

The sight of him; his upper body bare, revealing a tapestry of scars and the stark metal of his prosthetic arm; made her breath hitch. Her eyes traced the lines of his faded wound, particularly the jagged marks where his shoulder met his metal arm. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow and concern. Her fingers, almost of their own accord, reached out to trace the contours of his chest and shoulder.

Bucky let the innocence of her touch to trace the most tainted parts of him; however noting her trembling eyes, he misunderstood her apprehension. “I want you to know, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle, “that I will never hurt you. You are safe with me.”

Y/N shook her head, her heart aching. She felt an unexplainable pain growing in her chest as she gazed at him. Her fingers still lightly touching his scars; her eyes, full of unshed tears, silently asked a question she was too afraid to voice. “Does it still hurt?” she wanted to ask, her expression betraying her concern.

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with affection, and he took her hand in his, holding it tenderly against his chest. “Don't worry. It does not hurt anymore,” he said with a reassuring smile. 

The connection between them was electric, charged with a deep, unspoken understanding. Bucky’s gaze was steady and filled with a depth of unspoken emotion that took Y/N’s breath away. “I know this is difficult for you, Y/N,” he said, his voice laden with sincerity. “But I promise, I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”

His words and the way he looked at her left Y/N feeling both comforted and overwhelmed. For the first time since their wedding, she felt a genuine, flickering hope that maybe, just maybe, their marriage could become something more than a mere political arrangement. Bucky’s assurances, his gentleness, and the tenderness in his eyes began to dissolve the fears she had harboured since the beginning of their union.

As they sat there, the weight of the night’s expectations seemed to lift, replaced by a fragile but growing trust. Y/N had entered this marriage with a sense of duty, convinced that she would have to endure the consummation of their union as a matter of obligation. But Bucky’s tenderness, his understanding, and the sincere reassurance he had given her began to change her perspective.

The idea of fulfilling her marital duty had initially felt like a burden she had to bear. She had steeled herself to face it with resignation, convinced that it was merely another part of her role in this arranged marriage. But now, she found herself reconsidering. The idea of being with him no longer felt like an obligation but a possibility of something more profound and intimate.

Y/N hands softly toyed with the delicate strings of her sheer lingerie, pulling it softly as her doe eyes signalled her husband of her intention. Bucky, sensing the shift in her demeanor, looked into her eyes with a mixture of concern and affection. “Are you sure, my dear?” he asked softly. “I want you to feel safe with me and not afraid of me.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered as she met his gaze, her own eyes reflecting the depth of her emotions. “I am,” she said with quiet conviction. “I feel safe with you, James”

Bucky's hand naturally went to brush her hair behind her ear, “It’s Bucky, my dear,” he corrected softly.

“Hmm?” she asked, slightly puzzled.

He chuckled warmly. “You can call me Bucky from now on. It’s a nickname only a selected few who I trust and love knows.” Her eyes sparkled at his choice words; trust and love.

“Bucky…” she tested the name on her tongue, the syllables feeling strangely intimate. Upon hearing his name from her lips, Bucky’s heart swelled, almost bursting from his ribcage. He hummed in approval, “That's right, my dear. I’m your Bucky.” 

His reassuring smile grew wider, his calloused thumb gently stroke her cheek causing a shiver to strum all over her nerves; sending an emerging desire. One she had not fully acknowledged until now. The way he looked at her, the pure and raw endearment in his eyes, and the softness of his touch stirred something deep within her.

As the moments passed, Y/N realised she wanted this. She wanted to feel his lips on hers, to explore the warmth of his hands, to connect with him on a level she had longed for. The yearning for his touch, which had been dormant under layers of fear and uncertainty, now surged forward with undeniable intensity.

Without fully understanding why, Y/N found herself leaning closer to him, her breath coming in soft, eager gasps. She whispered, her voice barely audible but full of longing, “Bucky, please.”

Bucky’s expression softened, and a tender light filled his blue eyes, “May I?” he asked, his voice low and gentle as he held out his hand. There a shy hesitation before she finally placed her hand in his.

With a gentle but firm pull, Bucky lifted her onto his lap, his careful hands beginning the process of undressing her. Each movement was full of care, yet almost deliberate, as he slowly removed her dress, leaving her in nothing but the flimsy lace piece covering the sacred area between her thighs.

Bucky's eyes roamed over her bare skin, admiration clear in his gaze. Y/N could feel the heat of his gaze, the way his eyes traced every curve and contour of her body. The intensity of it made her feel both vulnerable and cherished, a potent combination that sent pleasurable shivers all over her body.

Seeing the hunger in his blue eyes, she felt the warmth of his body and caught the scent of him; the same once she noticed at the church; warm and comforting. Her breath quickened, and she found herself unsure of what to do or where to place her hands, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

Noticing the subtle panic, Bucky reached for her hands and guided them through the thick strands of his long hair. “You can touch me as you please, my dear,” he whispered, his voice soothing as he reassured her. He leaned in to kiss her bare shoulder, then moved up to her neck, along her jaw, leaving a trail of warmth on her skin.

Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, the softness surprising her. The intimacy of the moment, combined with his gentle kisses, began to dissolve the last remnants of her anxiety. The feel of his lips on her skin was electrifying, each kiss sending waves of sensation she never felt before.

Bucky’s hands, still careful and tender, caressed her back, drawing her closer to him. Her breath hitched as he kissed the valley of her breasts; soft gasps escaping her lips as Bucky begins to lick and sucked on her delicate skin; likely trying to mark his claim on her. 

Every touch and little kisses he left sent shivers straight to her already dripping core. And by the time his lips grazed her nipple, her body jerked forward; in response, unintentionally dragging her aching pussy against his thick thigh.

His lips latched around her right nipples as he licks and sucks the hardening skin; lapping at it as if he was feeding from her. The sensation was overwhelming, yet she found herself leaning into his touch, her body responding to his gentle ministrations. The grip on his hair grew tighter as the strings of moans poured out her lips.

Bucky’s large hands find their place on her hips, guiding her to gently rut on his thigh. Trusting him, she followed his lead as he continue to grind her clit through the thin fabric she was wearing; introducing the sweet friction in on her core. Bucky pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his expression filled with a mixture of subtle affection and desire. “You’re doing wonderfully, my dear. Can feel your pussy leaking on me. Do you feel good?” he murmured as he dipped back to kiss her neck.

Oh, he was filthy with his choice of words but surprisingly she was not mad about it. In fact she didn’t even notice the whimpers purring in her throat upon hearing those sinful words.

It was as if Bucky recognized that needy sound she made; it caused a smile to spread on his lips. She can feel it grow against the skin in between her breasts, “My my, is my sweet wife feeling needy right now?” he teased playfully as he effortlessly lifted her up and laid her down on their bed. 

Placing himself in between her soft thighs, his lustful gaze trained on her naked body; he admired the marks he has left on her breasts, the wet patch on the flimsy fabric covering her cunt, and the way her breath shuddered when he teasingly grind his harden cock against her.

Y/N can feel the contrast of his hands on her thigh, one warm, one cold. Her eyes drew her attention from his hands to his gorgeous face. Oh, the pure unfiltered lust in his eyes was pulling her in so effortlessly; seducing her to submit her body and soul to him completely. Shying away from his stare, she dragged her view down to his chiselled jaw, his broad chest then slowly to his beautiful abs. 

She admired his body as much as he did of hers.

But what was more prominent out of all, was the way she could feel his erection throbbing against her heat. Blood went rushing towards her face when Bucky guided her hips against the confinement of his cock, which in response; causing her hands naturally found their way to cover her face in embarrassment.

A deep chuckle bubbled from Bucky’s throat; he found her reaction to be absolutely endearing. He leaned down towards her, one hand holding himself up and another tenderly pulling her hands away, then drawing it close to his chest, right against his beating heart. 

Having nowhere to run, Y/N’s teary eyes drowned in his ocean blues, “Don’t hide from me, dearest.” He peppered a delicate kiss on her forehead, then on her nose, then on her cheek. She could feel the prickly sensation of his beard grazing on her skin. It was ticklish and a little bit painful and yet weirdly enough, it felt good that it naturally made her want to nuzzle it more.

But before she could, Bucky’s lips were already making their way down to her stomach. Her body responds to how soft his lips trailing down; and further down until she could feel them on her clothed core. A surprised yelp fell from her lips as he tore the last piece of clothing from her.

“Now, hands away from your face, my dear. I want to see that beautiful eyes of yours when I eat your sweet pussy.” his voice was honeyed when he made himself comfortable in between her thighs. His hands reached upwards to intertwine both of her hands with his own; acting as a restraint to restrict her from covering her face.

Y/N almost sat up upon hearing his words, “Eat what now?”, the question she had in mind was unable to be vocalised; due to her confusion. Prior to marriage, she had learned about sex and its purpose in her marital studies. Unbeknownst to her, the knowledge she had was few and limited for academic purposes only. Which means there were only the few illustrations of penetration depicted in books and the process of how children are bred as a result of it.

So what does he mean when he said those words? While she was still lost and confused, Bucky on the other hand was in his own world; completely and utterly transfixed on the glistening need of her cunt. She was dripping wet; the juices covering her slits perfectly; her scent was intoxicating and if it weren’t for the fact that this is her first time, Bucky would’ve ate her like a man starved of touch. But, he can’t do that. Not tonight. He wanted to be gentle; to cherish her, to love on her.

Seeing the darkened clouds in his eyes as he stared at her private, Y/N braved herself to ask, “What are you– ohh hmmm” her sentence ended up transforming into a toe curling moan as she felt Bucky’s wet tongue flattened across her weeping core. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he dragged her clit into his mouth and sucked. He strummed her clit with his tongue, causing her to arch her back and he took the opportunity to push his face further into her cunt; licking and sucking quite the literal soul out her.

It felt amazing but her self-consciousness won the battle in her head, she let out a whimpering plea, “Buc--bucky st-stop. That’s dirty.” as she gripped on his hands, trying to escape from his grip. Bucky growled against her in response to her futile protest. The sweet vibration only caused her pleasure all over her fluttering core. 

When Bucky pulled away for a moment; it caused her to feel a sense of loss. “It’s not dirty, my dear. In fact, it’s so sweet.” His lips moved to kiss on her inner thigh, murmuring against her skin as he left yet more of his marks on her, “So fucking sweet.” He releases his right hand from hers, just to rub his thumb on her clit, slowly dragging it in between her slit; smearing her wetness all around her throbbing bundle of nerves. Her thighs trembled to the sensation of his rough movement of his thumb and a string of shaky mewls fell out of her.

“But..” she tried to protest but immediately stopped when Bucky brought his soaked thumb to her mouth. Her lips were wet from how he gently smeared the juices on her, “Taste yourself.” He lured her softly. Hesitation glints in her eyes as her cheeks redden. Bucky’s eyes grew tender at her watery ones, he whispered lowly, “Sweetheart, do you trust me?” 

She does; but she does not trust her own voice to not come out sounding like a needy moan, so she simply nodded. Bucky’s pink lips spread into a smile, “Good girl. Now, open up.” he coaxed lovingly.

Y/N opened her mouth as she was told and let Bucky slip his thumb inside; he was not shy to smother her juices across her tongue, coaxing her to suck on it. To get a taste of what he was having. “It’s sweet”, she thought to herself. A muffled moan purred in her throat at the thought of her husband enjoying the taste of her.

Bucky smirk grew at her reaction, “Tastes good huh, sweetheart?” he pulled his thumb away, leaving her nodding to his question. “Now are you going to let me enjoy your pussy?” his brow quirked when he tilted his head to the side. How can she deny him now? Her eyes glazed with need as she replied,  “Yes, please”.

Her mouth falls open in anticipation as a low moan creeps up her throat. Bucky’s tongue slips past her folds, she watched him between her legs, savouring her pussy with his unfiltered groans vibrating against her sensitive spot. Breathless moans and incoherent pleads fall from her mouth as the soft and firm tip of his tongue circled her swollen pearl and flicked it. Bucky’s hands went to her hips, guiding it in time with her own movements, giving her partial control to set the pace.

“Buckyyyy.” She gasped as she alternated between wanting to push his head away or keep him in place. Meanwhile, the man in between her thighs had lost himself; consumed by pure desire the more he drank from her cunt. His tongue moved faster against her clit when he noticed the beat of her throbbing cunt increased. She was going to come. He was sure of it.

The way that she was practically creaming on his tongue drove him near feral. He kept lapping at her juices as if it was the sweetest honey he ever tasted; fuck he even sucked her clit in hopes to force out more of her nectar to leak; then he’d lap on it again. 

The sweet cycle had pushed Y/N over the edge, her eyes rolling back as pleasure and her hips slightly lifted as pleasure surges through her veins.“Oh oh Bucky please please.” She didn’t what she was begging for as she chanted his name. “I’m gonna, ‘m gonna–“ her words died as she squealed; her body trembling in pleasure. 

His tongue moved faster against her clit; her cum was dripping out of her; coating his beard but his frantic licks didn’t stop even when she continue to gush on his tongue. 

“Bucky please, sensitive..” It was too much; her orgasm, her swollen clit, his tongue. Everything. 

Unfortunately for her, Bucky was far gone to stop now. He had the taste of her cum, now he wants nothing more than to have it again. Despite her protest, Bucky held her hip down, interlocking his hands across her stomach to keep her in place and continue to lick and suck on her overstimulated cunt.

Her whiny pleas didn’t come across as a sign for him to stop; instead it kept him going causing him to bury his face further in between her legs. His cock continued to throb in his pants, probably leaking with so much pre-cum and in need of some sort of relief but he ignored it. He wants nothing more than for Y/N to cum on his tongue again.

And that is exactly what happened next.

The moment she fell over the edge, Bucky pushed her even harder against him as her whole body spasmed. He maintained his pace on lapping up at her all throughout her high as her hands went from his hair to the headboard, trying to hold her limp body upright. Y/N took a moment to gather herself together, panting heavily as she regained their senses; while Bucky was swift to pull his pants off and throw it to the side.

He grabbed on her hips, holding her firmly in place as his heavy leaking cock nestled between her aching pussy. “Are you sure about this, my dear?” his hot breath fanning against her neck as he gently ruts into her heat. Even though Bucky can see the darken lust in her eyes, he still wanted to make sure that she was sure of her decision.

Y/N’s heart swelled at his concern, and she found herself smiling, a genuine smile that reflected the warmth she felt inside. She pulled him closer and kissed him, pouring all her newfound trust and affection into the kiss. “Yes, Bucky. I am very sure. ”

Bucky quickly responded with equal passion, his tongue slipped in between her lips; exploring the warmness of her mouth, the softness of her tongue. Their muffled moans filled the silenced room, his hands moved to caress her sides, drawing her even closer before breaking away from the heated kiss.

Resting his forehead on hers, his eyes trained on her beautiful face; not wanting to miss his chance to witness the pleasure contorting on her expression. He nudges her clit first, rubbing it slow and sensual before trailing down to her entrance. Gradually, he inches closer, he pushes in and through the tightness of her sacred channel.

Delving impossibly deep, her tightness wrapped around his thick cock until the tip of him reached the deepest parts of her. The sudden feeling of fullness on her untainted pussy caused her to experience both pain and the delightful sensation inside her. The ecstasy of being so knitly connected to each other caused both of them to simultaneously let out moans and groans of raw pleasure.

Bucky waited for her to adjust to his size; leaning down to pamper her with the softest kisses and praises that tears started to swell in her eyes. It was as if Bucky knew exactly what she wanted to hear, how she wanted to be treated and what makes her feel good.

“You’re doing so good, my dear.”

“Look at how perfect your pussy’s taking my cock. So perfect.”

“Made for me aren’t you, sweetheart?. Made to be loved by me, made to be stuffed full of my cock.”

“I promise you’ll be safe with me, Y/N. Always.”

When Y/N finally gave him the permission to move, Bucky kissed her pouty lips and murmured sweetly, “Thank you, my dear.” His hands travelled to find her ankle; which he then gently prop her calf over his broad shoulder. He started pumping in and out slowly, letting her get used to the friction. 

Bucky couldn’t help but to groan out to the feeling of her wet hole gripping his cock ever-so-tightly. It was slippery and dripping, that he almost completely slid out of her. Gripping her closer he continue ramming himself back in, deeper, harder; sliding in and out of her at an even pace. Each force of his cock causing her body to jerk in ecstasy; hitting that good spot in her so perfectly.

“S-shit, sweetheart,” he moans deep and heavy as he felt her pussy tightening around him. His metal hand slid in between them and his thumb hones in on her clit. The coldness of his finger made her jolt at first but when he proceeded to rub and pinch on it, everything suddenly started to feel too intense; so incredibly good.

With his fingers assaulting her clit, each thrust of his cock and every deep guttural moan and groan coming from Bucky, she felt her release was growing closer. Bucky also started thrusting faster and harder; he knew he was about to come. Especially when he can feel how much pre-cum has been leaking inside her.

He leaned and rested his forehead on hers, his needy ruts became more and more irregular when her pretty doe eyes looked up at him, “Cum for me, my dear.” his lips brushed against Y/N’s as he coaxed her to her sweet release. His thrusts got harsher and deeper and the friction of his metal finger working on her clit got her cunt to frantically tremble around him, “I wanna feel you milk my cock, sweetheart. Then, I’m gonna my pump cum inside you until you’re leaking.”

Although his words were debauched to no end, however Y/N could sense his genuine affection for her. She felt his sincerity in the way he looked at her, in the way he held her, in the silenced gaze they shared. Overwhelmed with pleasure, her nails dragged across Bucky’s back as she moaned and screamed out his name; letting the high took over her body.

“Fuck,, sweetheart. I’m gonna cum!” groaned as he took in the sound of her pleasured mewls. He ruthlessly grinds into her, savouring the feeling of her cunt tightened around him. With one last rut, he thrust his cock, balls deep inside and let his warm white strings filling her up to the brim. His cock twitches in her fluttering cunt, his legs tensing with every small grind he makes, groaning lowly at her as he bites down on her shoulder, almost drooling on her as he emptied himself completely into her.

Y/N continued to let out strings of soft moans as he pulled out from her leaking cunt; all swollen and sensitive. While she thought she could finally catch some breaths, she didn’t notice the way Bucky was biting on his lip at the sight of his cum dripping out of her, or how his hands lazily tugging on his now hardened cock.

“Dearest?” Bucky hovered above her as he cradled her by her flushed cheeks. She smiled sweetly as she leaned to his touch, “Yes, Bucky?”, she was anticipating him to utter more of those soft words and praises to her; but instead his lips curled into a devilish grin when he slid his cock back into her, immediately pulling a long sinful mewl of his name from her. Bucky hummed approvingly in response; he gently brushed his lips against hers, “May I fill you up again?”

As the morning sun streamed through the windows, Y/N slowly stirred awake. She reached out, instinctively searching for the warmth of her husband beside her, but found the space empty. A pang of loneliness touched her heart, but it was quickly replaced by curiosity when she saw a bouquet of bluebells, her favourite flower, placed delicately on the bedside table.

Next to the bouquet was a note. With a small smile, she picked it up and began to read.

"My Dearest Y/N,

I hate to leave you alone this morning, but I must ensure our journey home is smooth and safe. I trust you slept well, and I promise to return to your side as soon as I can.

Yours always,

Bucky"

The words written on the note were filled with sincerity and reassurance that made her heart flutter. She smiled, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she wondered how he knew bluebells were her favourite.

Just as she was lost in thought, the door opened, and the palace’s maids entered the room. Their faces were a mixture of curiosity and impatience, clearly expecting to see a frightened and bruised young bride.

However, when they saw Y/N's skin, they temporarily froze in their spots. Her skin was indeed bruised, but each one of them recognized the marks for what they were: love marks, not signs of harsh abuse that they were expecting. The traces of Bucky's possessive love were prominent all over her neck, chest, and inner thighs, leaving Y/N blushing as the maids, too, found themselves flushed with embarrassment.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” one of the older maids muttered under her breath, her tone laced with irritation. Another maid, with a more condescending sneer, huffed. “Looks like we lost the bet, ladies. Who would have thought the beast could be so... tender?”

Y/N’s cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and pride. She could feel their resentful glances and knew they were not pleased with the outcome. The marks on her body were a testament to the affection and desire Bucky had shown her, and despite the initial fear, she now wore them as symbols of the unexpected bond they had begun to forge.

The head maid, who had been the most vocal the night before, now seemed to handle her with an edge of bitterness. The other maids, who had been so quick to judge, were now silent, their eyes wide with resentment.One of the younger maids, braver than the rest, couldn’t hide her frustration. “Well, my lady, I suppose you’re alright, then?” she asked, her voice barely masking her disappointment.

Y/N looked at her, considering the appropriate response. If it was up to her, she ought to punish every single one of them for not knowing their place. Unfortunately, they were not her maids to begin with, but the palace's staff. Otherwise, she would likely fire each one of them. 

The memory of Bucky’s affection and care filled her heart, leaving no room for anger or resentment. The warmth of his embrace and the gentle way he had treated her made the maids' behaviour seem petty and insignificant.

She could still feel the lingering touch of his lips on her skin, the way his hands had caressed her so delicately, and the sound of his reassuring voice. Her body was still tingling with the remnants of the previous night's intimacy. Her skin bore the marks of his love, not of brutality, and each bruise was a testament to the passion they had shared. It was completely different to the vile expectations of the maids.

A small smile playing on her lips despite the blush that still coloured her cheeks. "Yes," she said softly, "I am quite alright."

The maids exchanged annoyed glances, their expressions a mix of frustration and disbelief. Their muttered disappointments were tuned out as Y/N focused on the lingering warmth from the night before.

She couldn't hear a single thing except her heart beating to the thought of her husband. She missed him already. Who would’ve thought she’d be swooning for him so soon?

She found herself yearning for his presence, the comfort of his touch, and the sound of his reassuring voice. The memory of his gentle kiss and tender words lingered in her mind yet again, making her heart flutter.

As the maids continued their work, Y/N hoped they would at least perform their duties well enough to cover up for their childish behaviour. She wanted to be ready to see Bucky, to greet him with the same warmth and affection he had shown her. Despite their rudeness, she resolved to focus on the positive, cherishing the newfound bond with her husband.

Bucky stood at the head of the table, his stern expression and commanding presence filling the room. He was reviewing the logistics of their journey home, his voice cold and decisive as he issued instructions to his knights. His trusted knight, Sam, was detailing the possible hotspots for bandits they might encounter along the way.

"We'll likely face trouble here," Sam said, pointing to a spot on the map. "We should send some of our best men ahead to clear the path."

"Agreed," Bucky responded, his tone unyielding. "Deploy the knights in advance. Ensure the path is secure before we proceed."

Sam nodded and continued outlining the plan. He paused, expecting Bucky to reconfirm, but noticed a change in his leader's face. The harsh lines softened, his eyes filled with a tender warmth, as he stared intently at something across the room. Before Sam could look or utter a word, Bucky turned and walked away with determination.

Sam followed Bucky's gaze and understood immediately. "Ah, that's why," he muttered to himself as he watched Bucky approach Y/N. The change in Bucky’s demeanour was striking. He moved with a grace and warmth that was at odds with his usual stern and imposing presence.

Bucky’s eyes softened as he took in the sight of Y/N. He admired her beauty with a gaze filled with awe and adoration. The way he looked at her was as if he was seeing a vision he had longed for, a rare and precious gem that had finally come into his life.

As he extended his hand toward her, a gesture usually seen as etiquette but now entirely with different meaning, especially with the hearts bursting our of his blue eyes. Y/N’s face lighting up with a shy smile, took his hand; almost too eagerly. Bucky's fingers closed gently around hers, his touch tender and reassuring. The contrast between his usual, fearsome reputation and the gentle way he interacted with her was profound, making it clear that his feelings for Y/N were deeply genuine.

Bucky kissed the back of her hand, his lips softly caressing her knuckles. "My dear," he greeted her, using the endearment he had chosen when they first met at the altar. 

The scene seemed like it was pulled raw from a romance novel that the surrounding staff and knights simply watched in shock and awe. "Did he just..." one knight whispered, eyes wide. "Called her 'my dear'?" another finished, equally stunned.

Sam, who had witnessed firsthand the monstrous side of Bucky in war, found himself in a state of utter disbelief, jaw dropped loose. He had seen Bucky’s sword painted blood-red, his face splattered with the gore of countless enemies. The Winter Soldier was a force of nature on the battlefield, his brutal efficiency leaving a trail of carnage in his wake. Sam recalled the sight of Bucky’s cold, unyielding eyes as he cut through foes without hesitation, his armor and weaponry gleaming with the blood of those who dared oppose him.

And yet, here he was, the same man who had struck terror into the hearts of many, now standing before Y/N with a tenderness that seemed unimaginable. Sam could hardly believe his eyes. The disparity was pronounced and bewildering. Bucky’s expression was soft, his movements gentle as he held Y/N’s hand in his.

“I’ve missed you,” Y/N said softly, her eyes shining with affection. She truly did, it would be a lie that she didn’t felt the ache in her heart when she woke up alone that morning. The emptiness beside her had felt profound. The bed still carried his scent, a lingering warmth that whispered of his recent presence. Even though the separation had been brief, as evidenced by the thoughtful note and the bouquet of her favourite flowers he had left behind, the loneliness she felt was palpable. His absence, however fleeting, had created a void that left her feeling incomplete.

Bucky’s heart seemed to burst with emotion. He couldn't care less about the gawking staff surrounding them as he pulled her close and kissed her deeply. She initially froze, caught off guard and embarrassed, but soon melted into his kiss with a blossoming confidence.

As their lips met, memories of their tender and passionate night together surged through Bucky's mind. The way she moan his name, the taste of her cum, the tightness of her pussy gripping on his cock, the way his cum leaked out of her, every single sinful scene replayed in head; infinitely. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, and he found himself nearly losing control. Reluctantly, he pulled back from the kiss, his breath uneven and his gaze filled with an unspoken hunger.

"God, what should I do with you, hmm, sweetheart?" Bucky whispered, his voice laced with seduction as he continued to place gentle kisses along her cheeks and jaw. His lips brushed softly against her skin, whispering how much he had missed her and expressing a wistful desire to stay wrapped in the warmth of their shared bed just a little longer.

Y/N’s soft giggle rang out as she felt the roughness of his stubble against her delicate skin. The sound was like music to Bucky's ears, brightening his mood and filling him with a profound sense of joy. Despite the joyful exchange, he reluctantly ended the sweet torment, his kisses lingering just a moment longer before he pulled away.

“We should be ready to begin our journey shortly,” Bucky said, his tone shifting to a more practical note when e turned to Sam, who had approached during their moment of intimacy.

“Y/N, this is Sam Wilson, he is one of my trusted knights.” Bucky introduced, his gaze shifting to his wife. Sam gave a respectful nod to Y/N, a hint of surprise still evident in his expression from witnessing Bucky's affectionate display. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Y/N.”

Y/N smiled warmly at Sam, appreciating the introduction. “The pleasure is mine, Sir Wilson.”

Sam, sensing that the formality was unnecessary given their imminent interactions, decided to ease the situation. “Just Sam, my lady,” he said with a friendly tone. Y/N repeated his name with a touch of amusement. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sam.”

Bucky, observing the growing camaraderie between his wife and his trusted knight, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of protectiveness. The easy familiarity between them seemed a bit too casual for his liking. His eyes narrowed slightly as he gave Sam a warning look. “Watch it, Wilson.”

Sam, not missing a beat, chuckled at Bucky’s protective demeanour. “What’s the matter, my lord? Can’t handle a bit of friendly conversation?”

Y/N, noticing the playful tension and Bucky’s slight irritation, couldn’t help but laugh. The contrast between Bucky’s usually soft demeanour that Y/N had witnessed and his current protective stance were both endearing and amusing. Her laughter lightened the mood, making Sam’s teasing even more enjoyable.

Bucky's stern gaze softened as he watched Y/N’s laughter, though his protective instinct remained palpable. Steering the conversion back to the preparations, he allowed a faint smile to tug at the corners of his mouth despite his earlier warning.

“I trust you can escort my wife to the carriage,” Bucky said, his voice serious but tinged with a hint of a smile. “However, I expect you to maintain proper distance and adhere to these additional guidelines.” He paused, ensuring his words were clear. “No unnecessary physical contact or overly familiar behaviour. And if you could, avoid any casual conversations that might be misinterpreted.”

Sam looked at Bucky in disbelief, shaking his head with a bemused expression. “Seriously, Barnes? You’re laying down rules for me to keep my distance from your wife now?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Consider it a precaution. I’d rather not have any misunderstandings.” Sam chuckled, rolling his eyes as he complied. “Understood. I’ll make sure to follow your... guidelines.”

Y/N watched the exchange with amusement, her earlier shyness melting away into a warm appreciation for Bucky’s protectiveness. The scene, tinged with a touch of comedy, only deepened the connection between them.

Bucky, intent on making a point to Sam while expressing his affection, pulled Y/N close and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. The gesture was both intimate and deliberate, a subtle yet clear indication to Sam that she belongs to Bucky. “I’ll join you shortly, my dear,” Bucky said softly, his voice filled with warmth as he gazed into her eyes.

Sam, unimpressed by Bucky’s display, rolled his eyes at the seemingly childish antics. “This way, my lady,” he said with a hint of impatience. Y/N nodded in agreement but paused before turning her back on Bucky. With a loving smile, she whispered, “I’ll see you later,” before following Sam.

Bucky watched as Sam guided Y/N away, his gaze lingered with a mix of affection and something much deeper; an unspoken sadness. As their silhouettes walked further and further away from his sight, a sombre glaze settled over his eyes.

Beneath the surface of his composed exterior, his heart ached; the was a silent reflection of a pain he had hidden deep within his heart. It was a lingering sorrow that had shadowed him ever since he stood at the altar, the weight of unvoiced grief clinging to him as he gazed at his future bride.

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Wondering why he was in the feels at the end? We’ll know it soon enough. I’ll see you in the next parts! Thank you for reading!

[billysgirllol]

[ . . . @lucygraysboy ♡ ]

evening's work had been finished up with the easier tasks; giving the five horses their hair grooming and seed thrown out to the ducks and chickens before the songstress relaxed her aching bones with a seat in the bed of grass towards the end of her father's property near the forestry. where she could perch with her guitar with a good view of the pond where the ducks liked to play. lost in whatever song she was humming to next, she'd already strummed through something both new and old she had written by time she was deeply immersed in the music. it left her vulnerable out there in the open like that, even if she thought she feared nothing. until. . . the sound of a tree branch snapping had calloused fingers halting against the strings & body jumped, swiveling around to see what it was coming after her. bambi eyes found the thing, the person, the boy. a man– the worst species to be feared. all her father's teachings had her knowing that without even witnessing the worst a man could do firsthand from the bubble she had been wrapped in.

she had a gun, she thought initially. but she didn't know what to do with it too well if she needed to use it. it'd be a clumsy shot and she'd have to do all her bettin' and prayin' it'd end up half successful in keeping her out of harms way– but it wasn't going to do that anyway when it was back in the barn and all she had was a guitar as a weapon. small build shot up, holding the guitar by it's neck, "who're you? where'd you even come from?" defensively and angrily, the question was spat. another step was taken back, especially registering how much bigger he stood, but then the second thing she registered was how he barely looked half alive to even be a threat which put a new look of fear across her face because what was wrong with him?

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

snowflakes dancing on the wind

the wistful wyvern, chapter one

a/n: this series is the second instalment i my eflorr trilogy. if you haven't already read fused with the foe, then i'd highly recommend reading that first so that you know what's going on.

summary: three years where you’d sworn off love entirely, tried to interpret it as a good thing, a gift really. You could be more productive, more focused. But now that you were home again, hearing the molasses tone of his voice and seeing the beads of sweat slowly rolling down the landscape of his body, over the ink that crawled up his left arm, you knew three years wasn’t enough to mend your heart. The rest of your life probably wasn’t long enough either. 

warnings: knight!bucky barnes x knight!reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, ex-friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers, former fuckboy!bucky, tattooed!bucky, slow burn, one-sided pinning, flashbacks, alcohol consumption, kissing, dragon attack, childbirth (with very ronja rövardotter timing), blood, weapons, violence, crying

word count: 4296

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

series masterlist | next chapter

info about the world | maps | pinterest board | playlist

masterlist | join my taglist

TEN YEARS AGO, ON THE THIRTY-SEVENTH DAY OF WINTER 848 PR

A biting chill swirled through the echoing halls of Yoslor Penitentiary that noon when two gruff guards yanked you from your cell and dragged you to the far side wing of the prison. 

Passing countless doors, at last, they arrived at one with someone already on patrol on the outside. As a rusty key twisted in the lock with a reverberating click, the guard, still barely letting your feet skim the dirty floor, practically shoved you inside the chamber. 

As they threw you down into a cold chair and yanked at your chains to fasten them in a strong loop smelted into the stone floor by your feet, a voice suddenly caught your ears and caused your squinting eyes to flicker up. 

“Easy, boys! No need to drag her by the scruff of her neck as if she were a cat and not an eighteen-year-old girl,” you noticed the man already seated on the opposite side of the table, “would you please uncuff her?” he requested with an outstretched hand, a command, to your surprise, the guards obeyed, “thank you,” he leaned back in his seat as the manacles fell from your sore wrists. 

Rubbing the angry marks wrapped around your joints, a shiver ran through you as you saw the cloud of your exhale clear in the air. 

When the guards had settled on either side of the exit behind you, the blonde stranger opposing you tilted his head and asked, “do you know who I am?” 

“Should I know who you are?” your gaze lifted from your wrists and met his, “look man,” you sighed heavily, “if I at some point stole something from you, I don’t have it anymore. I don’t really have much of anything anymore in here,” a short and dry chuckle tied a bow on your statement. 

With his stare never straying, his chin then tilted slightly as he said, “I am Steven Grant Rogers, crown prince of Eflorr,” his title rolled off his tongue with such ease as if it didn’t have any merit at all, “and you’re Y/n Y/l/n, daughter of the famed One-eyed Ollie,” he rested his forearms against the table’s edge, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Blinking back at the royal, your brows furrowed softly at the mystery of why a man such as him would pay someone like you the time of day, “…alright, uh, sure.”

“We’ve kept an eye on you for a very long time, long before your father slipped away and made you take the fall for the break-in at the Sulmier estate,” your jaw couldn’t help but clench at the memory, “you’re very talented.”

“Yeah, can you just hurry up and tell me what you want?” you grunted as your knee tensely bounced beneath the table, “they’re serving soup today for supper and I’d rather not miss it.”

Huffing out what seemed like an amused breath, the prince glanced down a moment as he announced, “I have a proposition for you,” he met your gaze once more, “either you can pay for your father’s crimes here in prison or you can come work for me,” he offered slowly, “twenty years either way, but in here you will be treated as, well, essentially an animal,” his eyes briefly flicked around the cold chamber, “whereas with me you will be just as any other warden. You will have the same rights, the same opportunities, maybe even a home by the end of it.”

“…you wanna give me a job?” you squinted back at him. 

To which he simply nodded, “yes.” 

“Me?” your eyebrows only seemed to knit together tighter. 

“Like I said, you’re very talented. I could use someone of your skillset,” he then leaned back in his seat, “so, I’ll give you some time to decide,” he clasped his hands together in his lap, “if you don’t show up at Fort Borün before all the snow has melted, then let’s just say that you wouldn’t be able to get very far with the bounty there’ll be on your head.”

The heavy ivory pelts that made up your cloak billowed around your frame as the piercing wind whirled it around. You had to lean forward a bit to even make any headway in the howling blizzard that coursed around you. Icy snowflakes struck the upper part of your features that the tugged-up scarf didn’t cover. 

Squinting in the snowstorm as you crested the hill and walked under the archway, you glanced above and spotted icicles hanging from the drawn-up portcullis. 

As you glanced around the courtyard and the snow-dusted castle looming in the background, your feet soon carried you over towards a pair of bundled-up wardens posted outside a door. 

“Excuse me,” you interrupted the lewd joke one of them was halfway through telling, “could any of you–” 

But it wasn’t till the soldier to the right jumped and yelped, “ah, by Apa!” that it occurred to you just how camouflaged your frosty visage had been in the blizzard.

“Holy fuck!” the other one clutched his heart after nearly drawing the crossbow strapped to his back.

“Oh gods, sorry. Thought you were a snowman some fucking pixies had put a curse on,” the first knight, whose head was warmed by a thick knitted cap, steadied his breathing with a short laugh, “what do you need?”

Glancing between them, you asked, “could you point me in the direction of Master Tully’s office?”

“Ah,” the beanie-wearing warden nodded, “you’re a new recruit?”

Stifling a laugh, you tilted your head and huffed, “you could say that.” 

“I’ll show you,” the dark-haired one gestured, “come with me.”

“Thanks,” you offered him a small smile as he then held the door behind them open for you to enter first. 

The dining hall of the bustling barracks that you entered nearly gave you whiplash with the warm contrast it had to the freezing environment you’d just been trudging through for weeks. The fireplace down on the far wall warmed the interior and lit up the faces of the soldiers halfway through their meals. 

As you pulled back your snow-dusted hood and tugged your frosty scarf down to expose your nose and mouth, your palm attempted to brush some of the flakes off of you. 

“He’s right over there,” your guide pointed to the balding man sitting alone at a table in the corner of the chamber, before he disappeared from your side and joined some comrades on a long bench, sneakily stealing a chunk of bread from one of their bowls. 

Slowly stepping closer to the older man, hunched over some parchments as he dipped and softened a crusty piece of bread in his stew, you carefully croaked, “master Tully?”

“Aye?” he lifted his gaze to find you. 

“Hi, I was told to come talk to you,” you stepped closer and reached out your hand, “I’m Y/n, I don’t know if you–”

“Ah, yes, Y/n! Great to have you on board, lass,” his gruff hand swiftly gave yours a shake, “you must be tired after that long journey, so why don’t you grab a bowl,” he briefly pointed to the humble buffet off to the side, “have a wee rest, and then we’ll sit down and discuss everything after that, yeah?”

Offering him a light nod, you agreed, “sounds good, sir.” 

As you wandered over to fill up a bowl, Tully waved over the warden who’d shown you the way. 

“Barnes?” 

Swiftly, the soldier rose from his seat, “yes, sir?”

“Go show Y/n her quarters,” Tully returned his attention towards his stew. 

Barnes’ dark brows then knitted together, “who’s Y/n?” to which his commander simply pointed with the hand still clutching a chunk of bread, “oh…” the warden’s glance followed the trail, “right…” before raising his voice to catch your ears, “oi, snow!” you didn’t turn around even as he neared, “hey!”

Dragging the curve of a spoon from your lips when you finally noticed his stare, you finally perked up, “who, me?” and pointed to yourself. 

“Yeah you,” he didn’t slow down as he gestured for you to shadow him, “come.”

“Oh, uh,” with the bowl of stew still in your gasp, you tried not to spill as you scurried to keep up, “my name is actually Y/n,” you corrected him.

Halting his step momentarily, he turned and reached out an inked hand for you to shake, “Bucky,” a small smirk tugged at his lips as your eyes finally got the chance to wash over his visage now that his striking features weren’t veiled by a blizzard, “welcome aboard, snow.”

PRESENT DAY

You felt like somehow you should have predicted that this would be your welcome home greeting. That this striking heartbreak could have somehow been prevented if you’d only remembered when training was usually held. 

It was just rubbing salt into the wound you’d been trying so fiercely to mend. Yet, it was still there, open and festering, bleeding till you nearly passed out. You couldn’t start doing that again, purposely seeking out the salt just to feel something, just to for a single second feel good before reality settled in again. Perhaps your timing had been on purpose, perhaps your subconscious had just been so strong that it had forced you to return home right at the time that practice was held in the middle of the courtyard, and none other than Bucky stood in the centre, shirtless and glistening with sweat, as he ran the newcomers through a drill, sparring with each and every one of them till they yielded. 

You tried to get your feet to move again, you truly did, but you couldn’t keep walking past, couldn’t look away, could barely even breathe as he moved like water through the trainees.

But then suddenly, as your fiddling fingers had found the long, braided leather cord wrapped nearly a dozen times around your wrist to form a bracelet, the playful comment that left Bucky’s lips to egg the recruits on fell short, as his ocean eyes flickered up to find you, only worsening the bittersweet agony you were in.

THREE YEARS AGO, ON THE SEVENTY-SECOND DAY OF AUTUMN 855 PR

“Oh, wow,” Bucky swiftly lowered his goblet from his lips and exclaimed as his stare found you, right as you passed over the threshold and entered the bustling ballroom, “holy shit.”

Closing the short distance between you as he was standing off to the side, your skin prickled at his alarm, “what?”

“No, just–, you’re in a dress,” his gaze danced across the emerald silk draped around your form, the fabric’s shade made you stand out amidst all of the warm harvest fest decorations, “never thought I’d see the day…”

“Well, they aren’t really that practical in our line of work, so–” 

“Oh, I beg to differ…” he smirked, taking a sip of wine which by the looks of it was in no way his first cup, “I think you should always be dressed like this…” slowly stepping closer, his stare continued to lick you up in a way it never had before, “especially with a neckline as low cut as that,” as his eyes brashly dipped to your cleavage, your hand couldn’t help but shoot up to tug it up a bit more, a nervous instinct that only conjured a deep chuckle within his chest, “happy harvest fest to me.”

With cheeks burning hotter than the sun, you coughed out, “you–, uh, you look good as well.” 

“Oh, yeah?” he cheekily cocked a brow and leaned in a bit closer, causing your spine to press up against the wall behind you, “how good?” 

As your heart fluttered and nearly flew out of your chest, you heard yourself sputter, “oh, well, I mean, you always look good, you just–, uh…” your words then poofed away into nothing as he nonchalantly tugged a stray piece of hair behind your ear and let his touch linger on your heated cheek, “uhm…” 

“I just what, snow?” he purred, and you swore you saw his gaze flicker down to your lips. 

“You–… you–…” 

But before your wildest dreams could come true, an individual accidentally bumped into Bucky and lodged him far enough away from you to snuff out your hopes of the taste of his lips. 

“Wow,” the guy briefly clapped Bucky’s wide shoulder, “sorry, mate.”

“It’s alright,” he smiled as the fella went on his way. Raising up his goblet for another sip, he then turned his attention back to you, “so,” his grin was still bright on his features, “you gonna let me dance with you tonight?” 

“Dance?” your eyes grew wide, “oh, y-yeah,” you tried your best, though still failed to sound casual, “sure, if you want to.”

“Great,” he held your gaze a moment longer before saying, “I’m gonna go grab another drink, you want anything?” 

“No thanks, I’m good,” though there was now a decent enough distance betwixt you two, you still stood virtually plastered against the wall. 

“Alright,” he breathed as he began to back up, offering your gown one last glance before he disappeared, “that dress…” his head gently shook from side to side as a long exhale flowed from his lungs, “gods, you look way too hot tonight, it’s not fair.”

When his visage was no longer in sight, you slumped down a bit and took a generous breather, the grin on your face nearly making your cheeks ache. 

After your pulse had settled back from the nervous butterfly he had transformed it into, a fellow warden spotted you and shouted. 

“Hey, Y/n!” he waved for you to come over and join the little cluster he was on the edge of, “you’re still here! I thought you’d left already with lord fancy pants or whatever.”

“Lord Witherington, and yeah, it’s first in the morning that the ship leaves port,” you walked up to him. 

“Well, at least you get to enjoy one last harvest fest extravaganza before becoming a babysitter.”

“Hey, he is doing important research up in Efira, in areas that haven’t been explored since Rimesunder’s demise,” you raised a slightly defensive hand as you noted the historical significance, “it’s an honour to protect him.”

“Yeah, yeah, honour and all that crap,” he sighed light-heartedly as he raised his mug up to his lips, “but you still have time to get seriously fucked up tonight.”

“So that I can be both seasick and hungover tomorrow?”

“So that you can for once cut loose and have one last fun night before you leave!” 

Marinating on his point a moment, your thoughts couldn’t help but float away to Bucky. 

What if tonight was the night? What if you just finally took the leap and told him how you felt? 

Then, like a clock arm clicking into the new hour, you made your decision. 

“Give me that,” you grabbed the drink out of his hands before he could take another sip. 

“Wow, that’s what I’m talking about,” the soldier cheered as you swiftly downed the strong brew, “yeah!”

“Gods,” your face screwed up when you swallowed the last gulp, “that’s disgusting. What is that?”

“My uncle’s mead.”

“Urgh,” the sickly sweet taste burned on your tongue. 

“Yeah, he’s not that good at it,” he accepted the mug as you passed it back in his grasp, “but it’ll sure get you pissed in two sips or less.”

Hoping that the half tankard you’d downed would grant you the courage you sought, you glanced around the ballroom, “I gotta–, uh, did you see where Buck went?” and when he then pointed out towards the main hallway, you offered him a small smile, “thanks,” before disappearing down that way. 

You felt like you were gonna be sick as you walked through the crowds. But if it was from the nerves or the mead that was already making you dizzy, that you weren’t sure of. 

As you searched the castle, carefully poking your head into drawing rooms and narrow hallways, you found yourself anxiously muttering just beneath your breath. 

“…I just thought you should know that I like you–, no, not like that…” you shook your head at your tongue-tied attempt at figuring out how you’d profess to him, “James, I have been in love with you since the day I met yo­u–, no, that’s stupid, I never call him James, that would just be weird–” 

Your murmuring then hushed as you turned down a secluded hallway and spotted the very warden that you had combed the palace for, down towards the end of it. 

The only thing was, he wasn’t alone.

Sliding deeper into the shadows, you couldn’t spare yourself the heartache and not look. 

Bucky’s lips were attached to the long neck of some leggy blonde. Her quiet whimpers echoed against the fortress walls as he felt her up and surely littered her skin with heated lavender marks. 

Suddenly, they shifted, turning till Bucky’s back was pressed up against the walls and, to your surprise, now no longer obscured by his bulky physique, another lady, a redhead, appeared beside the hickey-adored one. 

“So,” the redhead bit her lip as she slid her palm down to pet the palpable tent in his pants, “are you gonna show us to your chambers or what?”

“Yes,” he breathlessly nodded, “yes I am,” before seizing their hands, “right this way,” they then stumbled further down the dark hallway till they disappeared from your sight, leaving you frozen in the engulfing shadows with tears silently streaming down your face. 

PRESENT DAY

“Snow?” his eyes grew as wide as his grin, “gods, it is you!” Bucky then all but forgot about the training session he was in the middle of teaching and crossed the courtyard, “it’s really you!” once his brisk stride reached you, he plucked you up into his brawny arms and spun you around, “you’re back!” 

As soon as your feet touched the ground again, you took a large step back, though hated how the distance gave you a better view of his naked torso.

“Hi, Bucky,” you uttered, readjusting the bag strung over your back. 

Why did his touch still have to make your heart flutter? 

“Three years,” he placed a wide palm on your shoulder, “three fucking years!”

Three years where you’d sworn off love entirely, tried to interpret it as a good thing, a gift really. You could be more productive, more focused. But now that you were home again, hearing the molasses tone of his voice and seeing the beads of sweat slowly rolling down the landscape of his body, over the ink that crawled up his left arm, you knew three years wasn’t enough to mend your heart. The rest of your life probably wasn’t long enough either. 

“Yeah, you–, uh,” you swallowed the thickness of emotions that peeked through in your tone, “you grew a beard.” 

“And you still look exactly the same…” his gaze washed over you as a soft sigh flowed from his lungs, “gods, I’ve missed you,” he then tilted his head and asked, “you missed me?”

“I–,” blinking back into the stormy sea of his eyes, you felt your frame begin to tremble at the feelings that were still as alive as ever, “uhm…” averting your gaze, you had to get away before everything burst, “I need to go report to the king,”

“Oh, yeah, right,” his electric touch slid from your shoulder, “last I saw, he and the queen were in the blue drawing room. You haven't met her yet! She’s kind, you’ll like her.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you refused to look back at him as you turned towards the main entrance to the castle. 

And as you began to walk away, you heard his voice call after you, “really is good to have you back, snow!”

Nearly ripping the door off its hinges, a fleeting gasp escaped you as you saw the queen by the open window, shooting arrows after the beast that whirled outside. 

“Your majesty,” you exclaimed as your eyes briefly flickered to her pregnant belly, “there you are!” you then swiftly crossed the room to yank open the small servant’s door, “this way!” 

Reluctantly, the royal stepped back from the window, smoke and ash gushing into the castle from the opening, and followed you up the revealed stone spiral staircase. 

As you rushed up the tower, your glances didn’t just dart back to the queen, only a few paces behind you, but every time you passed one of the narrow windows, your vision couldn’t help but catch the chaos down below.

The stubborn dragon, that had plagued the town of Borün for two whole years now, had returned. 

With daggers still tight in your grasp, you tried not to think about the people you knew to be down there in the fray, wonder if they had all been burned to a crisp, but instead attempted to shake it off and focus on your mission at hand. The king had commanded you to flee the fight and protect his wife and unborn child. 

A glint of fire reflected in the queen’s eyes as you glanced back at her to find her pace halted and her palm clutched on her stomach as she stifled a groan. 

“My queen,” you dropped back down a step closer to her, “are you–”

“I’m fine,” she waved you off and drew in a shaky breath, “keep going, I’m right behind you.”

Soon at the top of the tower, you pushed the door open and held it for the noble to enter, your glance though darting out the window as she passed. 

But when a low groan seeped from her throat, your gaze darted back to her with worry, “alright, that really doesn’t sound that good,” the door slammed behind you as you sheathed your weapons and stepped closer to her, “did you get hurt?”

“No, I’m–, ah! I’m alright,” she uttered through gritted teeth, her eyes squeezed shut as one hand reached out for the wall while the other stayed on her belly, “fuck…” 

Glancing down towards her hand as it rubbed in slow, soothing circles, your eyes then widened, “are you–… your majesty, a-are you–”

“In labour?” her eyes barely opened as she met your tense gaze, “yeah. My waters broke a while ago.”

“Oh gods!” now you truly wished you’d just stayed down with the dragon, “now? Here? I–, I–, wha–, can’t you just turn it off?”

Letting both her quiver and bow slide off her frame and drop to the floor, she let out a strained exhale, “not really how it works.” 

“I–, I–, okay, I don’t know what to do–”

“That’s fine,” her arm then reached out for your support, “I do,” you carefully helped her further into the chamber before she sank down a wall till she was seated on the floor, her pale yellow gown bunching around her legs, “alright, I’m gonna need one of your knives when its time to cut the umbilical cord.”

“O-okay,” eyes still wide, you checked your belt just in case they’d mysteriously disappeared in your panic. 

Noticing the terrified expression on your face, the queen’s head tilted slightly as she said, “Y/l/n, please don’t pass out on me, I need you here with me.”

“No, no, I’m not gonna pass out,” you rushed to reply, though weren’t completely convinced yourself, “I just–, w-what do I do? Do I do anything?”

Raising up her fingers, she panted, “take my hand.”

“Alright, yes, of course,” you swiftly grabbed her palm. 

You had no idea how much time passed, if your hand would eventually fall off for how hard she was squeezing it, or even how many times the royal’s groans, which threatened to morph into screams, reverberated off the palace walls and mixed with the chaos rumbling from outside. 

Then suddenly, an echo shot through the castle, “dove!” and though she couldn’t find it in her to yell back, the familiar voice visibly thawed something within the queen. 

“Up here!” you yelled as loudly as you could. 

Swiftly, the door was kicked down, and in stormed a honey-haired man, whose bloodstained shield and stout axe promptly dropped to the floor with a loud clang. 

“Steve!” the queen cried out through the relieved smile that softened her pained expression, “you’re here!”

“Yeah,” he looked as if a feather could have knocked him over, “I’m here, I’m here,” the king then rushed to switch places with you, kneeling beside his wife and clutching her hand in both of his, “what fucking timing our daughter has,” a soft chuckle bubbled out of him as he bought the back of her palm up to his lips and planted a chased peck upon it, “not even born yet and she already wants to join the fray,” he uttered, conjuring a slight laugh to crack through her pain, “a real fighter, just like her mom.”

Gazing up at him, a sombreness suddenly washed over her features as she then murmured, “my love, if I don’t–”

“No,” he swiftly cut her off, “that’s not gonna happen, you hear me? History won’t repeat itself, you’ve done everything in your power to make that so. You can do this, dove. I know you can.” 

He held her hand through it all, took the sting as each one of her nails broke his skin and every ear-piercing curse she threw at him, till a new life was suddenly in the room, laying against the exposed skin on her mother’s chest and wailing about the sudden change in scenery.

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[tinydefector]

IRON GIANT 3

Optimus prime x Human

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings; none

Optimus prime Masterlist

1

11

___________

It's a few days later and the child is once again sitting on Optimus' leg, a book in hand as they read Outlook to him. But commotion outside the barn catches both of them. "Look I told you I don't know, I haven't seen anything out of the ordinary, and I don't want you all scary my kid” their voice calls out from outside.

"Oppy, what's wrong?" the little one asks, sensing as keenly as any could the subtle shift in Optimus' posture at the commotion beyond sheltering walls. Optimus rumbles soft apology, lowering his helm and raising a gentle servo to offer comfort. "Do not fret, little one. Just your Par talking with people, but i must show caution." He states in reassurance, he carefully lifts the sparkling from perch on massively folded legs to cradle nestled against plating.

Transformation is quick, the little one giggles and laughs as they move around the cab of the truck, tiny hands clasp his seat in curiosity as they begin looking around grabbing at random parts. He turns his mirrors inward to make sure they are safe.

It's only a few minutes later that the doors to the barn are thrown open. Soldiers look around. The older human looks almost relieved to see Optimus hidden. The little child opens the door of the truck excitedly calling out. "Par!, Par Truck Truck goes vroooooom!"

The Soldiers continue checking things. "Come on baby let's get you down." They call out, holding their arms up to their child, small giggles come from them as they climb down into their parents arms watching the soldiers walk around. “Par, Army men!” They continue excitedly while watching them in awe.

The soldiers exchange apprehensive glances as the child's enthusiastic call draws their attention. One of the mne steps forward cautiously tapping knuckles gently against chipped red paint of the truck. “nice Peterbilt, used to have one like this back before I joined the army, trusty vehicles” he calls out.

“Ye was my father's, now it's kinda become a hobby project to fix up.” They state, trying to come up with a story without calling Optimus a He while talking. “Hopefully one day I'll get it back on the road, might even take Squirt here on a road trip” They continue while pulling their kids cheek.

It makes the man laugh as he walks closer. “Eh sounds like the life. truck got a name?” He asked and they have to stop themself but a little voice called out. “Oppy Truck!, Oppy Truck!” They state loudly. It makes the soldiers laugh at little one.

It nearly makes their parents' blood run cold and Optimus has to hold himself from panic too. “good kid you got there, Look after ya Poppy's truck then” he rumbled with a chuckle before another speaks up.

"All clear in here, sir. Just a kid's toy, and farm equipment." The voice carries an unspoken question - whether to continue disturbing what appears a scene of mere peace. Glancing between guardian and child now reunited in the doorway, another soldier relaxes stance minutely. "No signs of disturbance. Let's move out, give the family their day." boots scuffing straw.

"What is going on?. what is the army looking for all the way out here?" They ask while boosting their little one further up their hip. The soldiers share an uneasy look before themselves.

"Apologies for the disruption. We've been tracking movement in the woods, believed to be associated with...weapons trafficking. Just performing routine sweeps of outskirts as a precaution. No disrespect or disturbance meant to you or yours." A younger soldier speaks up tentatively. "We spotted unusual tracks, Still, people on edge after..." Her gaze falls realising he was giving information he shouldn't have been. "Just want folks safe, is all. You've a right to peace; we'll be gone soon and trouble you no more." As the other men begin to load up its the older man from before who had chatted about the truck. “Keep and eye or ear out, if you see any military jets overhead its best you get out of here” it's a vague warning but a warning none the less about something bigger going on.

They pull their child closer as they watch the soldiers pile back into the truck, many giving nods and glaces towards them as they drive off. They watched as the military Jeep and trucks slowly trek off the property. "Baby where's Optimus?" They ask their child, hoping It would calm their nerves by asking the silly question.

"Oppy!" The tiny one squeaks, twisting round in guardian's arms to peer back at the dishevelled peterbilt. Tiny hands point eagerly. "There, Par! Oppys! A Truck!" The excitement in their child's voice isn't lost on them.

His engine rumbles gently in response. Another sigh of relief leaves them as they press the side of their head against his door. "Are you alright, God I'm so sorry I didn't expect them and was hoping I was loud enough to give you a chance to hide" they are quiet for a moment. "They are looking for something, they weren't willing to say but they asked if I've seen any strange aircraft's, i think they are looking for someone like you"

A gentle exhale escapes vents, it was what he had feared, that others were about, and all he could hope it wasn't Decepticons out this way.

"If they seek me, I shall remain unseen. But your family's shelter comes first." They slowly slide down the wall, eyes lingering Optimus alt mode. Their child perks up. "Par, par Oppy is a truck, he turns into a truck! Isn't that cool!" They exclaimed while pointing to Optimus. "I can see that baby, he's very smart isn't he" they chuckle with a tired and worried smile. Optimus can see the worry etched in their face. “I won't let anything have too either of you” he calls out trying to reassure them. "I'm just worried, gut feeling that something bad is going to happen." They state.

His engine rumbled softly. "Troubled times stir troubled sparks," he rumbles mainly to himself, even in alt mode his attention was now on the skys.

Later that day Optimus still lingers in the barn, he had decided it was safer to stay there for now, but he remained vigilant watching both the child and their parent who was currently up a ladder, working on nailing some boards back down. "Par!, Oppy look!" The child calls out. It's Optimus who moves slightly, helm peeking out of the barn to see what they had. "Oppy, Oppy, look what I found!" the young sparkling calls excitedly, scurrying over with tiny palms outstretched. Nestled in their hands lies a cluster of strange objects smooth stones of varied hues, along with bits of coloured glass and ceramic smoothed by time.

Wide little eyes peer up at Optimus's faceplate, silently begging his praise on the tiny treasures collected. A gap-toothed smile spreads brightly. "Aren't they pretty?"

"Indeed, You have a keen eye for treasures." He states with a soft smile. “it's safe to come out if you want, I haven't seen anyone around since they left I'm sure your in the clear Optimus” they call out around the nails hanging out of their mouth. Optimus lets out a deep rumble noise as he slowly moves out of the barn, joints and gears creaking and screeching as he moves to stand outside. He watched his pede making sure that the little one wasn't at risk of being stepped on.

They had taken to playing across the yard with toys which makes Optimus vent out a sigh of relief as he moves to watch the older work. The cracking sound is what catches Optimus’ attention when the ladder gives out underneath them.

He moves around a speed he hadn't moved in a long time at the startled cry, powerful engines surging him into swift catch as the ladder hits the ground. "Careful now, I have you," Optimus rumbles, vocals soothing yet concerned as he over looks them. Ventilations exhale relief once he found no injuries. Optics crease warmly down at the human now gazing up, wide-eyed but unharmed. “are you alright, seems i caught you just in time”

Their eyes go wide as embarrassment takes over them. As their jaw drops a little. they hold onto his shoulder plating looking at him in shock. "I mean best rescuer I've ever had, I'd have to say my favourite set of red and blue" they state boldly, not thinking before they spoke.

Optimus rumbles a chuckle, warm field pulsing flattered amusement despite hint of embarrassment surfacing in his own modulated field. "Ah, you flatter me." massive digit lifts carefully to brush again their chin in gently. Optics crinkling warmly, he pauses for a moment, savouring the small moment "perhaps you should stay away from highest, we wouldn't want another fall"

His begins to lower them gently back to ground. As they are placed back down on the ground their legs wobble slightly. Optimus heads back over to the barn where their child continues to call out and ask him to play. They stand there stunned.

They had a thing for him. He was sweet, kind and he adored their child. They had a thing for an alien robot which could transform into a semi truck.

_____________

Let me know if you would like to be added to tag list (tagged for every fic)

Taglist

@angelxcvxc

@saturnhas82moons

@kgonbeiden

@murkyponds

@autobot79

@buddee

@bubblyjoonjoon

@lovenotcomputed

[kit-williams]

Chaos Tulio: Superbeast

This is a Loyalty swap for Tulio. Not based off of any fan heresies a lot more work goes into those and I'm not willing to build from the ground up an alternate Horus Heresy. However all of the boys (Except Tyberos and other actual 40k characters) will be getting a Loyalty swap. There will also be a "Falling to Chaos" version for the Loyalists and (tentatively) a "Rising to Redemption" for the Traitors.

Also Psychi in this story has descriptions due to the more... graphic nature of this one to lessen any ick someone might feel about a reader insert

Word count: 3542

Tag List @bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts

@liar-anubiass-blog @thevoidscreams @barn-anon @sculptorofcrimson

Thank you to @squishyowl for the dividers

tw: sex ahoy, dubious consent, will also tag as noncon as well, yandere, Tulio is his own warning

Readers Discretion is Advised

The traitor realm of Ultramar was the largest holding of traitors outside of the eye of terror. Controlled by the fallen Primarch Robute Guilliman; it fell overnight following the charismatic leader that was the primarch of the 13th legion. The realm was a beautiful hell... a hell where they knew exactly how much worth you had in you the moment you were brought into their clutches. For a thing of Chaos... even the Chaos was calculated and planned for... for the Primarch hated surprises.

Tyranids were a surprise that the Lord of Ultramar despised and thus he dedicated several thousand of his sons to dealing with it and the profane rituals to insure that they could protect the realm of Ultramar. Profane rituals blessed these sons of Ultramar as to defeat their seemingly endless xenos foe... they chose to become like their foes. To become the beasts.

Lieutenant Tulio Sydo had secured a large victory for his Primarch, at the cost of thousands of his men, a few warp drives, and his fellow Lieutenant... the Hive Fleet barreling towards Macragge was no more... the splinters of the hive fleet would be hunted down but for now he was told to recuperate... to relax... to partake in revelry... as his worship of the four was far too lopsided according to the chaplain... the youngest deserved his worship.

The room smelt of sweat and sex as concubines bodies moved against mutated flesh. The four armed and eight eyed Lieutenant was watching the depravity... they couldn't be too rough given theses were the modified concubines... surely someone's seed would take. His lounged as his digigrade legs were spread open, his cheek rested on one of his hands, another held a goblet of wine, a third resting near a weapon, and his fourth hand laced through the blonde hair of his once favorite concubine as she took his cock in her mouth. He was fused to his armor in certain locations... his thighs, the tops of his hands and arms, and from the nose up was now twisted with a large singular horn coming from his forehead.

He could smell her... his black tongue lazily swiped over his needle like teeth. His eyes closer to the back of his head could watch her... his Psychoula. Comparing her to the concubines they looked far prettier... healthier... with a glow to their skin. His eyes darted to the symbol of the Prince on his former favorite's tongue just working her best to please him. Psychi feared him... he could see it in the way tears gathered in the corners of her eyes... those plain brown things. How thin her dirty brown hair was but oh what a rich chocolate brown it could be when cleaned. He had the pleasure of seeing her look good once... once again when his favorite was failing to make him feel alive.

Slaanesh wasn't his favorite of the four... Khorne was his main patron and it was hard to drag him back to the center of worship that being so high up in his father's good graces required. So Tulio had to... excessively indulge in Slaanesh to balance out his souls humors. Yet this... neglected looking thing drove him to feel such licentiousness desires. His eyes, the ones that could see her, focused on her as he churned his hips. Hand gripping the hair tighter as he closed those still green eyes of his just picturing those sad looking brown ones looking up at him.

He grew to dislike his erstwhile concubine when she had caught sight of her, of course ignorant of his interest in the feeble little thing, and simply upturned her nose to the poor little thing. But, her mouth was a good replacement until he could get those pale lips to wrap around his own cock one day soon. Oh yes orgy first then rewards for his men as they had all chosen their desired pitiful creature to have as theirs and theirs alone and he could tell they all were watching, or trying to not watch, nervously. He sees her tense as he catches her eyes dart over and notice how he looks at her and what is going on between his legs. Tulio can't help but grin as he lets out a groan letting the whore between his legs drink it up.

"Brother Cyrus." Tulio started as he was being cleaned off. His second also appeared to be boredly watching the festivities but really Tulio knew his eyes were focused on some one armed black haired waif. Such a tiny looking frail thing... Tulio might have been tempted to lust over such a cute looking thing but his Psychi caught his eyes first.

"Yes Lieutenant?" He replied with a bored sigh.

"You want a go at this?" He gestures to the concubine in his lap who looks at him confused. Cyrus looked over clearly uninterested before Tulio purred out, "Might make sure you don't... break your little waif... if you get some of that eager passion out. Whole point of this orgy really... don't need any of my closest men sobbing about breaking their new toy."

They ignored the concubine trying to get an answer to beg for her master's affection and Tulio could have ignored her but he looked down at her boredly, "You were always on loan to me my dear. I just tend to get possessive of my things." He says grabbing her chin and pushing her lips together, "However, I'm about to get a tight new toy..." He says before brother Cyrus grabs her and drags her into a side room.

The wine ran down his throat so smoothly cleaning away the acidic feeling from gorging himself earlier. He looked at the empty goblet holding it to the side and just gently rolling his hand as he watched his timid little Psychoula come over to fill the glass. Her cheeks flushed from the debased acts and the pleasured moans... perhaps glances from the women to entice them to join in and enjoy.

"What do think about this my dear?" He trilled to her watching confusion crawl across her pretty face slowly like a body divided below the waist... refusing to die and dragging it out like intestines across the ground.

He watched her mouth open slightly a few time as her eyes darted around trying hard to look away but knowing that she had to maintain eye contact with him. "I... I... its... it's not exactly... my first choice?" She tried her best not to stutter and if it was anyone else he would be offended at the lack of respect given to him. Tulio knows he'll teach her better manners she's just not use to his divinely gifted aura yet. Few mortals could manage to not be intimidated or struck with fear the first few times meeting him.

"Oh?" He cooed to her moving to him now lounging on his side giving her his attention. The saliva clinging to his cock has dried off and he was eager to replace it with something else. One of his hands began a languid stroke, "What brings you such hesitations Psychoula?" Tulio did his best not to have a predatory grin as he could see the other rewards looking at her with pity and fear as they tried to ignore the mewling and moaning throng in the center of the room.

His eyes dilated for a moment watching her pink little tongue wet her dried and chapped lips. His eyes wandered down to the front of her stolla where the fabric revealed the tattooed symbol of the Ultramarine's on her collarbone like all slaves. "It... it looks rather violent." She just says uncomfortably, he could tell she wanted to beg to be dismissed but she was trapped.

"Oh it is. But," He pauses taking a drink, "they are modified to handle such carnal appetites. Only the prettiest things can become like them..." Tulio leans in watching her start to shake but like a good girl she doesn't move, "I think you're pretty enough to become one." He whispers into her ear pulling back to watch her stiffen with fear. Those tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as she whimpers just biting on her bottom lip resisting the urge to beg for mercy.

Tulio stops playing with himself and sets his goblet down as his clawed hands grab her feeling the barest of resistance as he pulls her into his lap. This lower set of arms pulls on the low quality fabric apart causing her to start crying as everything below her waist was now revealed... he could feel how boney she was. One upper hand retrieved his gobelt... the other upper hand worked on throwing the last bits of her ruined stolla away... one lower arm was groping her ass, his cock twitching with excitement, as his other worked her breasts.

"You're so small zoi mou." He stated as her breasts were small from lack of food... lack of nutrition... oh they wouldn't do. Two of his hands rushed down and grabbed her ass with a smack causing her to yelp as he felt up the slightly boney thing, his cock leaking again with excitement at her being in his grasp and his hands felt up her body. "This won't do at all." He said tutting softly as he grabbed her chin. He loved to watch her cry... it stirred something noble feeling in his chest. She was a soft and frail thing that needed someone to protect her and he was going to be that one to do so.

"You'll fatten up soon enough and have breasts as enviable as any of the other concubines getting ravaged here." He made her look at one of the women face down on the floor with a pleasured look on her face as cum oozed down her thighs while one of the battle brothers was roughly rutting with her. She was too speechless only making whines of pleasure... he could smell the shameful arousal from Psychi... "Fat breasts for me to grope and hold," he whispers in her ear, "fattened hips for me to grab and feel my balls clap against." He turned to have her look at him, "You want to be in that position, dont you?"

He watched her shake her head and just chuckled, "I can smell you." He poked her nose like some amused child and not a being of twisted transhuman dread and the simple dread of the profane gifts he has gotten. He pushes her against his cock and she jerks in his grip.

"Please you're too big my lord please! Mercy!" She finally sobs and Tulio shivers, one of his hands gathering up his cum on some fingers.

"Hmm you're right... how about we change that." He leans her back slightly pouring the far too rich wine into her mouth. She lets out a sputtering noise as his cum covered finger pushed into her. She pushed the goblet away and coughed as the red wine stained her skin and wetting her hair as Tulio worked his finger in and out of her at a fast beat smearing just a light coating of his thick cum into her unprepared sex.

She felt her body relax and react to the way his finger moved in and out of her quickly and filled her with a thickness akin to a cock. Tulio's barbed tail twisted and coiled around itself in its own way to express its master's twisted glee. "Yes," he dulcetly crooned, "be a good girl and relax for me." A clawed hand moved over her stomach... claws gently tapping against those visible lower ribs of hers. Tulio loved the way she cried... the pitiful expression she wore just stroked something in him. Tulio felt that same sentimental twinge itch in the back of his mind... was this what loyalists felt over their charges?

He drags out a gasping moan as his index joins his middle finger. He pulls her dirty hair free of the frazzled braid and watches it spool out over the lounging chair. His eyes all focus on her... drinking in the full picture of her pleasure... his hands dance over her body. He held a memory covetously close to his wicked hearts... having seen her smile. Having seen her express a pure spark of joy even in hell. Her smile made such a frail looking creature like herself look radiant and glowing.

She whimpered under his ministrations as she writhed on the large lounging chair unable to stop squirming. Her eyes screwed shut as she was torturously close... Tulio leaned in as his long thin black tongue glided out of his mouth like some predatory beast and it moved into her... finding her clitoris... she squealed as she orgasamed and she tasted like he was expecting... unhealthily... but he wasn't a fully selfish lover... she'd taste like dark chocolate to him one day... that delightful bitter and salty combination mixed with an essence uniquely her's.

He knows she should have asked if there was anything else he needed... but his answer would have been a yes. His hooves touched the stone floor as he grabbed her by her upper arm and dragged her to another room, her legs seemingly failing her. She caught those pitying looks from the others but they would soon have to worry once the concubines were sent away with cum filled cunts. The sexual frenzy of his brothers would end soon... but he was going to indulge in his reward first.

Pressing her hands against the wall in the second room he rocks his cock against her back as he takes his time letting his eyes meander and wander over her body... again far too thin for his liking... he'd find out what fruits and sweets she'd like and help her indulge... oh he certainly was feeling the high that others got from the Prince of Pleasure. She was surly placed in his path by him to keep Tulio from giving it all to Khorne... just as the Weaver of Fate kept his mind sharp... and the loving Grandfather kept him hearty and hale... he would return to balance with his now continued indulgence of his dear Psychoula.

He tossed the empty metal goblet away as all of his hands moved over her body, two hands grabbing and squeezing her breasts on the edge of being too much for her body he could feel her try to flinch away but she was very much well trained... hardly flinching away at all. "I'll enjoy breaking you in... have you begging for my cock again."

She whimpered choosing to remain silent... Tulio clicked his tongue feeling a bit ignored. The way her eyes widened in horror as his palm talon shot out and punched a hole into the metal wall. How her body trembled against his as Tulio leaned in whispering, "I expect you to answer when I tell you something zoi mou. I'm being oh so very nice," He hissed into the shell of her ear, his hands on her breasts shifting to let his nails dig into her oh so frail flesh... "I could rip your flesh right off your body." That got a sob out of her, "Answer honestly my dear..."

He savored with sick delight as her mouth opened and closed as tears were flowing down her cheeks like rain. "Please just don't make it painful." She managed to squeak out of her without sobbing.

"Awww, zoi mou, is that what you're worried about?" He said grabbing her chin and having her look up at him. Of course, she'd be pain adverse for their first time together... perhaps they would work up to that... or not... Tulio just wanted her to be begging for his cock. To see her smile at him with a coy lustful grin in his bed as she wiggled her ass and bare sex to him just wanting to fill her. "I will do my best to make this a moment you want again." He kissed her temple.

She could feel the pointed head of his cock force its way between her prepared folds... it started out thin but got thicker towards the base. She pressed her forehead against the wall, forced to the tips of her toes as Tulio sunk inch after inch into her. Tulio on the other was clenching his jaw trying his best to not just break her and rip her apart for his first time with her. He had to be gentle...

His eyes snapped open, he didn't realize he closed them all, he licked the inside of his mouth as he adjusted his hips and began the slow thrust in and out of her divine sex. It's how he didn't burn himself out... he savored each time he had sex keeping them far enough apart that it made it feel so wonderful and new... he probably would be indulging so much more often if this is what was waiting for him.

Psychi whimpered as he picked her up, hands still on her breasts on the edge of being so painful. The way he wrapped his arms around her... she could feel him starting to squeeze... more and more. Her moans became less and less sure as the distraction of the sex was waning and the impending dread returned.

Tulio tilted her back and started to squeeze causing her to thrash around him, her walls fluttering around his cock causing him to groan as those tears rolled down her cheeks, "Lord Sydo! Lord Sydo please!" She screamed fearfully as she has seen what an Astartes can do to normal human flesh...

"Tulio." He hissed, "Call me Tulio... moan that out for me!"

"Tulio! Tulio!" She screams trying to moan but she just sobs as she can feel the pressure against her body... she was going to die.

"You say my name so sonorously how I am compelled to listen." He trills to her before tossing her naked body onto the bed in the room . He watches her try to recover but he is upon her swiftly and he plunged his cock back deep into her as once again she feels it dance on the edge of painful but Psychi can't help but moan slightly.

Tulio has been a kind lover... as he is certain she has orgasmed at least 4 times since he started giving her attention. The soft whimpers as his cock gently grinds against her cervix... perhaps he lied a little promising that this time wouldn't hurt... it would hurt a bit... one of his upper arms traps her in a headlock, he watches those eyes look at him with fear.

He promises zoi mou! Just let him breed you right now! You will come to love this! He thinks deliriously as his body suddenly floods with the right cocktail of chemicals and neurons firing. The tip of his cock pushes against the very back of her being... Psychi feels something move inside of her before she feel the pressure and she starts to just scream as it hurts. She claws at those ceremite ridges on his arm holding her, she's thrashing as she feels something move inside of her as Tulio's profane biology goes to work flooding his system with hormones as he lets out a soft groan as he finally releases inside of her.

I can't breathe! Is Psychi's last thought as it's too much for her... the racing of her heart... the painful pressure... his arm around her. She cannot hear the bellowed order from Tulio then the screaming from the "gift" mortals. No she gets no closure... as it all... fade... to ... black.

For the first time in her miserable short life... everything feels quiet... everything feels safe. She can feel sleep languidly pulling away from her but whatever she is on is soft. A gentle clean breeze kisses her cheeks and she can feel a gentle warmth on her skin that feels so comforting like a babe's blanket. She does her best to ignore the gentle light that dances across her eyelids occasionally.

She lets out a contented sigh and feels like all of that hardship... it was all a dream and she was finally dead. Something rustles behind her and a warm voice... strong... assured of itself... but it whispers to her, "Welcome Home." The voice says before gentle kisses are pressed against the back of her neck coaxing her back into the deep slumber. Home... what a funny word to here but if this was home... then she never wanted to leave.

Tulio Sydo Lieutenant of the Tyrannic division of the Traitor Primarch Robute Guilliman's Ultramarine legion... sighed contently watching his new wife, consort, concubine, possession. Return to her sleep as they were back in the Ultramar system and he was back home. He once more pressed kisses to the back of her neck as he thought how she would be modified soon... for now he would just enjoy finally having his zoi mou all to himself. His tail lazily swayed behind him as he closed those grass green eyes of his and trilled contently.

[offender42085]

Post 1149

Devin Sizemore, Oklahoma inmate 828303, born 1994, incarceration intake December 2018 at age 24, sentenced to life

Also, Federal inmate 40600-509, released from federal obligation in June 2022

Murder, Assault and Battery on LEO, Introduction of Weapon/Drugs/Alcohol into Correctional Facility, Possession of Stolen Property

In April 2023, an Oklahoma man was convicted for the second time of killing his toddler daughter, this time following a federal trial that was held after his state conviction was vacated in the wake of a landmark U.S. Supreme Court decision regarding the adjudication of crimes that take place on native tribal lands.

According to court documents, the defendant, Devin Warren Sizemore claimed that he had baptized his 21-month-old daughter Emily Sizemore, but something went wrong. Federal authorities, however, said that he had taken the child for a visit and did not return her to the girl’s mother, Sizemore’s ex-girlfriend.

Officials detailed a fractured family situation. According to a February 2017 report from the Oklahoma Commission on Children and Youth on little Emily’s death, defendant Sizemore had previously been charged with abusing the child’s mother.

“Reportedly the incident occurred in front of Emily Sizemore and the mother had an injury to her head,” the report said. “The OKDHS determined the child to be safe with her mother and substantiated the allegation of Neglect-Exposure to Domestic Violence against the father. The father was arrested for Domestic Violence. The OKDHS recommended the mother obtain a protective order and she declined a Sooner Start [infant and toddler development program] referral.”

Charged in a domestic violence case, Sizemore faced a no-contact order regarding his ex and had been out on bail when he killed Emily in July 2016, authorities said.

According to the federal criminal complaint, Sizemore took Emily from his mother’s home in Krebs, Oklahoma, on July 12, 2016. His mother said that he had “blown up” and took the child, authorities said. She saw him again the next day pushing a stroller with his daughter inside. She tried talking with him, but he said nothing and he continued walking.

On July 14, 2016, Sizemore went the home of Emily’s mother. The woman’s sister spoke with him, according to the complaint.

“Sizemore stated God has brought the storm, God sent him to tell everyone the world was ending and everyone needed to get right with God,” authorities said. “Sizemore stated he had a shield over him and he was God. [The sister] asked Sizemore where Emily was and Sizemore replied Emily was with God.”

Defendant Sizemore’s mother reported Emily and Sizemore as missing to Krebs police. Law enforcement started searching, and when officials found Sizemore, he apparently fled on foot — jumping into a nearby pond and refusing commands to get out.

As officers entered the body of water, they found Emily floating face down.

“As officers moved to render aid to Emily, Sizemore physically fought with officers in the water,” the complaint says. Cops arrested Sizemore. Emily was later pronounced dead, and a medical examiner determined that the toddler had drowned to death.

The next day, Sizemore, after having been given his Miranda warnings, allegedly told an agent of the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation that he took Emily several days before her death, walking around Krebs with her and sleeping in a barn.

According to law enforcement, Sizemore had attempted to perform what he described as a religious ritual on the baby.

“Sizemore put Emily under the water to baptize her for approximately 30 seconds, but something went wrong,” cops said. “Sizemore performed CPR on Emily and revived her. After Emily was revived, Sizemore felt something telling him to get a horse from the barn. Sizemore blacked out and when he woke up the police were attacking him.”

Sizemore was convicted in state court in 2018 of murder and other charges, but that conviction was vacated on April 1, 2021, in the aftermath of the 2020 U.S. Supreme Court case McGirt v. Oklahoma. In that case, the Supreme Court found that federal courts had jurisdiction over certain types of major crimes committed by enrolled members of a tribe that took place on that tribe’s land.

An appellate court in Oklahoma in 2021 upheld a lower court ruling that Sizemore’s case should be tried in federal court, not state, because he was an enrolled member of the Choctaw Nation and the crimes happened on the historic boundaries of the Choctaw Reservation.

Federal prosecutors filed a complaint against Sizemore on April 19, 2021, and Sizemore was tried again.

He also was convicted again, this time of voluntary manslaughter and child abuse resulting in death in Indian Country. The federal jurors acquitted Sizemore, however, of murder in Indian Country, second-degree murder in Indian County, and assault resulting in serious bodily injury in Indian Country. Prosecutors dropped a charge of assault and battery on a police officer in Indian Country.

When he completed his federal sentence in 2022, he was indicted by State authorities for murder.

4j

[cinnamongorll]

a fragile line - chapter 19

read on ao3! (111k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Fic synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Warning: detailed descriptions of physical abuse from a parent

Word count: 7.8k

wasn't going to post this today but I can't hold you all in anticipation for feral Joel any longer ;)

this is both my favourite and the most painful chapter yet...

Chapter 19: 'Strangers'

Joel’s POV:

The frigid night air did nothing to cool the fire raging beneath Joel’s skin.

The bartender, whose name Joel never asked, slipped them out the backdoor. The way his wide eyes darted around, as he pushed open the rusted metal door, told Joel that he was worried, terrified even. But the deep, permanent, crease between his eyebrows also told him that fear was an ever present emotion in the residents of this town. 

Joel had neither the patience nor the pleasantries to thank the man, so he opted for a curt nod as his eyes shot to the black street that stretched before them. There were no streetlights to lessen the sense of oppressive darkness which surrounded the path Joel and Ethan began to walk. They kept their steps quick, careful to avoid watchful eyes who were used to peering through the dark. 

The thick handle of Joel’s knife was enclosed within his hand, the blade pressed against his jeans. Hidden, but ready to slice anything that got in his way. Joel imagined pressing the sharp edge to Elijah’s throat, feeling the weight of the blade pushing in, and savouring the heat of his blood as it wet his hands. Joel’s lips twisted in the beginnings of a cruel snarl.

Ethan’s steps pounded behind him, struggling to keep up with Joel’s vicious stride. Joel adjusted his broad shoulders, attempting to shake off the suffocating feeling of Ethan’s presence. 

They were headed to the armoury. Neither of them had any significant weapons on them, and Joel wasn’t risking stepping into a situation where he wasn’t properly prepared. Juliet’s life hung in the balance; Joel wouldn’t risk a thing. Especially when it was his fault that she was back here, his fault that she was locked in a house with her abuser, his fault that she hadn’t felt she could tell him…

Within the swirling mess of self-loathing, which continued to swell in his mind, lay a puzzle that Joel couldn’t figure out. Why allow Joel to go to the bar? Why allow him to be seen by the townspeople? Joel’s jaw tightened and the weight of his steps grew heavier as he contemplated Elijah’s decisions. Picking apart the mind of a madman was not something Joel enjoyed, but he was good at it. Because he understood strategy, he understood cruelty. 

Joel skidded to a stop as they rounded on a corner, his head whipped side to side as he struggled to see through the aching darkness.

“This way,” a rough voice whispered. Ethan stepped around Joel and began walking down another empty street. Joel followed close behind, gritting his teeth. 

As they closed in on the armoury, which was really just a run down barn on the edge of town, Joel sunk deeper into the mind of Juliet’s dad. The questions were overpowering and endless. Why hurt Juliet? Why lure her back here? Why not let her go?

Joel’s fingers curled into a tight fist. He felt the harsh bite of his knife begin to press into his calloused skin as realisation dawned over him. 

Elijah wanted complete control over Juliet, he wanted to be her protector, her saviour. 

Which meant that he had lost something. Elijah had suffered a loss in his past so great that his instincts of care and protection had twisted, becoming darker, more intense, more dangerous. Juliet wasn’t just his daughter, she was his second chance. 

Protection and fear often bled into possession and control. There was a fragile line between care and ownership, love and dominance. 

Joel’s heavy breaths faltered, stuttering, as his own past crept over his skin, crawling into his mind, bringing forth memories too painful to even visualise. 

The sharp blade of his knife finally pierced his skin and Joel could breathe again. The air released from his tight lungs, as the sting on his hand eased the pressure in his mind. 

Ethan turned to look over his shoulder, attempting to read the look on Joel’s face. But it was too dark, and Joel was too good at shielding his emotions. He just ground out a quick command: “Keep movin’” and Ethan quickened his steps as they raced across the damp grass. 

Elijah was addicted to control. He had this whole town so brutally devoted to him that they were complacent in the torture of two young people. That was why he allowed Joel to go to the bar: surveillance. Keep your friends close but your enemies closer. And who better to watch over Joel than his keen eyed followers? 

Joel uttered a quiet “fuck ” under his breath. Ethan didn’t turn around this time. Joel was glad, he wasn’t in control of himself, he might start swinging at the next person who looked him in the eye. 

Bringing him to the armoury earlier, showing him his gifted weapons, his gifted vehicle, was all an elaborate trick. Elijah was playing with his food. There was no way he was letting Joel leave this town. He thought back to earlier when he stepped in front of Juliet, when he opposed Elijah’s sick claim over her, and offered Juliet a choice. Joel had watched the ire ripple under Elijah’s stone features. Joel had challenged him, Joel was a threat. And Elijah wasn’t going to let him get away with it.  

He should have never stepped away from her. He shouldn’t have left her there when he felt something was wrong. Joel was haunted by many things in his life, but he knew that that decision would cling to him for a long time. Thick regret boiled within him but Joel didn’t try to push it down anymore, he didn’t try to displace it. Joel allowed his fear, his regret and his anger to inflame, to blister, to worsen. 

Joel relished in the blood that pooled in his hand, he savoured the sharp sting that throbbed around the blade of his knife. 

The pain fueled him. 

Juliet needed him, and he wouldn’t let her down again. 

………………………………………………..

“Wait out here,” Joel ordered. His voice low but commanding as he stretched his arm out in front of Ethan, blocking him from moving towards the doors to the armoury. 

Ethan peered up at him, his eyes narrowing as he registered Joel’s demand. The crease between Joel’s eyes deepened as he watched the shock and resentment wash over the younger man’s sallow features. Ethan opened his mouth, ready to argue, but Joel just raised his hand with impatience, cutting him off.

“I don’t know what or who’s in there, I’m goin’ in alone,” he said, leaving no room for a debate as he began to turn towards the doors. But that didn’t stop Ethan from trying. 

Ethan moved forward, grabbing hold of Joel’s sleeve before he could reach the handle. Joel’s head whipped towards him and his hands began to shake with the effort it took not to punch that entitled look off of his face. 

“I got Juliet out of his town once, and I can do it again. Who even are you?” Ethan’s words rushed out in a single breath as his eyes darted around, making sure no one had spotted them. He was practically jumping on the spot with the energy that rippled through him. 

“You’re gonna want to let go of me,” Joel ground out slowly, after a pause. He didn’t break eye contact with Ethan as his hand quickly unlatched from his tight grip on Joel’s sleeve.  

Joel rolled his shoulders and ran a hand over his face. He was growing impatient, he had no idea what was happening to Juliet right now and Ethan was only prolonging her suffering with his whining. 

“You stay behind me and you shut up, got it?” Joel hissed, his irritation rolling off of him in waves. Ethan just nodded, sharp and quick. Joel stared at him a moment longer before rolling his eyes and reaching for the door handle. 

The inside of the armoury was quiet, there was no one else lurking in the old barn as far as Joel could tell. But he moved slowly through the building, heading straight for the shotguns on the back wall. Elijah and his people had built up one hell of a supply.

A few minutes later, Joel ran his hand over the weapon before swinging the strap of the shotgun over his shoulder. He released a weighted breath at the feeling of a gun in his hands again. Ethan stood beside him, his hand outstretched to grab a gun of his own. Joel looked down at him, his eyebrows raised. 

“You know how to use one of these?” he asked, watching Ethan from the corner of his eye as he adjusted his own gun.

Ethan grabbed hold of a shotgun and shot Joel an incredulous look. “Of course I can use a fucking shotgun,” he replied.

If Juliet didn’t care for Ethan, he would have been a dead man from that comment alone. Joel’s lips twitched with restrained anger before turning around and searching for ammo. He heard Ethan release a quiet, relieved, breath.

Once they were stocked up on ammo, Joel and Ethan headed to the side of the barn where the trucks were kept. Juliet had promised him a car battery back in the QZ, but there was way more than just batteries available. There were three trucks lined in a row, each of them rusted and dusty as though they hadn’t been driven in a long time. But Joel guessed that they were well maintained, their batteries charged every now and then in case of emergencies. That’s what Joel would do if he were in charge of a town. 

Joel had begun to creep around the first truck, ready to try to hotwire it if needed. He had to know there was a way out of this town, a vehicle ready for him to get Juliet away as quickly as possible. But before he could even reach the truck, he stilled. His muscles locked up as he froze in place. 

“Ethan made it to the bar, tried to fight that guy who turned up with Juliet. Joel, I think his name was,” said a voice from outside the barn, his words were muffled but Joel heard them clear enough. So did Ethan, who shot Joel a terror filled look. 

Joel reached out his hand, palm up, to still Ethan. His mind began to filter through a thousand possibilities of how they would get out of here alive and without alerting whoever roamed outside. They both stood like statues, Ethan’s eyes latched onto Joel, as another voice from outside raised loud enough for them to hear.

“Fuck, Elijah’s not gonna like this”

Then a third voice…

“Just hurry up and get the ammo, then we’ll go get them. They won’t have made it far.”

Joel jumped into gear, moving with pure instinct. There were three voices outside, that meant they were outnumbered. And they were coming inside, which meant his hopes of a quiet exit were gone. 

They would have to fight. 

Joel curled his hand towards Ethan, and pointed with a sharp look from his dark eyes towards the door. Ethan frowned but followed, their steps thankfully silent on the old wooden floor. 

They positioned themselves on either side of the barn doors. Joel attempted to have a silent conversation with Ethan, but it was either too dark or Ethan wasn’t the brightest, because all Joel got in response was a confused tilt of his head. 

Joel’s eyes shot to the ceiling, the pressure on his chest increasing as he heard the voices move closer. Joel lifted his free hand, making quick, focused gestures. Ethan eventually nodded, finally understanding Joel’s clear instructions. 

Joel clenched his jaw, gritted his teeth, and waited for the men to open the doors. 

Moments later, the handle turned, and Joel was ready. The first man came through the door, and immediately fell forward, crashing onto the dirty floor with a bullet in his head. 

Shouts rang in Joel’s ears as the next two men came barging in, stepping over the body of their friend. Their jaws hung open and their eyes moved between Joel and Ethan, obviously unprepared and taken off guard. Joel was right about this town, it may have the weapons and supplies, but there were no fighters living here. 

Before the men’s eyes swung back over to Joel, another body dropped to the floor. Joel’s gaze immediately darted to Ethan, who stood breathing heavily, winded by the force it took to fire a gun in his weak state. 

Joel recognised the third man. He had ginger hair and a thick, bleeding gash across his forehead, covered in a small bit of gauze. Before Ethan could finish the job, Joel moved, grabbing the man from behind and bringing his shotgun around to press on his neck as the man was forced to push against Joel’s front, wriggling as the shotgun tightened and his air began to lessen. 

Joel grunted as the man elbowed him in the ribs but he held steady. “Don’t shoot, we need him,” Joel barked towards Ethan, who had already pointed his gun towards the man in Joel’s arms. 

Ethan, confused, began to move closer, stepping over the two bodies at his feet.

Before the man passed out from the crushing force of the shotgun pressed against his neck, Joel moved his mouth to his ear. “Where’s Juliet?” he hissed, still grunting in between breaths as the man continued to squirm against him. 

Joel eased the force of the gun just a little to allow the man enough air to reply. “At her house, with Elijah,” the man croaked out as his boots began to kick back against Joel’s shins 

Joel held steady, eyeing Ethan. Juliet was still at her house, meaning Elijah hadn’t moved her anywhere. They knew where to go. But Joel wasn’t done with his interrogation. 

He tilted his mouth back to the man’s ear. “Who’s with ‘em?” Joel asked, his voice rough with pain as the man got another hit in. 

When the man didn’t answer, Joel adjusted his grip on the shotgun, applying more pressure on the man’s throat until Joel began to feel his consciousness slip. Then he loosened it again. 

Ethan had lowered his gun as he stared at Joel. His eyes were wide and his gaze kept darting away as though he struggled to watch the brutal scene in front of him. Joel noted this with deep frustration. Perhaps Ethan’s weakness was not only found in the current state of his battered and malnourished body. 

“Daniel,” the man in his arms finally gasped out. “Daniel is with them.”

Joel’s lips pulled back to reveal the shape of a vicious snarl. Only one more idiot standing in the way of Joel wrapping his fist around Elijah’s neck. 

Before Ethan could even open his mouth, Joel had let go of the shotgun and replaced his grip on the man’s neck with his arm. The muscles in his bicep flexed as Joel forced his arm in one quick movement until he heard the crunch of the man’s neck and felt his body go limp. 

Joel stepped back and allowed the body to drop to the floor. He stood over it, breathing heavy while he adjusted the strap of his shotgun.

Ethan had jumped backwards when the man hit the floor, almost tripping over the other bodies. His boots were stained with their blood as it pooled around them.

Ethan lifted his heavy gaze to Joel’s face. “What the hell was that?” he demanded, his voice shaky. 

“We know where she is, we know who she’s with. We can go get her now,” Joel said, in a monotone, matter of fact voice as he began to step over the still warm bodies. 

Ethan made a sound almost like a growl and whipped his hand out towards Joel, the tips of his fingers almost touching the arm of his jacket before Joel grabbed Ethan by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall beside the doors.

The adrenaline was still pumping steadily through Joel’s bloodstream as let go of one of Ethan’s shoulders, slipped his knife out of his pocket, and brought it to Ethan’s face. “What did I tell you bout’ touchin’ me?” Joel seethed, pushing the tip of his blade against the soft skin of Ethan’s cheek. 

Ethan swallowed rough, the action restrained as though he was frightened the knife would cut him. Joel would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted. 

“Don’t fucking question my methods,” Joel warned, in a voice so quiet it might have sounded gentle. But the look in Joel’s eyes made it very clear that his words were coated in a razor sharp edge. He pressed the knife in further, careful not to break skin. “If you can’t handle this then leave, cause I'm gettin’ Juliet outta here with or without you.” 

Ethan’s jaw clenched, then he nodded sharp and quick. 

Joel let go of him and walked out the doors before Ethan could even catch his breath. 

…………………………………………………

Juliet’s POV:

There were exactly fourteen steps down to the basement.

Juliet counted every one, each time she followed her father into the dark room below their rickety house. It helped ground her, the counting.

She would count the steps, then she would count the seconds, the minutes, and the hours. And when the number grew high enough for her father to be satisfied with her punishment, Juliet would listen as he walked those fourteen steps back down to collect her.

It was strange how memory worked. It had been nearly four years since Juliet wandered into the suffocating darkness of the basement, nearly four years since she felt the cold chill in the air which coated her skin like an oily slick. Yet, she still remembered to count the steps. 

She did it on instinct, her mind was entirely devoid of thought or emotion, all that drifted through her consciousness was the sound of her counting. One, two, three, four… 

Juliet was too numb to think anyway, to feel anything other than the space around her. The entire time she had travelled with Joel, Juliet knew what her destination was. The basement flashed through her mind many times, usually waking her from a shallow sleep in the truck or causing her to thrash and kick in her sleeping bag as she lay beside Joel. He would reach out a hand, stilling the movement of her legs, calming her racing heart. 

She was always grateful for his quiet strength and his rare soothing touch, but it only kept the monsters at bay for a short while. They were never really gone. Because every mile they travelled led them closer to Juliet’s real nightmare. 

Five, six, seven… 

Juliet wasn’t sure what awaited her at the bottom of the steps, how she would reach the ‘salvation’ her father spoke of. Through her numbness, a spark of pain shot through her heart when she imagined Ethan facing the same fate. The thought of him hating her hurt more, though. Ethan was the only good thing in her life for so long, to lose that … 

Eight, nine, ten, eleven… 

Her mind picked up again and brought forth the anxiety and fear that shook her to the bone. Joel would never forgive her. She had brought him here on stupid, naive, false hope. Juliet had been content with returning home and fading into nothing but a memory in Joel’s mind, and a sad smile on Ethan’s lips. But with Ethan turned against her, turned into something vicious, something like her father, and Joel trapped here… Juliet began to feel that her sacrifice was in vain. The only person gaining anything was her father. It was always her father who won their games, Juliet had been stupid to think otherwise. 

Twelve, thirteen … 

Her legs shook with each step, the world around her travelled in slow motion. Bile rose in her throat and she fought to keep her arms by her side.

For most people, the world ended around twenty years ago. But for Juliet, her world ended with the last step down those basement stairs. 

Fourteen.  

…………………………………

“You know, Ethan sat in a chair just like this.”

Juliet blinked, her father’s words slicing through the fog that filled her head, clouding her thoughts and numbing her emotions. She looked down, reminding herself where she was. Juliet blinked again, slower this time, when she remembered the thick, coarse rope which wrapped around her wrists and ankles, tying her to the metal chair she sat on. 

Eventually, her head tilted back up to meet her father’s icy gaze. His lips twitched into a satisfied smile when she didn’t respond. It appeared that Elijah had counted on her speechlessness. 

He lowered his eyes to the restraints on her wrists, then turned and walked towards a fireplace on the back wall of the room, directly in front of Juliet. This was new, there had never been a source of light in the basement before. 

“They’re for your safety. Don’t want you running off again. It’s not safe for you out there,” her father explained, his back turned to Juliet as he picked up a poker and prodded the burning logs. 

“I managed just fine on my own,” Juliet murmured without a thought. The words just slipped out. Her head shot up and her teeth clamped down on her tongue when she realised what she said. 

Her father’s movements stilled, the poker now hovering over the fire. 

Then Juliet heard his quiet chuckle, getting louder with every second until she watched her father’s shoulders shake. Juliet squirmed in her seat, her heart had begun to pound against her chest. 

Without warning, the laughter ceased. The only sound that remained was the crackling of the fire and the quiet breaths that slipped past Juliet’s clenched jaw. She followed her father’s movements as he dropped the poker back into its stand and picked up the bible resting on the wooden top of the fireplace, then turned towards her. 

When he met her eyes, his face was devoid of all emotion. 

“Let’s begin,” he said and cracked open the first page. 

…………………………………………………….

Juliet’s head swung to the side with the force of the slap. 

This time, it wasn’t by her father’s hand, but rather the book he held. Pain blossomed across her jaw and rippled through every muscle on her face. Her mouth filled with spit which had begun to spill out of the side of her numbing lips. She felt a wetness against her ear too, it was most likely bleeding as well. 

Her father was bent over her, his face red with muted rage and his mouth open wide as he shouted words that Juliet couldn’t hear. The only sound she heard was a prolonged high pitched noise, drowning out everything else. The hit had stunned her and she struggled to remember why her father had done it. Usually there was something she had done wrong, something that angered him, something that forced him to teach her a lesson. 

Her father continued to scream in her face, the hot air from his breath hit her already burning cheek. Juliet just stared back, her eyebrows pinched together in a mixture of pain and confusion. 

A scream tore from her throat when a hand gripped her chin and began to squeeze. “Are you listening to me?” her father raged. Her hearing started to return but the sound was still muffled. In an effort to stop his assault on her face, Juliet began to nod her head in frantic movements until her father released her. 

Her father staggered backwards and ran a hand through his grey hair, tugging on the strands. Juliet spat a mixture of spit and blood onto the floor and forced her head up to watch him. He looked off balance, his eyes were wild and unfocused as they scanned Juliet.

As the seconds passed, and the pain became less urgent, Juliet remembered what she had done to deserve such punishment. 

Elijah decided that the first stage in her ‘salvation’ was confession. It turns out he wasn’t a big fan of the answers Juliet gave him. Her father’s hands had begun to shake when she answered his questions about Ethan. His face turned red when he asked her about Boston. And the slap came after he asked about travelling with Joel.

“Your confession is not done, Juliet. I can sense there is more you have not revealed,” her father urged. “You cannot begin to cleanse until I know how soiled you are.”

The bile rose in Juliet’s throat again, but she swallowed it down and steadied her features. It surprised her, the anger that had started to build within herself. 

“Let’s try again, shall we?” he asked, leaning back and crossing his arms across his chest. “Tell me about your time with Joel.” 

“No,” Juliet murmured, before spitting more blood. The thought of Joel brought pain far worse than the bruises blossoming across her face. Her father had no right to ask about him. And for what? For some sick possessive insight into the intimate parts of her life. Her father believed he had full ownership of her, like she was his to control like a child’s doll. Juliet hadn’t realised this until a couple years into living in the QZ, when the wounds from her childhood began to scab over. When her memories became clearer, and she saw her father for what he really was. 

“No,” she said again, louder this time. That slap had awoken something inside her. That slap was no different to the slaps she received as a young girl. Even when she did everything he asked of her, he would always find something to punish her for. When she opened her eyes into her father’s wild stare, she realised that nothing she would ever do would be good enough for him. 

The thought was freeing, almost. Even strapped to a chair in the basement of her father’s house, Juliet felt liberated. 

And with that liberation, came a sense of recklessness. 

“No?” her father finally asked, repeating her resistance with a quirked brow. “The mention of Joel seems to have hit a nerve,” he taunted, “has Ethan truly been replaced? Joel’s a bit old for you, isn’t he, my dear?”

Juliet’s hands began to tremble. Not with fear, but with rage.

“He has nothing to do with this,” she insisted, her hands curling into fists. Elijah noted the movement with great interest. 

“Hmmmm,” he began, walking forward again. Her father liked to tower over Juliet when he could, she assumed it made him feel in control, made him feel powerful. Maybe it reminded him of when she was truly a child, before she had thoughts of her own. 

“I saw the way Joel looked at you. I saw the way he watched you. It was like he had claimed you,” her father snarled. 

Juliet glared at him as she gritted her teeth. She felt like she was balancing on a tightrope, one wrong move and she’d fall to her death. Bravery was not always rewarded. But Juliet couldn’t stifle the rage that had burned inside her, and the remaining throbbing pain from his slap only ignited that fire. 

“I am not a thing to be claimed,” Juliet ground out, struggling to control her anger. “I’m not yours, I’m not anyone’s.” 

Elijah was silent, but Juliet held her ground, she didn’t break the withering stare she threw his way. Everything had been taken from her, she had nothing left to lose. 

“Who taught you that?” her father demanded, then barked out a short laugh. “I am your father, I have every claim over you.” 

“Father’s are supposed to love their daughters, not own them,” Juliet protested. Her eyes began to fill with frustrated tears, but her words grew louder, more forceful. “This isn’t love. It’s possession.”

Juliet had watched fathers with their daughters in the Boston QZ, she had watched their smiles and their laughs. Juliet knew what fatherly love was supposed to look like, and this wasn’t it. 

Elijah stalked those last few steps towards her and placed his hands over her restrained wrists, pressing his weight down on them until their faces were inches apart. Juliet leaned back as far as she could, her face flinching with discomfort. Her wrists began to ache, and Juliet’s arms started shaking involuntarily. Elijah enjoyed watching her struggle. His lips transformed into a sneer, and his eyes shone with a sick delight. And the anger… his rage was rolling off of him in waves, he could barely keep it contained. 

“The world is not safe, Juliet ,” he whispered inches from her face, her name dropped from his lips like a curse. “There are demons, yes. Those infected monsters, with their peeling faces and sharp teeth. But there is worse out there. Hunters, raiders who crawl the country, killing and gutting people with no remorse -” 

Elijah cut himself off with a heavy sigh, then his words became frenzied. “I kept you here, I kept you safe from that. I kept you safe because you are my property, you are mine to protect. And I will not lose another daughter to -” 

He stopped, letting go of her wrists immediately. The blood rushed back into them and Juliet began to feel her fingers again, but that relief was the furthest thing from her mind. 

Another daughter? 

Her father staggered back another few steps, he looked horrified. His mask slipped right off his face as he said those words, now he struggled to put it back on. He wiped a hand over his forehead and when he brought it back down, the horror was gone. He was seething, his whole body moved with the force of his brutal breaths. 

“What do you mean, another daughter?” Juliet whispered, but her voice sounded far away. 

Her father flinched. Juliet was unsure if what she was experiencing was real, or a dream. Maybe she passed out when he hit her, maybe this was all in her imagination. Because her father’s bravado had never faltered, and yet here he stood before her, visibly flinching at her words. 

Elijah started to pace in front of Juliet’s chair, his steps brisk and savage. Juliet’s mind was still clouded, so it took her a few seconds to realise he was mumbling to himself. 

Then he stopped, turning to face Juliet. He looked like he was arguing with himself, he was losing control, unravelling right in front of her. For the first time since she could remember, Juliet looked at her father and saw weakness staring back at her. 

“Your parents couldn’t protect you, sweet Juliet,” he began. His eyes had a detached look in them, like he wasn’t really standing in front of her. 

Juliet swore her heart stopped at his words.

“They didn’t have what it took to survive. They didn’t have the determination to keep you safe,” Elijah continued, raising his bible in the air as he spoke.

Nausea washed over her. 

“I saved you. I saved you from them . And then I spared them any more suffering.”

He paused to inhale a deep breath, as though his words were suffocating him. But he wasn’t finished. 

“You looked so much like her, with your brown eyes and curls. And your cry, when your parents died, God, it sounded so much like hers.”

Juliet didn’t know how much more of this she could take, the nausea was overpowering her. 

“I knew at that moment that you were mine, that you were my second chance. I could take you in, protect you, make sure you were never taken from me. Never stolen away.”

The ringing in Juliet’s ears returned, and she leaned forward and vomited all over the floor. 

Her father didn’t take his eyes off of her, wasn’t even remotely startled by the evidence of her disgust. He walked forward and bent down until they were at eye level, then he lifted a hand and reached towards her chin.

Juliet’s entire body recoiled from his touch. She felt a wetness on her cheeks and nearly gasped in shock when she realised she was crying. Tears were flowing down her face and dripping onto her neck. Elijah tried again, reaching forward to grab her chin in his tight hold. 

A moment ago, when Elijah’s own confession fell from his lips, his eyes looked wistful, haunted. But now, as he knelt before her, that simmering fury had returned. He began to tighten his grip on her chin. 

Juliet couldn’t feel the pain anymore, she couldn’t feel much of anything. 

“The one thing I couldn’t protect you from, my dear, was your own stupidity,” her father growled, his lips pulling back into a snarl. 

Juliet began to struggle in his grip, attempting to pull herself away from his hand, but it was no use. With her wrists and legs restrained, Juliet was powerless. 

“All those years, feeding you, keeping you sheltered in my home, behind the fence I built, in the community I created,” he paused to shake his head. “And you repaid me by running away, by throwing my protection back in my face.”

“You insulted me once, Juliet. I will not let that happen again.”

Elijah released her chin suddenly and Juliet’s gaze dropped to the floor. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes again. There was nothing behind his icy stare. Juliet could no longer predict his movements, his actions. 

Her father was playing his own game and she had no idea of the rules. 

She couldn’t even begin to unravel everything he just confessed to. Juliet was in shock, nothing made sense anymore. She felt lightheaded, maybe if she just passed out everything would go away, she would wake up lying next to Joel in the woods. Another hot tear rolled down her burning cheek. 

“Daniel!” Elijah bellowed. 

Juliet blinked, finally raising her eyes to look around her. Her father stood by the fire, the poker in his hand. There was something else there too, he was clipping something onto the poker, but her eyes were too blurry with tears to see. 

The door at the top of the basement stairs opened and Daniel came into view. He didn’t say a word, just walked up behind her and hovered, waiting on her father’s instructions. Juliet’s stomach dropped, an icy dread churning in her gut. 

After another agonisingly long minute, Elijah pulled away from the fire and turned towards her. Juliet's eyes immediately dropped to the poker in his hands. And the red hot metal letters attached to the end of it. 

E.M. Elijah Matthews.  

The nausea struck Juliet, hard and fast. She nearly doubled over, but by some miracle, she stayed upright. Her legs began to tremble, shaking the metal chair beneath her. Juliet had figured out her father’s next move. 

“No, no, no, no,” she began to cry, pulling against the ropes with enough force to tear skin.

She watched as her father nodded to Daniel behind her and felt his hands come down on her shoulders. 

“I don’t want it to be too visible, Daniel please lift up her shirt,” her father ordered, as he continued his slow walk towards her. The white hot end of the poker reflected in his eyes and illuminated the cruel shape of his mouth. 

“No!” Juliet screamed through thick tears as Daniel’s rough hands reached down and lifted up her shirt, revealing her stomach. 

Elijah stopped in front of her, peering down, relishing in her fear. 

“This isn’t love,” Juliet cried, defeat seeping into her tone.

Her father smiled, a real smile this time. 

“Love is pain, my sweet Juliet. You just have to be strong enough to bear it,” he said softly. “It’s time you remember who you belong to.”

Then he brought the end of the poker down on Juliet’s stomach.

Juliet felt a scream crawl up her throat, but she couldn’t hear a thing. 

The ringing in her ears drowned out everything around her. The smell of her burning flesh met her nose just as dark spots began to dance across her vision. 

As the darkness consumed her, a familiar face flashed before eyes. In her current state, Juliet could not recall the man’s name, but she felt warm, and she felt safe as he gently wiped her tears with his rough, calloused fingers. 

……………………………………………..

Joel’s POV:

It didn’t take them long to reach Juliet’s house. No one stopped them as they darted through the quiet streets, Ethan staggering to keep up with Joel. 

The house looked different in the dark. It was still old and crumbling, but without the twilight sky bathing it in a soft blue light, the house no longer looked sad.

It looked dangerous. 

They staggered to a stop at the bottom of the porch steps, the lights in the house were on so they kept to the shadows. 

Joel’s fingers clenched and unclenched in a constant, repetitive movement. Joel had fed every bit of fear and regret churning in his gut into his anger, and now it crawled over his skin, desperate for release. 

Ethan signalled with his head towards a side door, Joel nodded and took the lead. He didn’t trust Ethan. He didn’t trust that he could protect Juliet, he didn’t trust his motives. 

But Ethan knew this house, so Joel had to trust that he knew how to get them in. 

“They’ll be in the basement,” Ethan mouthed to Joel before they reached the side door.

Joel frowned, horror starting to overpower his rage. But there was no time to question how Ethan knew this, or what that meant for Juliet. Joel just bit the skin inside his cheek and reached his hand towards the door handle. 

It was unlocked.

He turned back to Ethan before entering the house. It was two against two, Joel wasn’t worried about gunning down the men that surrounded Juliet. Joel just wanted to be the one to deal with Elijah. A single bullet was too easy for him. 

Killing was not often a pleasure for Joel, it was always a necessity. But he knew he would enjoy watching Elijah bleed. 

The house was silent, eerily so. 

Joel began to feel that sense of wrongness from earlier. He didn’t listen to his gut the first time, he wouldn’t make that mistake again. They had to hurry. 

With another sharp nod from Joel, Ethan moved through the house until he reached a door in the middle of the hall. Then he stepped back, darting his gaze up to Joel’s face. 

Joel gripped his shotgun, his fingers flexing across the handle. Ethan echoed his movements, then squeezed his eyes shut for a second. Joel noted the nervous action. He wondered what Ethan had seen in this basement that made him so fearful of it. 

Without another thought, Joel, in one powerful movement, kicked open the basement door and began his descent into the dark room. His heartbeat quickened in anticipation of a fight. 

Time slowed as Joel moved down the steps, his head turning to try and get a sense of the layout but it was so dark. 

The first thing he noticed was the smell.

It was something rotten, but he couldn’t place it. 

It didn’t matter anyways, he wasn’t able to give it much thought, because a man rounded the corner, pulling his gun out of his back pocket. 

Joel fired a bullet through his skull before he got the chance. 

Time continued to slow as Joel reached the bottom step, his gun still out in front of him. Ethan’s presence looming behind him.

Moving around the corner into the room, the smell increased, burning Joel’s nose. If he wasn’t being driven by pure survival instincts at that moment, he would have gagged. 

Another step into the room and Joel spotted a dwindling fire at the back wall, and a man standing next to it, his hands in the air, his mouth open. 

Another step and Joel noticed the chair sitting opposite the fire, and the bent figure of a person hunched over, their head at an unnatural angle. 

Another step and the man scrambled for the poker by the fire, branding it like a weapon.

Another step and Joel rounded on the figure in the chair.

With one sharp inhale, Joel realised that the figure in the chair was a girl.

With one skipped heartbeat, Joel recognised the bruised and battered face of Juliet.

With one glance downwards, Joel noticed the horrific amount of blood pooled around her torso, dripping onto the floor. 

With one strangled gasp, Joel knew that she was dead. 

Time picked up again, moving at a rapid pace all at once. Joel whipped his gaze from Juliet’s body to the man by the fire. Elijah.  

Joel didn’t hear Ethan’s steps pound behind him. Joel didn’t hear Ethan’s pained scream. Joel didn’t hear his own guttural cry as he threw himself at Juliet’s father. 

He dropped his gun, letting it swing from the strap on his shoulder. Joel’s hands knocked the poker from Elijah’s grip then met his neck with a brutal intensity, slamming him against the fireplace, pinning him against the stone wall above it. 

Elijah reached his hands up, clawing at Joel’s arms. His eyes were wide and bloodshot. 

Joel’s face shook with fury, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth. He was snarling at the man in his grip, practically growling as he increased the pressure in his hands. Joel was an animal, his instincts had taken over. 

Some distant part of Joel’s brain heard Ethan yelling, screaming. But Joel wasn’t listening, the only thing he was focused on was the man in front of him begging for air. 

Juliet’s face flashed in his mind, and he pushed harder, practically crushing her father’s throat.

This was the man who had killed her, this was the sick, disgusting man who had made her life a living hell. And there he was, writhing and choking in Joel’s grip. 

But it wasn’t enough for Joel. 

The image of Juliet’s neck, bent at an unthinkable angle, and the blood, god, the blood that poured from her.

Joel wanted, no, needed, to watch Elijah bleed too.

He released his grip so suddenly that Juliet’s father almost fell into the fire, but Joel caught him before that happened. With one hand tight on Elijah’s shoulder, lifting him up, Joel pulled back his other arm and fired his fist into his face. 

Once

Twice…

Joel lost count after twenty or so hits. 

Elijah’s face was unrecognisable, but Joel couldn’t even see him anymore. It was Juliet’s face that covered his vision. He watched her roll her eyes at him, he watched her lips twitch into a reluctant smile, he watched her head tilt back as she laughed. 

Joel knew Elijah was dead, but he kept punching. 

Blood splattered his face, and his fist burned, but he kept punching. 

Joel kept punching because he knew that if he stopped, he’d have to turn around and face Juliet’s lifeless body. He’d have to look at her face and know that she would never smile again, never roll her eyes at his grumpy remarks, never laugh with a recklessness he wished he could imitate. 

Ethan’s yelling started to seep into Joel’s consciousness, growing louder. But he wasn’t screaming for Juliet, he was screaming at Joel. 

Joel pulled back from Elijah, breathing heavy. How weak, how pathetic he looked as a bloody mess resembling a man. 

Joel glanced down at the small fire, still burning quietly, then pushed Elijah’s body into the weakening blaze. Joel watched as the fire started to lick at his skin, blistering his flesh. 

The smell struck his nose, and Joel whipped around towards Juliet’s body. That was what he had smelled when he entered the basement. Joel didn’t think that more rage could coat around his heart, but somehow this realisation brought forth a wave of anger he didn’t even think his body was capable of containing. 

“Lift up her shirt,” Joel commanded with a lifeless voice, staring numbly at Juliet’s bloodied torso. 

Ethan was still shouting, but Joel continued to block him out. 

“Lift up her shirt,” he demanded again, louder this time, harsher.

Ethan carefully reached around Juliet and rolled up her shirt.

There it was, barely visible beneath the layer of thick blood, a brand marking her skin. E.M.

Joel ached to turn around, pull Elijah out of the fire and continue pummelling his face. But as he looked closer, a muscle in his very tight jaw jumped when he noticed that, despite the amount of blood, the brand was the only wound on Juliet’s stomach.

Joel’s eyes darted to Ethan, who had cut the ropes on Juliet’s wrists and ankles free, and now sat on his knees with his fingers latched on the underside of Juliet’s raw wrist. 

“She’s alive,” Ethan croaked out. “I can feel her pulse, it’s weak but it’s there.”

Ethan’s words washed over Joel and he staggered backwards. Relief was quick and brutal, but it did nothing to ease his horror. Juliet sat broken before him. Not dead, but nearly. Almost. 

“Get up,” Joel barked out, gesturing for Ethan to stand and move away from Juliet. 

When he didn’t move quick enough, Joel snarled, “get the fuck away from her,” in his lifeless voice. His eyes didn’t leave Juliet’s face. She was so pale, and covered in blood and bruises. 

Ethan scrambled away from her and Joel moved forward, his steps were heavy, like he was wading through water. But his hands, though fractured and bruised, were so gentle as they slid behind her back, tucking under her legs and lifting her broken body to his chest. Her head rolled onto his shoulder and Joel tilted his chin down towards her. His eyes shuttered closed as his stubbled jaw grazed over Juliet’s dark hair. 

He kept watching her until he felt her chest rise and fall with a shallow breath. Joel almost choked with relief. Then the terror snuck back in. She was so cold, and there was so much blood. They had to get out of here, get somewhere safe. 

Joel couldn’t spend another second in this basement.

Time slowed to a crawl again as he walked the fourteen steps out of the basement, Juliet’s fragile body shivering against him.

Joel vowed, with each step he climbed, that he would never again let Juliet out of his sight, never again allow her to suffer, until she begged him herself to go.

If Juliet allowed it, he would burn anything and anyone who ever dared to hurt her.

______________________

@amyispxnk @shotgun-shelby @http-paprika

[rj-drive-in]

Ye Olde American Pulp Department:

Independence Day draws near! Let's celebrate with a tale of America's first masked hero.

THE DEADLY PLAN OF DOCTOR POX! © by Rick Hutchins

“Call me Doctor Pox, my dear,” said the man in the scarlet cloak and theatrical tragedy mask, as he finished binding her wrists behind her back. Beneath the cloak, his proper British attire was spattered with mud from hard-riding the buckboard through the night.

“How dare you?!” she cried for the millionth time. “My father is Colonel….”

“I know your father!” screamed Doctor Pox, silencing her. He quickly regained his composure. “My dear Sybil.”

Turning on his heel, the madman marched off to a dark corner of the barn, out of the small circle of light cast by the single kerosene lamp.

Sybil struggled against the leather straps that bound her to the wooden beam, but to no avail. Her light blue Polonaise gown had been torn to shreds in the struggle and her low-cut bodice had been ripped, exposing an unseemly amount of decolletage. Strands of brown hair fell in her face, her bonnet having been lost in the kidnapping.

Doctor Pox reappeared from the shadows, dragging something heavy through the dirt and straw. “Yes, my dear,” he said, “I met the esteemed Colonel Willing during the Siege of Boston. He was so proud of his cannon upon Dorchester Heights. So proud of his ruffian irregulars who guarded the roads.”

He was dragging a large wooden coach trunk with iron braces; huffing and puffing, he positioned it three feet in front of Sybil. Leaning in close to her, his theatrical tragedy mask, which seemed wrought of copper, hovering near her face, he said, “It is my tender sentiment for your father which has brought you here.”

With a flourish of his scarlet cloak, the doctor turned and flung open the top of the trunk.

When Sybil saw what was inside, she screamed.

And with that, the barn doors burst open and in strode a tall and stately figure.

“Goodman America!” gasped Sybil.

His face entirely masked by white cloth, the famed mystery man was dressed in a waistcoat and tricorn hat of brightest blue; his vest bore thirteen red and white stripes. His breeches were midnight black, as were his rugged highwayman boots. The knob of his walking stick and the rattlesnake insignia on his hat were rumored to be of pure silver, smithed by Paul Revere himself.

“Surrender, Doctor Pox!” he commanded.

“Never!” replied the madman, drawing a flintlock pistol from beneath his scarlet cloak.

But Goodman America was upon him in an instant and knocked the weapon from his hand before he could fire. The two masked men faced off, circling each other warily, preparing for hand-to-hand combat.

Grimacing with disgust, Sybil reached out with her foot– she had lost her shoes in the scuffle as well– and knocked the coach trunk shut with her stockinged toe.

The noise distracted Doctor Pox for but a moment, but it was enough for Goodman America to throw a punch. The mighty blow knocked the theatrical tragedy mask from the madman’s face.

Both Sybil and Goodman America recoiled in horror, for that face was so hideously scarred and twisted that it was barely human.

“Look then!” shrieked the doctor. “Look upon the face of Doctor Silas Conduct! See what the smallpox epidemic of the Siege of Boston did to me! If Colonel Josiah Willing had let us pass that night, I would not be thus disfigured– and my beloved wife would not be DEAD!”

He pointed savagely at the coach trunk.

“But when the bits and pieces of the rotting human remains in that trunk, raging with smallpox, are added to the food and water of the Continental Army, then so too will the American rabble die! And the daughter of my most hated enemy will be the first to….”

The silver knob of Goodman America’s walking stick struck the doctor’s temple sharply, and he fell unconscious to the ground.

“Don’t tread on us,” said Goodman America.

Drawing an officer’s saber from a scabbard hidden beneath his blue waistcoat, he quickly went to work cutting the leather straps that bound Sybil Willing.

“Hurry!” she cried. “We must get away from that horrid trunk!”

As Sybil ran ahead through the open barn doors in her stockinged feet, the masked Patriot grabbed Doctor Pox by the cloak and dragged him out into the night.

“Wait here,” he told Sybil, as he dropped the doctor’s body in the dirt and ran back into the barn.

Taking the kerosene lamp from its hook by the door, Goodman America smashed it upon the coach trunk. Within seconds, flames had engulfed the trunk and begun to spread to the straw and wooden beams.

Returning to the barnyard, as the flames rose into the night sky behind him, the Revolutionary Hero looked around.

“Where has Doctor Pox gone?” he asked.

“He ran off across the fields,” answered Sybil. “But no matter! When that madman kidnapped me, my gentleman friend, Mister Nathan Hand, was knocked to the street and hurt. He is a man of learning, not combat, and I fear for him!”

“Then rest your fears,” said Goodman America. “I have already seen to Mister Hand and he is even now being tended to by the Sons of Liberty in their meeting place.”

“Thank God!” cried Sybil.

And beneath his white mask, Nathan Hand smiled.

[gaysindistress]

As Good a Reason - four

pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x reader

summary: when Brock Rumlow picks a fight he can’t win with the White Wolf, he drags his Snake back. Six years after she ran away, Y/N Rumlow is faced with a choice to make; do as she’s told and kill the White Wolf or overtake her father instead because spite’s as good a reason to take his power?

warnings: cursing, violence, weapons

word count: 3k

A/N: Bucky gets darker the next few parts so I’m warning y’all now and no one gets surprised. I’ll add a ⚠️Dark!Mob!Bucky⚠️warning in the parings as well as the warnings.

three | series masterlist

Tag list: @cakesandtom @elizacusi-blog @unaxv @hidden-treasures21 @vonalyn

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest. The women in the banners are not how Y/N is supposed to look. They are merely for aesthetic purposes and Y/N is written vaguely enough for anyone to see themselves in her.

John is sewing up Victoria’s hand as she grimaces and swallows the entire bottle of Vodka in one gulp. Niklaus, on the other hand, is frantically pacing the room, wearing ruts into the floor. John tries to get him to stop or slow down even but he refuses. 

“We’re fucked, absolutely fucked,” he mummers under his breath. 

Victoria practically growls as John pulls at the stitches to tie them off before snapping at her brother, “Of course we are. We let that bastard take Y/N.”

John looks to Niklaus nervously and then back to Victoria. 

“Oh my god, what did you two idiots do?” “Nothing, we did nothing,” Niklaus snaps back at her. 

“No, you did something. Tell me or I’ll throw you both through the window.”

John spills almost instantly, “Klaus made a deal with him last year.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” she shrieks. 

Niklaus rushes over to her and quickly puts his hand over her mouth to silence her, “Shut up for the love of god. I’ll tell you if you promise to not say anything. Brock is literally down the hall.”

She nods and he starts in with the tale of how he might have royally fucked up. 

About a year and half ago, Brock caught him and another man together and beat Niklaus to a pulp. He had been laid up in the hospital for weeks and needed routine visits afterward from the injuries he sustained. In addition to being beaten within an inch of his life, Brock had threatened to kill them if he ever caught them again. That had been the final nail in the coffin for Niklaus; after years of enduring the torture that his father put him and his siblings through, he made the decision to get rid of him once and for all.

The most natural choice was the White Wolf.

He was feared across the East Coast and was gaining power rapidly. He threatened Brock’s authority in New York and it made him nervous, sketchy, and scared. Niklaus arranged a meeting with Steve, his community liaison, and set the plan in motion however it all crumbled when Brock caught wind of a rat amongst his ranks. He had Niklaus and John execute too many innocent men and he even made a move on the White Wolf’s men. He’d murdered Tony Stark, one of the White Wolf’s close friends and advisors, setting forth a domino effect of violence. He retailed as one would and with Y/N being dragged back in, it complicated things. Niklaus tried to uncomplicate it and remove her from the equation with the planned ambush at the party but he never expected that she would willingly take the deal. Hoping that she was still the stubborn teen she had been, he’d hoped that the White Wolf would have to take her against her will and keep her locked away until it was all over with. 

“You are the biggest idiot I have ever met,” Victoria says with an equal amount of shock and annoyance, “Why didn’t tell me before? I could’ve helped you plan something better.”

“I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt if it all went south. I figured I could take the brunt of it while John got you to safety.”

Victoria scoffs, “So a suicide mission?”

“No.”

“Yes! You know him better than anyone. He will tear you apart limb by limb, sew you back up and do it again until he gets bored. And even then he’ll find a new way to entertain himself.”

John makes a disgruntled noise at all of her moving and says, “But if Brock’s dead, it’s all worth it.”

“No it isn’t John! You’ve been friends since birth practically and you’re seriously suggesting that him being dead is for the best? Klaus,” she pleads with her brother, “we have to find another way. Call him and find another way. Please, I can’t lose you.”

“There’s no other way. Either the White Wolf kills Brock before he can get to me or I try my hand at it and our father kills me.”

Her eyebrows furrow in pain and sadness as John finishes her hand. The moment he’s done she leaps up and wraps her arms around her brother.

Niklaus grips her back tightly ad if he’s afraid she’ll disappear into thin air and buries his face in her hair.

“You better hope Y/N figured out a better plan.”

He nods against her head.

“I love you, Klaus.”

“I love you too.”

Brock loves to incite fear in everyone around him whether that be with his voice or a violence. He craves to make all those in the same room as him fear for their lives if they so much as breathed wrong and that is especially true with his children. He lives to see the terror that lives in their eyes when they see him or how their bodies go rigid when he walks past them. He wants to see them shutter when he walks too close to them. He wants them to hold their breath until he leaves. He wants them and everyone else to walk on eggshells when he is around. He wants them to fear him in every sense of the word. 

Victoria’s small sniffles piss him off to no degree and he backhands her hard enough that she falls to the ground. Niklaus, ever the loyal son, only flinches at the sound of the impact and does nothing to help his sister. He knows that if he even so much as moved a muscle, he would be next. 

“Can someone please explain to me how the fuck you let that bastard take Y/N?” he growls at them as he rubs the bridge of his nose. 

Victoria climbs to her feet and with hit tears pooling in her eyes, she matches his anger, sneering back at him, “He knew we were going to be there. We didn’t stand a chance.”

“You had Y/N. You had every advantage I could’ve given you but somehow you two still fucked it up and killed her in the process.”

Niklaus risks his head and speaks, “She’s not dead. He took her hostage.”

Brock marches up to his son and grips his face in one bone crushing hand as he says, “That’s even worse. He can use her to get to me.”

“Y/N won’t give you up no matter how much she hates you. She wouldn’t risk Victoria and I getting hurt,” Niklaus scoffs and jerks his head away. 

In a flash, Brock whips out a pistol and pushes against his forehead, “You’re useless, you know that? I’ve done nothing but provide for you and give you everything you could ever want. Still you fuck up and prove to me that you’re only ever going to be a thorn in my side. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put a bullet in you and Victoria.”

Victoria makes a startled gasp and lunges at her brother in efforts to push the gun away but John grabs her and holds one of his own to her temple. She whispers insults under her breath and curses him for being “a fucking traitor and a bastard.” Niklaus looks at her for guidance because he’s a loss for words. There’s nothing he could say that wouldn’t get someone hurt. She shakes her head as much as she can, urging him to not say anything. The one piece of information he can give their father to save them would end with Y/N’s head on a platter but it’s all he has to offer.

“Nik please,” she whispers with even more tears in her eyes. 

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Nik you always have a choice. Don’t do this please. Él la matará.”

He will kill her.

“Don’t speak that shit in my house,” Brock growls at her, “Try again and this time peak English.”

She pleads with her brother again in Spanish, earning another growl but with the gun against both of their heads, he has to do something. Giving away himself would ruin any chance at catching Brock off guard in the future so he goes the only thing he can.

Niklaus tears his eyes away and locks eyes with his father as he utters Y/N’s death sentence, “She made a deal with him; in exchange for our lives, she helps him kill you.”

“Is that so?” Brock asks, cocking his head in amusement before turning to look at Victoria, “I think I might have to send a message to that brat if that’s the case.” One shot. 

And a body drops. 

Steve chooses to grab Y/N by her hair this time, keeping his hand wrapped in her braid so that he has complete control of her. The White Wolf gives him a disapproving look but doesn’t say anything as they walk into a looming and dark house. Matching the exterior, the house is black and sleek with no hint of personality anywhere to be found. It looks very much like a house that a mob boss would buy to launder his money and she assumes that this is the case. 

“Stop gawking,” Steve tells her with a harsh tug of her hair and she hisses at the pain. The White Wolf looks back and motions for Steve to bring her forward. 

Taking her arm in his like a pretend gentleman, he explains that until Brock is dead, she will be staying with him. She’s not to leave and if she does, she needs to have explicit permission from him and a security detail will go with her. Steve smirks when her eyes flicker over to him, indicating that he will be the spearhead of that detail. The White Wolf saying her name brings her attention back to him and continues to explain that the house is hers, she has free reign as long as she stays within its walls. He stops them at a door at the end of a hallway, “This is my office…”

She interrupts him, “And it’s off limits. I know the drill.”

He smiles, looking her up and down while he wets his lips, “Smart girl.”

A part of her shutters in disgust but another…. 

“How much time do you need?”

“What?” she questions, searching his face for any hint of explanation. 

“It’s been six years since you left home so I’m assuming you need some time to figure out a plan. How much time do you need?” 

“You make it seem like I left on good terms,” she mumbles, shrinking under his intense gaze. 

He chuckles, “Sorry, RAN AWAY.”

She sighs and looks around her, “He’s living in one of his old properties so I already know how to get in and out. It really depends on how quickly you can get me what I need.”

“And that is?”

“How do you want it done?” He takes a moment to think about it as he pushes open his office door and leads her inside. Steve closes the door, locking just the two of them inside. The White Wolf pours both of them a glass of whiskey and hands one to her before taking a seat on a massive leather couch. However with him and his overwhelming presence on it, it looks child sized. He motions for her to sit in a chair across from him and she hestiants but he insists. 

“That’s up to you, little snake. You want him to suffer, right?” he asks as he takes a sip, wincing at the blissful feeling of the burn. 

“Don’t turn this on me,” she pauses, realizing that she only knows him by his alias,  “I don’t know your name.”

“My name?” “That’s what I just said.”

He narrows his eyes at her before giving her the answer she seeks, “James.”

“Don’t turn this on me, JAMES. It’s not about what I want, this is about your little fight with him,” she snarks at him, “The only reason why I’m involved is because of opportunity. You saw a chance to get back at him for whatever reason and preyed on me because of my past with him.”

James reclines in his seat, allowing himself to enjoy her anger and admire her in the process. 

“Did he tell you what this is all about?”

“No but I don’t exactly care either. All men have an ego the size of the sun and turn to violence when it gets bruised.”

He chokes on his drink at her appraisal but agrees nonetheless, “Fair enough. So what do you need?”

“I’ll need a Beretta M9A4 with a silencer, an M4, and a set of knives.”

“Strange list, anything else?”

“A getaway car and a driver.”

“I’ll have Sam do it.”

“Hm,” she stops him after taking a sip of her drink, “No, I don’t trust him.”

“I really don’t think trust should be something you’re worrying about right now.”

Y/N slips her heels off and draws her legs onto the chair with her, getting as comfortable as she can to level a bored look at him. James takes in her form as she’s curled into herself and he wets his lips with his tongue. 

“Who do you want then?” 

“Steve.”

A beat passes. 

“Or you.”

He questions her with a smirk as he slides through down into the leather couch. He’s lounging at this point, completely ignoring the fact they’re discussing murder. 

“Me?”

“I don’t trust any of your men and most certainly not you but you wouldn’t do anything to put me in harm’s way if you’re involved.”

His phone rings and he picks it up, eyes never leaving hers, “Hello?”

She can’t make out what the other person is saying but she can tell they’re frantic. James lets out an annoyed sigh and closes his eyes as his head hits the back of the couch, mumbling along as the person on the other side rambles on and on. His attention being off of her gives her the opportunity to really look at him. 

Eyes taking over him, Y/N takes in the way his midnight blue suit compliments his eyes and how his white shirt underneath is unbuttoned in an absurdly attractive manner. Just under his suit jacket is a hint of leather, a holster she assumes given what little she knows of him.  

“He’s not going to do anything and even if he did, I have people close by.”

The sheer dismissive tone brings her back to his face where she locks eyes with him. He must have lifted his head when she wasn’t looking and was most certainly watching her checking him out. She finishes the rest of her drink and sets the empty glass on the coffee table between them. 

“Încetează. Seriously calm down and use your brain, Klaus. He’s not going to do anything stupid. If he did, he would ruin any chance of survival he has. ”

She gives him a questioning look and he winks at her instead of explaining.

When he hangs up, she immediately jumps into her line of questions to which he explains that her brother has been working with him for some time now. 

“Klaus? As in my brother Niklaus? He’s helping you?”

“He came to me last year and asked if I would help him with… some business.”

“Why did you make a deal with me if you already had one with my brother?”

“It never hurts to have multiple options.”

She groans in frustration and rubs at her temples. Of course she would’ve been suckered into some farce of a deal by a shady businessman. The temptation to throw something at him becomes too strong and she hurls one of her heels at him. It misses and clatters to the ground behind him to which he chuckles at and gets to his feet. His shoes scuffle the floor as he pours himself another glass. Rather than sitting back in his original place, James rounds the coffee table and sits in front of her on it. 

“Brock would see it coming if I had Klaus do it regardless of how good your brother thinks he is. You, on the other hand,” he starts, pointing at her, “are the perfect option. He still has hope that you’ll find it in your heart to love daddy again so you still have a chance to gain his trust hence why I brought you here. Taking you away from him builds the tension, makes him sweat, makes him vulnerable and reckless. It puts him in the perfect position for me to release you back to him and boom my Rumlow problem is gone.”

“You still haven’t told me what he did.”

James leans forward so he’s invading her space, “It didn’t seem important a minute ago.”

Y/N matches him and leans forward too, “Well it is now. What did he do?”

“He killed a very good friend of mine.”

“You have friends?” She laughs at him and before she can stop him, he grips her braid again and pulls her off the chair and onto the ground before him. 

He yanks her towards him and whispers in her ear, “Learn when to stop, little snake. It’s unbecoming of you.” 

She glares him with all the hatred she feels for men like him but it flatters when his eyes flicker from hers to her lips parted due to the pain in her scalp.

"You look good on your knees for me," he lets spill out before releasing her.

She knows that he meant for it to come out but nonetheless she throws herself back as far as she can to get away from him. James, the flirty and seemingly harmless man is gone and in his place the White Wolf reemerges. He smirks at her desperate attempt to put space between them and winks at her again, this time making her body revolt at the gesture. Standing, he leaves the room without another word to her. 

Whatever safety and trust she hoped to gain tonight is gone the moment he closes that door. 

She’s alone. 

Completely and utterly alone.

[ravenvsfox]

something electric in the blood

hey woah it's my birthday again! this year I've decided to subject you all to the tfc superhero au that's been in my back pocket for 2 years. feedback would be a very chill birthday gift, but I'm also just happy to be here (not letting this story languish in a textedit file)! ok! rock on etc

________

Neil’s mother could call a monsoon down from a crisp blue sky. Her power was tearful and tormented; she was always wreathed with rainwater, a grey veil obscuring her face.

Neil’s father was righteous electricity. His power was a fork in a wall socket. He went off before he was even born; his lightning struck his mother dead from the inside out. A killer before he even entered the world—a born murderer.

Mary spent the first few months of her pregnancy wishing quietly for a miscarriage, petrified of a fatal lightning strike from the storm brewing inside her. Lucky for her, Nathaniel was never anything like his father. (He takes solace in this many times, when he’s old enough to understand how dangerous his powers can be.)

Long before he was Neil, he could cradle sunbeams in each hand, whistle for hail, and bend fog around his enemies like blindfolds. He could cover his footsteps with peals of thunder as he ran, and wash away crime scenes with downpours. 

When his mother was killed, he struck their car with lightning over and over, and watched the white flames burst the windshield and warp the metal. He set the beach on fire all around him, staggering and tearing his hair, smoking the sand into glass and then cutting his feet to pieces as he ran. 

He kept running for months after that, his powers spilling like loose change out of a hole in his pocket. And he was so determined to survive that he no longer had a say in which parts of the weather he wanted, like—instead of checking specialty books out from the library, he was pulling down entire shelves by accident. 

Now, in the final stages of his weather sickness, he finds himself screened behind fog and ice most of the time, tidal waves dragging anyone who comes close, sunlight pouring in and out of his body like fever. Most urgently, an electrical storm is always very, very close to the surface; lightning is thick in his nose, tickling his throat, writhing half-formed above him in the veins of clouds. He’s afraid it will make a weapon of him, when he’d give anything to be something else.

Read on AO3

_______

The stranger finds him in an abandoned mall, at the tail-end of his breakdown. Neil had filled the first floor up to his waist with rainwater, filtered down through the caved in ceiling—a shattered skylight that he had ripped lightning through like a hacksaw. He'd beckoned clouds down over all of the windows and finally slept, exhausted, in the eye of the storm. 

The man appears out of the blue, drenched, in the foodcourt-turned-swimming pool. Water laps around his belt and bleeds up his shirt. His hair is plastered to his forehead and his expression is unreadable. Neil peers at him steadily across the water. Reflections of the graphic 90s wall decals float innocently between them.

“Neil, I bet.” He wipes his wet hands on his shirt. Through the water, Neil can see his boots grinding against broken glass. “Call me Wymack.”

Neil unfolds his legs, letting his feet dangle from the table he’s perched on. He waits patiently for violence. “How do you know who I am?”

Wymack smiles, half-cocked, maybe a little pissed off to be up to his waist in Neil’s mess. 

“Not every day that a storm eats a shopping mall.”

“I asked how you know who I am,” Neil reiterates, “not if you have eyes.” His voice is raw from misuse. Everything is kind of echoey and green, in this washed-out mall of his.

“Alright smartass. I’ve had you flagged for a while,” Wymack says. “I keep tabs on supers who I think might be a good fit with my Foxes. We’ve known the general shape of you since you flattened that barn in Ohio.”

He narrows his eyes. “There’s no way you could connect me to that.”

Wymack raises an eyebrow. “You’ll notice I said flattened. As in levelled. As in hailstones the size of kittens. In the middle of August. Who else has that kind of power? A functioning dairy farm, Josten. It was a slaughter.”

Neil flinches. “Fine,” he mutters. “I know. Why are we talking about it?”

“A ruined barn, a glass beach, a total whiteout in the middle of a grocery store, this castle in the clouds you’ve hooked up for yourself? Seems like a pattern. Seems like a breakdown, actually. My job is to step in when a super loses their shit, and I think we both know you fit the bill.”

“So what happens now?” Neil asks slowly. He’s struggling to keep his voice even, but he can feel thunder brewing, metabolizing in his gut. “You take me to superpower rehab? Give me dampeners and lock me in a basement? Fuck off.” 

Wymack looks unimpressed. “Talking out of your ass must be another one of your special powers.”

Neil scowls.

“Look,” Wymack starts, wading two steps closer. “I’m offering you an opportunity to be a part of a team of people like you. We all know the heroes and villains model is psychotic, but shit, powers are made to be used. We use ‘em. Find people, fix things. Or break things, if they’re not working right.”

“You’re vigilantes,” Neil says.

“No,” Wymack says, breaking out in a wicked grin. “We’re government mandated. Barely. My team is powerful. It’s in everyone’s best interest to let them hunt criminals so they don’t become them.”

“You left out the part where we’re all already criminals,” an entirely new voice says. It takes a moment for Neil’s eyes to adjust to the fact that it belongs to someone standing directly in front of him, having materialized seemingly out of thin air.

Neil clambers backwards, and a little taser beam of lightning ricochets perilously close to the water they’re all standing in.

This new stranger is so close that he can see the tawny colour of his eyes. He’s short, nearly chest-deep in the water, with a shock of blond hair and a chalky, sullen face. 

“Jesus, Andrew,” Wymack complains. “How long?”

Andrew’s static expression twitches, and he’s a foot to the left without straining a muscle.

“Don’t fucking pause me when I’m talking to you,” Wymack says, nonsensically.

“Were we talking?” Andrew asks. “I forget.” He circles Neil carefully, nearly soundless in the water.

Neil frowns, still in the slippery process of righting himself on the table. His shoes screech against a flaking metal chair.

“Speed?” he demands. It comes to mind immediately, the way Andrew is sort of flitting like a hummingbird, punched out of reality and then clipping back in somewhere else. Neil has always been obsessed with the straightforward usefulness of super speed.

Andrew’s gaze turns shrewd.

“Wrong brother.”

“Excuse me?”

“Settle down. He’s green, Andrew,” Wymack interrupts. “He doesn’t know shit about the Foxes.”

His eyes flicker to Wymack and back. He glitches, and Neil’s neck is wrenched to the side by an open-handed slap to the face. His vision blurs. Lightning strikes the roof.

“Interesting,” Andrew murmurs. 

“Christ,” Wymack exclaims, “what have I told you about antagonizing volatiles?”

“You can manipulate time,” Neil breathes, holding the back of his hand to the pain-flushed apple of his cheek. Andrew snaps his fingers and disappears.

“He can manipulate my patience,” Wymack says, turning a slow, sloshing circle in the water to scan the balcony overlooking the food court. His eyes focus suddenly, and Neil follows his gaze to find Andrew lounging at the top of a long-broken escalator. Wymack sighs. “Quit showing off.“ 

Andrew blips directly behind Wymack, who trips a little bit, slapping his hands uselessly into the water to find purchase.

“Could you turn this to ice?” Andrew asks coolly, stirring the water with his index finger.

Neil shakes his head. “Once it’s out of the atmosphere I can’t really do shit with it. What else can you do with time? Reverse it or—“

“There’s only one button on my remote,” Andrew says simply.

“Not that I’m not enjoying these pleasantries,” Wymack says. “But I’ll take an answer now, Neil.”

“You called me a ‘volatile,’” Neil accuses.

Wymack rolls his eyes. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Every single one of my Foxes was classified as a volatile when I found them. It’s not an ugly word.”

He thinks of his father splashed through the news attached to that word, of being hunched over a police scanner full of dirty voices hissing volatile spotted, in pursuit of volatile, volatile resisting arrest. It was always about putting down anyone with powers before they could even think about being empowered.

“Depends on who’s using it,” Neil says. He shivers, and it snows a little, a miniature avalanche like something off of a disturbed tree branch. Andrew puts his hand out into the flurry, producing a fistful of slush that he promptly chucks at Wymack. It collides wetly with his chest, sticking there momentarily like a pathetic badge.

Wymack looks skyward. “Give me strength.” He seems to realize that the sky is Neil’s domain when a few more errant snowflakes catch in his hair, and he shakes them off, disconcerted.

“If I come with you,” Neil starts. “Can I stay anonymous?”

“Sure. We’ll get you a mask,” Wymack says, stone-faced. Neil can’t tell if he’s joking or not. He squints. Wymack sighs. “Look kid, I don’t care what you’ve done up until exactly now. You leave here with us, we officially work together. That means I accommodate you. I get you what you need to function. A place to sleep. Doctor visits. Dampeners if you need them.” Neil bristles, but Wymack powers on. “And in return, you work for me. Help us keep things balanced.”

Neil looks at him for a long, searching moment, feeling the snow blowing out of his chest, a sudden spring thaw. His sneakers are soaked, and the thought of a place to sleep where the weather can’t find him is so tempting.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll do it. But how do I know—”

He’s barely spoken when he feels a strange vertigo, a retreating, phantom pressure, and he realizes he’s been transported instantaneously to the back of a car. It’s indescribable, the absence of even a blink between one set of surroundings and the next. He feels like he was in some sort of virtual reality and his headset was ripped off.

“Fuck,” he gasps. 

“You ask too many questions,” Andrew says.

“You moved me here?” he demands. Andrew looks at him blankly, as if this should be obvious. “I can walk,” he grits out. “Don’t waste your powers on me.”

“I was tired of your babbling,” he says. “You already agreed to come with us. The Foxhole needs us more than you need your self-punishing little enclosure.”

Neil glowers out the window, his fingers itchy on the unlocked door handle. A dozen metres away from their spot in the faded tarmac grid of the parking lot, Wymack is wedging open the defunct automatic doors at the mall’s entrance, emerging in an absurd flood of rainwater. 

“If the ‘foxes’ are so capable, shouldn’t they be able to take care of themselves?”

“You would think,” Andrew says wryly.

Wymack wrenches the handle on the driver’s side door, but it just snaps back into place, locked. Andrew twirls the car keys on his middle finger. 

“Enough,” Wymack says, long-suffering. He raps on Andrew’s window until his fingers jangle, and he and Neil realize at the same time that the keys are now dangling from his wrist. (Andrew’s middle finger is still raised.)

Climbing inside the belly of the car, Wymack jabs a button on the console and the headrests whack down and catch Andrew and Neil both on the crowns of their heads.

Andrew makes an affronted noise. “We have a guest,” he says.

“We have a time crunch,” Wymack says. “Not that that’s ever meant anything to you.”

“Renee will take care of it.”

“She shouldn’t have to,” he argues, turning the key in the ignition and pulling out of the parking lot before the tide from the mall can roll out to meet them.

“What does Renee do?” Neil asks.

Wymack meets his eye in the rearview mirror. “She deals with a frankly inhumane amount of bullshit, mostly.”

“I meant—“

“I know what you meant,” he gripes. “I was getting to that part. You’re going to have to learn at least an ounce of patience if you’re going to—“

“She’s a shifter,” Andrew says.

“A shapeshifter,” Neil repeats incredulously. He’s so frantically jealous for a moment that he has to bite down on his tongue.

“She can turn into pretty much anything with a face,” Wymack says.

“You’re joking.”

Wymack rolls his eyes. “I wish I was.” He takes a hand off the wheel to jab a thumb at Andrew. “You think one of him is bad, imagine three of him underfoot.”

They lapse into silence for a moment as Neil considers this. Scrubby spring scenery whips past, Wymack taps an absentminded tattoo on the gearshift, and Andrew sits utterly, perfectly still at Neil’s side.

“What do the rest of the Foxes do?” Neil asks, badly feigning nonchalance. He’s calculating how much of this could be useful to him, the ways he could co-opt supernatural speed, stopped time, or a thousand disguises. The possibilities are staggering.

“They should probably tell you themselves,” Wymack says, slanting another knowing look at him in the mirror. 

Andrew snorts.

Neil narrows his eyes. “What, are they bad?”

Andrew glitches into the passenger seat, and Wymack nearly loses control of the car, clipping the horn with one flailing hand. “Last time he got too comfortable with the secret identity reveals, Kevin made him walk out into traffic.”

Neil absorbs this like a punch to the stomach, thinking of miscalculated lightning and swift punishments, a father with a bolt in each fist.

“Don’t listen to him,” Wymack says, “It’ll rot your brain.”

“I’m telling the truth,” Andrew says simply. He flicks a circle of beads dangling from the rearview, and less than a second later, they’ve disappeared.

“Jesus suffering christ,” Wymack says. “Put those back.”

“What?” Andrew says blankly, and Neil considers that any of these glitches might represent minutes, hours, or days where Andrew has been suspended, alone, in time. 

He wants to ask him how long he can stay outside of time, if he ages in the infinite space between seconds, or if it’s as peaceful as it sounds to be the only moving thing in the universe. Instead he asks, “How do you make someone walk into traffic?” 

Wymack sighs. “Well, if you’re Kevin, you get inside their head and tell them what to do.”

Andrew glances backwards. “Your worst nightmare, I would imagine.”

Neil’s neck is hot with anxiety just thinking about it, but he sets his jaw, defiant. “You don’t know me.”

“No,” he agrees. “But I know what someone who’s afraid of their own powers looks like. And I know how easy it would be for Kevin to set you off like a firecracker.”

Neil wordlessly rolls down his window and calls down a hailstone the size of a baseball.

“No more powers in my car,” Wymack snaps, deftly forcing Neil’s window up so he has to snatch his hand back, dropping the ice out into the street. “Honestly, it’s like I’m running a daycare.”

“You don’t have a power?” Neil asks.

“I have the almighty ability to withstand annoying questions.”

“Excuse me if I’m curious about how a powerless stranger tracked me all the way to nowhere, where my—where no one else thought to look, just to enlist me into his knock-off suicide squad.”

“Well first of all, let’s make one thing absolutely fucking clear,” Wymack says, twisting in his seat, one hand steady at the bottom of the wheel. “Just because someone can’t—or won’t—use any superpowers, it doesn’t mean they’re powerless. If you listen to a word I say to you today, let it be that. Got it?”

They watch each other for so long that Neil starts to feel uneasy. The car should’ve drifted off the road by now. Maybe Andrew’s correcting their course by increments. Maybe Wymack actually has a banal, embarrassing kind of GPS power that keeps wheels to pavement.

“Fine,” Neil says, clipped.

“Good. If you call Abby powerless, I guarantee she’ll give you an earful about nursing school.”

“Who’s—“

Andrew makes an irritated noise, and when Neil looks up at the sound, he’s disoriented again by an instantaneous shift in light. His head snaps to the right, and he finds Wymack dumped unceremoniously beside him in the backseat. Andrew is busily turning the engine off up front, and a sleek, black parking garage is spread out around them, like a high-tech hangar in a sci-fi movie.

“Chrissake,” Wymack says. “Give me the keys.”

“You have them,” Andrew says tonelessly, and then he disappears. Wymack sighs and starts working on disentangling the keys that have just been magicked onto one of his earrings.

“Does he move other people around like that very often?” Neil asks.

“When the mood strikes him,” Wymack says, kicking the door open and swinging a leg out. Outside of the car, he continues, “he used to say that things have different weight, when they’re paused. All that shit like gravity, velocity, friction—they function differently when time isn’t affecting you.”

“He told you that?" Neil asks. Wymack nods. "Huh. Wouldn’t have thought he’d be so forthright.”

“Amazing what sobriety can do to a person.” Wymack holds up a hand before Neil can speak again. “More on that later. We have a facility to tour.” They’re approaching the subtle seam of a door in a broad expanse of wet-looking dark concrete. Neil hadn’t even been able to make out that it was a door until it was close enough to touch.

“Right now?”

“You have something better to do?” 

Neil shrugs. He was kind of hoping to be shown somewhere dry and windowless, but he can play house-tour.

Wymack puts his thumb to an inconspicuous tab jutting out of the near-invisible door-frame, the mechanism beeps and clicks, and the the wall sinks inward. 

“That was the main lot, this is the atrium.” The door folds itself away like a bird’s wing, and Neil follows his host into a dark hexagonal space, black walls and cubbies like something from a locker room, everything lit up at the seams with artificial techno-orange. “We usually meet here before a mission, gear up and ship out.”

Neil rolls his eyes at Wymack’s back. Between the faux-military slang and the wannabe spy movie facility, the benefit of the doubt is already stretched paper-thin.

The hallway ahead is long and uniform, with identical corridors extending in either direction every ten paces. They come across a series of matching but modified outfits behind glass, displays full of black, orange and white leather, bulky looking jackets, masks, caps and gloves, boots and holsters. 

“Gear,” Wymack says, lingering at the farthest case, a petite, broad-shouldered suit with a full mask, strappy vest, and brass knuckles on a hook. Wymack taps the glass. “Each of these cases opens up into a personal changing room. You’ll get a custom suit. Probably something water-proof and—“ he purses his lips against a smile. “Shock-resistant. Hope you like rubber.”

Neil examines a suit with thick, elbow-high gloves and an ornate half-mask. “I don’t really care what I wear.”

“Glad to hear it. Some of my Foxes were not so flexible.” 

“Someone say flexible?” 

Neil looks up just in time to see a shape drop from an air-duct overhead, like paper spit from a printer. When it hits the floor, it’s a person.

“What the hell,” Neil says flatly.

The newcomer grins. He’s tall and wiry, and his hair is gelled up into deliberate-looking peaks. Even with a complete, three-dimensional heft to him he seems stretched out, like a teenager still growing into his legs. He offers Neil a friendly hand. “Matt Boyd. And you’re the new recruit, Neil, right?”

He nods, accepting the handshake. He glances meaningfully upward. “That can’t be more than a half-inch gap.”

Matt laughs, obviously pleased. “They don’t call me Flex for nothin'.” His hand becomes putty in Neil’s grip, and when Neil tries to extract himself, Matt has him in hand-handcuffs.

“You could escape anything,” Neil marvels, half-gawking at the unseemly image of Matt’s taffy-stretched, bisected hands, slithering back and becoming whole.

Matt looks sideways at Wymack, still smiling. “He is fresh. Still has the capacity for surprise. That’s kind of nice, actually.”

Neil’s shoulders hitch upwards, defensive. “It’s been a while since I’ve met new supers.” His mother had kept him in the most oppressively average and un-stimulating hideaways she could. If he ever met supers it was by accident.

“Well that ends today, dude,” Matt says. “We see crazy new shit pretty much all the time.”

“I’m starting to get that.”

“Your thing is weather, right? You got a demo in you?” Matt asks slyly. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Wymack says quickly, but Neil is already feeling his way skyward.

They’re underground, but he can still kind of always sense the atmosphere, whispering in from outside through filtered air or natural light. It’s as simple as finding a loose end and tugging.

He blinks, and suddenly, the hallway is a wind tunnel. It’s just a little air show, but still, the gusts are so intense that Wymack has to take a step back and steady himself against the wall. Matt whoops joyfully, his immovable gelled hair whipping back. He uses his stretch powers to balloon outward like a parachute, and the wind catches his rubber body and drags him twenty feet down the hallway.

Neil rolls his neck, satisfied, and the wind dies out. “If we were above ground, I could give you a real show.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Matt says, jogging breathlessly back towards them. “Man, we’re going to work so well together. You can be the wind beneath my wings.” He quirks a genuine smile at Neil, who relaxes in spite of himself. 

“Don’t you have crime to stop?” Wymack asks drily, and Matt rolls his eyes. 

“I mean, if I can’t stop some trouble, I can always make some.” He swerves unnaturally out of the way, laughing, when Wymack reaches out to cuff him over the head. “See you soon, Neil,” he calls, taking one enormous stride to the very end of the corridor, around the corner, and out of sight.

“Everyone shows off for newcomers,” Wymack says, pushing steadfastly ahead. “Please don’t give them the weather-works every time.”

Neil shrugs. “He asked for it.”

“Yeah, and you’re a real people pleaser, huh?”

The tour trundles on, through the tunnelling halls of a facility that is slowly revealing itself to be as well-appointed as it is well-hidden. They pass through a wide-open common kitchen area with enough dining space for twenty; an enormous training gym outfitted with targets, mats, a reinforced spectator box, and a fully stocked library of weapons and armour. 

There are a couple of available sleeping quarters, spartan, but outfitted with sturdy furniture, clean bedding, and storage like Neil has never even thought to ask for; a lounge with a beaten-looking couch and chairs, a smaller kitchenette, an entertainment system, and a pool table; and a professional-grade medical station, equipped to hold what looks like the entire team at once. 

Neil meets a laser-focused Abby Winfield in the med bay, where she’s tending to a surly Andrew look-alike with a bruise-mottled grimace on his face. Aaron’s gaze darts and slices like a bird unsettled from its perch when Neil enters the room.

Neil asks him if he ran into someone’s fist, but he doesn’t rise to the bait, just casting a haughty look down Neil’s rain-soaked jeans as he hops from the exam table. Abby seems to realize what’s coming a moment before it happens, because she waves a still uncapped tube of ointment in one hand and says, “Aaron, don’t, I’m not—“ but he’s already blazed from the room, head-spinningly fast.

Wymack shrugs an apology for their intrusion, and Abby sighs, offers Neil a surprisingly generous smile, and shoos them from her office—but not before promising a full physical exam for their newest team member.

Neil swallows his instinctive horror to being examined in any capacity, and forces himself to follow Wymack out from the exposing light of the medical hall. From there, they find their way to an imposing set of steel double-doors at the heart of the labyrinth.

“Mission control,” Wymack says, scanning them seamlessly inside. Neil can tell from the quality of his voice that this is the tour’s grand finale.

It’s a massive space, tech-ed out, and the obvious hub for the entire operation. There are sprawling screens full of moving data, a huge table, lit up from within, with stray files and blueprints littering its surface. There are also towering rows of black filing cabinets lined up against the far wall, a computer system too complex for Neil to understand most of its controls, and a couple of inconspicuous doors leading to what must be private offices.

“We do most of our planning here.” Wymack gestures towards the network of screens and keyboards. “Comprehensive database, files on every super in the country, past battle strats,” he nods towards a white-board over by the meeting table. “Individualized training schedules. My office over there.” When Neil follows his sightline he finds a woman standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes level and keen. Neil waves awkwardly, and her mouth pulls charmingly to the side like a swept curtain. “And that’s Dan Wilds,” Wymack finishes.

“The most important part of the base, right boss?”

“If you say so,” Wymack says, but he's smiling.

“Nice to finally meet you, Neil Josten. Gotta say, I was pretty impressed by your glass beach.”

He tries not to grimace at the thought of it. “Thanks,” he says. “It was accidental.”

She laughs good-naturedly until he doesn’t join in, and then she raises both eyebrows. “‘It was accidental,’ he says. Like he didn’t change the geography of half the East coast.”

“It’s not modesty,” Wymack says. “He really doesn’t know what kind of trail he’s been leaving.”

“I don’t really like to look—back,” Neil says.

Dan’s eyes glint. There’s something sturdy and well-balanced about her, like a broadsword. “Well. Amen to that.”

“Wait, why did no one tell me he was here already?” someone exclaims, bursting in from the double doors behind them. Dark-haired and animated, the new guy is wearing a hyper-casual graphic crop top and joggers, and when he sees Neil properly, he says, “oh christ, your aura.”

“He means to say, hi, I’m Nicky,” Dan says. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, for sure, hi, I’m Nicky,” Nicky says, waving a distracted hand. “I can’t believe how fucked up you feel.”

“Excuse me?” Neil says, face burning, caught (as he often is) between anger and shame.

“I feel what you feel,” he says, with some relish. “No wonder we’re having inclement weather.”

All of Neil’s gauges go haywire—instant panic. It’s even worse than Kevin’s supposed powers of compulsion. The thought of all his hard-won habits, straight-faced lies, and tooth and nail emotional regulation being undone by a little empathy is too terrible. Like a bad joke. 

Wind whistles in his ears. Dan winces sympathetically as Nicky makes a wounded noise and grabs his own skull, staggering backwards. A wave of energy flows visibly through the air from his body, and Neil feels it impacting his own chest. Suddenly, he feels calm and docile as a lamb. He sits on the floor exactly where he is.

“Hey,” Wymack snaps.

“Nicky, stow the powers, okay. You know most of us vollies aren’t empath-compatible,” Dan says.

“I’m sorry, I—“ Nicky’s eyes screw shut. Immediately Neil is in control of his body again, and he slides sideways, panting. “I wasn’t ready.”

“What did you do to me?” Neil demands. Somewhere above ground, thunder grumbles.

“I’m sorry,” Nicky says again. “It’s an instinct sometimes, I swear I can’t help it.”

“He gave you an emotional sedative,” Wymack says, crossing his arms. “Nicky can manipulate feelings.”

“But I don’t,” Nicky interrupts. “Usually. I didn’t expect it to feel like a war-zone in here all of a sudden.”

Neil stands, and starts to stalk threateningly towards Nicky, but a hand closes in his collar and lifts him clean off the ground.

“Let’s not escalate things,” Dan says, holding him easily aloft. “Nick, will you promise to turn off the charm when Neil’s around?”

Nicky puts his hands up in surrender. “Done and done.” Softer, he says, “It’s actually—nice to meet you Neil.” He smiles sheepishly, and Neil shakes his head in dull disbelief. A total stranger just took the full force of the storm at the centre of Neil’s consciousness, and he’s still smiling at him like he’s not a monster.

Dan sets Neil carefully back on his feet, and he shrugs out of her grip, putting several paces between himself and everyone else.

“I understand powers that happen without your consent,” Neil says slowly. “But if you mess with my emotions again I’m not responsible for what’ll come out of the sky.”

Wymack holds up a staying hand, moving between them. “Alright, alright, enough posturing for one day.”

Nicky looks flushed and upset, but as Neil watches, the air around his body shifts and undulates as a new wave of power is compressed inwards. His expression slackens, hazy. “It’s okay. I don’t intimidate easy.”

Neil blinks at him. “You can turn your powers on yourself?” he asks, putting his own discomfort on ice.

Nicky smiles. He seems to be following Neil’s mood at a distance, matching him beat for beat. Neil’s not sure if it’s a byproduct of his abilities or a true personality trait. “Sure. I can chill myself out if I can’t sleep, get pissed before a fight. I don’t do it very often though, it can get intense. Draining.”

“How do you know if what you’re feeling is real? How does anyone around you?”

Nicky’s smile twitches. Neil suspects he’s stepped on a nerve. “It’s not a memory thing. My power lets people know its been there. It’s why I can’t tell anyone to forgive me, or love me, or anything. They would know better.”

“Eh, I know better,” Dan says, walking close enough to rope Nicky in by the shoulders. “But I do it anyway.”

“Aw shucks,” Nicky says, clearly pleased. 

“And you’re—super strong?” Neil asks, eyeing Dan’s thick upper arms.

‘Something like that. I can nudge gravity where I want it.” She looks slyly at Wymack and he uncrosses his arms, taking a step backwards.

“Don’t do it.”

“Come on, not even for the new guy?”

“Dan,” Wymack warns.

“Alright, fine,” she says, hands up. She looks to Neil. “Just know in your heart that I can lift the boss with one finger.”

“It’s a real crowd-pleaser,” Nicky agrees, perching on one of the many data-projecting desks, capped with swirling, changing screens. “But what about you, Stormy Weather? What’s your story?”

He frowns. “I thought all of you knew everything.”

“We’ve seen the highlights reel,” Nicky says. “We don’t know you, though, not yet.”

Not ever, Neil thinks. He plans to treat this like a workplace that he clocks in and out of. After hours, he’ll stay warm and remote in a fog where no one can find him. It’s safer that way.

“I know him,” Andrew says, and Neil looks over to find him cross-legged at the centre of the conference table. The interior glow makes him look haunted, lit ungenerously from below. Andrew tosses a baseball-sized hailstone into the sleek stretch of floor in front of Neil. Preserved, somehow, from when Neil summoned it in the car. “He’s a storm chaser with an attitude problem.”

“Where the hell did you get that?” Dan asks. Then, pinching the bridge of her nose, “never mind, actually. The less I understand the monster, the better.”

“Excuse my cousin Andrew,” Nicky starts. Andrew looks away, apparently bored. “He thinks it’s funny to scare people shitless.”

“I don’t see him laughing,” Neil says tightly. 

“His sense of humour was dropped on its head as a child,” Nicky replies sadly.

“Okay, I’m calling it,” Wymack interrupts. “I’m sure you’re exhausted, Neil. Whole lotta new faces today. You’ll meet Kevin, Renee, and Allison when they get back from mission.”

“When will that be?” Neil asks. He’s already paranoid that the shifter will appear to him without him knowing it.

Wymack shrugs. “When it’s done. In the meantime, I don’t want any more gratuitous powers in my base. No throwing shit, no lightning bolts, no—“ Andrew blinks across the room, perilously close to Neil’s side, jaw craned up to examine his face. Neil looks down instinctively, and finds Andrew’s eyes boring into his own. “No pausing me, Minyard, I’m dead serious. If I have to repeat instructions for you again it ain’t gonna be pretty.”

“What was that?” Andrew asks, but Neil’s pretty sure he’s fucking with him, because Wymack just sighs.

“Get out of my sight, all of you.” They all start to disperse, Dan back into Wymack’s office, Nicky over to the doors that lead hall-ward, Andrew into thin air. Wymack catches Neil’s eye. “Get some sleep, okay? See Abby for pills if you need ‘em. We’ll get you something dry to wear.”

“Thank you,” Neil says stiffly.

“Don’t thank me yet. Tomorrow we see how you play with others, and that’s never pretty.”

“Is that a threat?” 

Wymack looks tiredly to the largest screen in the room, beyond the place where stats and mission details are spinning in space. “More of a promise, really.”

Neil follows his gaze to the focal point of the screen, where a hundred thousand tiny golden lights are scattered into a world map like beads. Supers, embroidered into the dark fabric of the world, punched into time by some celestial power source or trick of science that they'll never understand. 

All that running, all that wishing to disappear, and he was always just a dot on this map. There was never a reality where he was going to be able to hide forever. Not even in the eye of a hurricane. Not even in an underground bunker. And if he can’t conceal his powers, he might as well control them.

He looks back at Wymack, feeling like a season on the cusp of changing, a monsoon shaking itself dry. “Let’s get started.”

[sjsmith56]

The Flame Burns From Within, Part 4 - Captive

Summary: Lady Arden is forced to reveal her marriage. Lord Barnes and his men continue their pursuit of Pierce’s forces.

Characters: Lady Arden, Lord Pierce, Ser Brock, Riley, Lord Barnes, Ser Anthony, Father Bruce, Ser Samuel.

Warnings: Physical violence against a woman, intimidation and threats, reference to a forced miscarriage.

Author notes: The image in the banner was created by the author using Microsoft Copilot app. Divider by vecteezy.com.

<<Part 3

Part 4 - Captive

Lady Arden

The journey from the church to Lord Pierce's estate wasn't far but I wasn't permitted to exit the carriage on our arrival. Instead, I was joined in the compartment by his wife and daughter, along with a maidservant. Lady Pierce, her face red and her hair disordered, stared at me with some hostility, then sighed when the carriage door was closed again and we departed in greater haste towards another destination.

"You are older than my daughter," she grumbled. "He must intend for you to marry our eldest son. Why no one else was good enough for him is beyond me but then I am never consulted on these matters."

I said nothing to her comment, since she didn't ask a question. Instead, I looked out the small window trying to determine where we were being taken. James' belief that Pierce's attack on the church would result in the loss of his lands must have been a correct one for it seemed that the whole household was accompanying our carriage. Whenever we turned into a curve, I could see wagons loaded up with the household goods behind us in a long procession. Far in the distance I could see the columns of smoke, certain that he had set his estate on fire. His attack on the church wasn't a sudden impulse. The fact he had his possessions ready to leave his lands was proof that he planned this long ago.

"I will not marry your son," I stated, fixing Lady Pierce with my gaze. "I am betrothed to another."

"He doesn't care," answered the woman. "You have always been his prize. He tried to negotiate for you in good faith, but your fool uncle wouldn't even entertain his offers. Now he has made us fugitives to claim you for our house. You must have a large fortune for him to be so insistent."

"I have nothing," I answered. "Your husband took my family away from me when he killed my parents, and my uncle offered me sanctuary." She looked at me with a blank expression, as if my words were confusing to her. "I am from the House of Forrest. Lord Pierce slaughtered my parents then said he found them dead of the wasting disease. He took their lands under his stewardship after burning everything to cover up his crime."

Pierce's daughter looked fearfully at her mother, whose face was becoming redder by the moment as I laid out my charges against her husband.

"You lie," she replied, not quite convincingly. "He's a pillar of the kingdom; well respected and always called by the king to give counsel."

I shook my head. "No, he and the Houses of Rumlow and Walker have been conspiring to overthrow the king. More than a fortnight ago, he sent an unmarked force to the palace, attacking it in the night. His men killed the Crown Prince and his oldest son. I was at Ser Anthony's when word came to Lord Barnes of the attack. He hastened to provide his support to the throne. That was the night I was formally betrothed to Lord Barnes. Just last night your husband and his men surrounded my uncle's castle, intent on preventing Lord Barnes entry to it, and our attendance at church this morning for the third reading of the banns. They entered the church with their weapons in hand, knocked down the priests, then took women and children as hostages to force Lord Barnes to give me to them. Your husband is a traitor."

The state of their marriage must not have been stable as she had nothing to counter my words. It meant she knew he was capable of what I told her. She and her daughter would pay a steep price for being connected to such a man. The maidservant, older than me with hair as red as mine except darker in tone, watched us closely as we spoke. Never once, did she give any sign of distress or disbelief on her part. It seemed she was more aware than her mistress was.

After many hours of travel, during which I dropped a small torn piece of the trim on my dress out the window as we went past an inn, we stopped at a tavern, long after the sun had gone down. Another party of sell swords were there to greet us. I listened to their report to Lord Pierce on their travels, but their words were too indistinct for me to make out. Then the carriage door opened and the man who helped me into the carriage appeared.

"Lord Pierce says we will stop here for a meal and a brief rest. You may wish to refresh yourselves at the same time."

He offered Lady Pierce his hand first, then her daughter, then me. A look passed between him and the maidservant. It was just a flicker of recognition then it was gone but I noticed it and wondered if they were perhaps lovers. She assisted Lady Pierce into the tavern, while her daughter and I followed. It was dark and close inside; certainly not a place I would willingly go into, but I was hungry and needing the use of the privy. When I made my needs known, the maidservant and the sell sword followed me; her inside the facility while holding a candle to light my way, him on guard outside. Pulling my skirts up over my knees I placed myself in position while the woman looked away.

"I don't need a guard inside. I have no idea where I am and no chance of escape."

"That is not why I am here," she said, in a low voice. "I am a friend, as is the sell sword at the door. His name is Riley. We will try to find an opportunity for you to escape, but if that is not possible, we will at least leave a trail for your betrothed to follow.”

She handed me the candle then lifted her own skirt, pulling a knife out of a sheath strapped to her leg. Digging into the wood in a dark corner of the privy she drew an image of a flame, then an arrow pointing in the direction we were headed, followed by two wavy lines to indicate the sea. The knife was slid back into the sheath once she was satisfied with her efforts.

"We're headed to a port?"

"That's what Riley has learned," she confirmed. "Pierce has allies across the sea in Brittania. We'll try to help you escape before then for once you're on a ship it will be harder to rescue you."

A small tap on the door signalled us to be quiet and she turned away from me so that I could complete my necessities. As we left the small privy, Riley was no longer at his place. Instead, it was Ser Brock. He glared at both of us, his scarred face cast in a permanent scowl. I refused to let him intimidate me and I looked steadily in his eyes.

"I have been in that carriage for hours."

"As I have been in the saddle, Lady Arden." His eyes narrowed. "Lord Pierce orders your presence at his table."

I brushed past him, followed by the maidservant, whose name I still didn't know but for now I would think of her as Ruby to match her hair. Rumlow watched us from his spot for some time, making me wonder if he intended to check the privy for signs of me leaving a clue, but he didn't. Instead, he sat next to Pierce at the large table, grabbing a tankard of ale and drinking in a manner that was typical of most men of his upbringing. On the other side of Lord Pierce were two young men, fair haired but indistinguishable from any number of ordinary men. Their beards were dark but spotty as if their faces couldn't decide whether to make them look more manly or scruffy. Like him, they each had their hands around a piece of meat, tearing into them with their teeth. Walker sat further down, watching me with a curiosity that bothered my sensibilities. A piece of meat was placed on a platter in front of me, along with a thick slice of bread. I took what I could manage.

"These are my sons," said Pierce, gesturing to the two young men. "Richard is 24, sturdy and reliable. His brother, William, is 26, a good swordsman, and has already bested several men in battle. I give you the option of choosing which one will be your husband. It is of no consequence to me which one you choose."

"Neither," I said, looking him in the eye.

He reached forward and slapped me with the back of his hand. The fat from the piece of meat he had held in that hand dripped off my cheek and I wiped it off, looking defiantly at him.

"You will choose, Lady Arden," he declared. "I mean to have you as a member of my house before we leave for Britannia. It is my preference that the marriage be performed before the voyage so that my line is secured on the trip over."

"That will be difficult," I replied, "seeing as how I am already with child."

There was silence at the table as he took in my words. His own sons watched him nervously as his colouring changed from fair to ruddy. He made them all jump when he slammed his fist on the table.

"Who?" I smiled at him, and he withdrew his dagger, extending it to my throat. "You laid in sin with Barnes?"

"No, there was no sin involved. We were married over a fortnight ago by the priest whose church you burned. He already took news of the marriage to the Bishop and the banns were waived, as I carry Lord Barnes' child. We were merely going through the formality of reading the banns as normally would be done. It was your own actions that forced Lord Barnes hand, due to your attack on the King. I know I carry his child for I have already missed my monthly course.”

Even in this busy tavern I could hear the sound of his breathing, as he struggled to maintain control of his temper. I picked the meat up and tore a small piece off with my teeth, chewing it as I watched him. Ser Brock leaned forward and whispered in Pierce's ear, leading him to nod his head. He sat back down and glared at me.

"There are ways to make a woman expel a child from her body," he stated. "We need to find someone who knows the proper herbs."

"I'll tell the priest," I said. "Plus, by now the record of my marriage has gone to Rome. If you force me into a marriage with one of your sons, it will be declared illegal, and any offspring will be illegitimate. You can't change that so easily. I will not cooperate, Lord Pierce, especially not with the man responsible for my parents' deaths."

"Then I'll make sure that Lord Barnes meets his own death." His voice was steady as he stared intently at me. "Nothing will stop my son from marrying his widow. Your child with Barnes will have no standing in my house and I can turn him out at will."

"Then you will have another death on your hands." I stood up, drawing all my dignity together to give him a glance at the fire that burned within me. "If you harm my child I will kill you with my own hands."

He started laughing, which prompted his sons William and Richard, John Walker, and Ser Brock to join in, followed by his men who were nearby. Before he could counter my effort, I took the knife which lay on the platter of meat and brought it to his cheek, slicing it open. Rumlow reacted first, grasping my wrist hard and forcing the knife from my hand but the damage was done as Pierce raised his hand to his cheek and came away with blood on his fingers. I believe he would have throttled me then, but Rumlow barked at Riley who came forward.

"Lock her in the carriage," he said. "We'll see if she is this feisty after sleeping there tonight."

He took me out of the tavern and over to the carriage, which sat without horses as they grazed freely in the fields nearby. Once we were out of earshot, he whispered furiously.

"What were you trying to do?"

"Exactly what you saw," I answered. "I will not cooperate with him. He will find I am no meek daughter of one of his cronies."

"He will hurt you and will send a force against Lord Barnes." We got to the carriage, and he opened the door. In the distance we could see Rumlow watching us as he dispatched two other men to guard the carriage. Riley looked to see who they were and shook his head. "Do not antagonize these two. They will have no qualms in taking their anger out on you." Helping me in he stopped just before he closed the door. "We have two days of travel to get to the port. I can't help you escape if you are locked up like this. Lady Arden, please, temper your actions."

"I will try."

He sighed, then locked me inside. Acknowledging the two men who arrived to guard me during the night he kept walking towards the tavern without looking back. I pulled the cushions from the seats and laid them on the floor of the carriage. It was a rash action for me to cut open Pierce's cheek, but his arrogance irked me and the fire within me burned at that moment when he threatened not only my love but my child. I didn't lie when I told him my monthly course hadn't yet arrived. It was late by almost a week, and I hoped with all my heart that it meant I carried James' child. If I wasn't, then my options for preventing a marriage would be limited even more.

Lord Barnes – evening

The flames over Pierce Manor were still visible for miles as we approached those lands, an obvious sign we were too late to stop Lord Pierce's forces. What was worse, my best trackers told me that a great host of wagons, horsed men, and carriages left earlier, bound for the northeast. His house had been ready to leave at a moment's notice, his intentions quite evident. Why he would attack the King just two weeks ago, then abandon his properties now puzzled me. It was a tactic that made no sense.

"My Lord," said Barton, approaching me. "The men who sought out Lord Pierce's tenants say they departed early in the afternoon, an hour after midday. None were aware of his destination." He looked at the ruins. "Why would he destroy his own property like that? It makes no sense."

"To prevent anyone from taking it over," said Ser Samuel, who came closer on his own horse. "It was a tactic used in the Holy Wars between my brethren and yours, to keep the other side from easily gaining a foothold. It is a warning to you that he will go to extreme lengths to keep you from Lady Arden. It is a tactic of war; make no mistake about that."

His words were true. It was a tactical retreat, and his scorching of his properties was meant to slow us down as well as make it impossible for the King to assign those lands to an ally. It would take years to rebuild the manor. By that time Pierce would have been able to strengthen his forces with the help of powerful houses in Britannia, France, or Spain, any one of which would want a foothold in our young realm.

"Give the signal," I said to Barton. "We move on and follow the trail. We'll ride as long as we can before we rest our horses."

I saw the priest, Father Bruce, sitting atop his own horse, his hand on his crucifix and his lips moving in prayer, at the destruction visible to us. He crossed himself finally then rode closer to me.

"We move on, I take it," he said, simply. "To destroy an estate that took lifetimes to build is evil. His serfs and tenants will be masterless, and unable to have the advantage of his protection against bandits or invaders."

"It was an evil act, as evil as his attack on the church," I replied. "We are continuing the pursuit. If it becomes too much for you, Father, I can leave two men with you while you rest."

"I am fine," he answered. "I will rest when you do."

His answer reassured me to his stamina. As mild and meek as he appeared, he was a man of inner strength. It did not matter to me if it was his faith that drove him. I found myself willing to listen to his counsel for it was as reasoned as well as any other man. As we rode with Ser Anthony who had joined us with some of his men, and additional men provided by the King, we spoke of many things. The topic of my years of travel came up and Ser Anthony came closer.

"It was Lord Fury who told me of your falling out with Lord Pierce. May I ask how that came about?"

I sighed, as I was not proud of my previous association with the man, or Ser Brock of House Rumlow.

"Pierce was a childhood friend of my father's and Lord Fury," I began. "They were like brothers for a time. After my father's death, it was Pierce who invited me to travel with him and Rumlow to explore trading relationships with certain houses. Lord Fury was there when the offer was made and suggested to the King that the Duke also accompany us, as part of what was an unofficial diplomatic mission." I grimaced at the memory. "It was anything but. We visited more brothels and courtesans than estates. In fact, the two men encouraged us to leave the diplomacy to them, while the Duke and I explored the more salacious aspects of Europe. It wasn't until we were in Spain, and I visited the Bishop of Seville, who was related to my mother, that I heard different counsel. When I told him who my travelling companions were he cautioned me against trusting Lord Pierce. Apparently, he had wanted to court my mother, but my father made his offer first. The Bishop was of the opinion that Pierce's plan was to weaken me so that my house could be taken over by his. I began to question their treatment of me and the Duke. After speaking frankly with Prince Steven, we began to distance ourselves from them."

"They were setting up their alliances with willing houses, weren't they?" asked Ser Anthony. He shook his head. "It must have disturbed you to realize he thought so little of you."

"I felt like I had disgraced myself," I admitted, thinking back to that time in my youth. "No wonder you didn't think I was a suitable husband for Lady Arden."

"What was the defining moment?" Father Bruce gazed at me with understanding. "What finally severed the connection?"

"I overheard a chance remark by Ser Brock that they should have done to House Barnes what was done to House Forrest, except no one would want my sister Rebecca as compensation for the trouble. The remarks they made about her were vile and angered me, so I confronted him. We fought." I rubbed my left arm, remembering the wound given to me by that man. "If I hadn't been wearing armour that day he would have taken my arm. It was Ser Samuel Wilson who intervened in the battle, sending a falcon to attack Rumlow. It scarred his face, further hardening his heart against me and my family."

Both Father Bruce and Ser Anthony switched their attention to my friend, the man who had been reluctant to leave Spain, where he had been born and raised during the Moors' occupation of that land, until the Church fought back.

"It was evident my path lay with Lord Barnes and the Duke," he said solemnly. "To ease my travels in this land, I assumed a Christian name, although Samuel is a name known to my people."

"So, you are not a Christian?" asked Father Bruce.

Samuel smiled. "I am not, but I have been told I am a good man, nonetheless. Will that suffice for you, Father Bruce? I have the greatest respect for you as a man."

He surprised us all by laughing aloud for some time. In a gesture that surprised us all, he extended a hand to Ser Samuel and grasped his forearm in the way men of battle do when in solidarity. When he released it, he made the sign of the cross at the man.

"That will suffice," he answered. "I am not so rigid in theology to think that my faith is superior to yours. We both worship the same god, but our methods differ. Our worlds are not so different as they both have good men and evil men; that is evident to me."

It was another surprising statement by the priest, and I began to wonder what his own past had been like that he was both worldly and open-minded, unlike many of his kind. Throughout the next few hours, we conversed of many things to pass the time in the saddle. Ultimately, we all began to flag, and I called a halt to our ride. We found an inn that accommodated us in the main building and in its stables, once I showed the owner a gold piece, with a promise of more. They fed us well in their tavern, and we slept until sunrise.

When I arose in the morning, a meal awaited us. I gladly paid the owner five gold pieces for his trouble. As we saddled and mounted our horses, he came out with a thoughtful expression.

"There was another large procession that passed us by yesterday, just before dark," he said. "It was strange, as there was a fine carriage with several women and a young maiden in it, plus many wagons with fine furnishings and possessions. I tried to entice them to stay with us as they passed, but their leader never even paid any heed to me. However, this was dropped from the carriage. It occurred to me that you may be tracking that procession."

He held his hand out, holding a small piece of trim from Arden's dress. She must have ripped it off the fabric with her own hands. Reaching into my small coin purse I withdrew another gold piece and offered it to him, in exchange for the piece.

"I thank you, sir," I said sincerely. "May you always have visitors at your doors."

He smiled gratefully and stepped back as we began to ride. Other than the tracks of the many wagons, it was the first real evidence we were on the right road. However, we were still many hours behind them. We rode until the sun was high overhead and stopped at another inn with a tavern. Like the previous place, the owner of this one was anxious to make us happy and he brought out great platters of food and ale for us. With an actual privy on the premises, several of my men took advantage of the facility to relieve themselves. It was one of them who came to me.

"My Lord, there is something in the privy that you should see," he said, pointing towards the door to the facility.

Raising myself from the stool, I went with him into the small room and looked at him, expectantly. He pointed to a darkened corner, where a flame, an arrow pointing northeast, and two rippled lines had been recently carved into the wood. The wood underneath had not yet had the chance to darken with age. It was obviously a message meant for me and I thanked all the gods for the foresight of the spy I had in Pierce's house, wondering if she was responsible for this message. Natasha, a woman with her own quarrel with the man, had been there for almost a year, watching him. It was through her efforts that I acquired the ring I placed on Arden's finger, that now rested on a chain around my neck. Leaving the privy, I sought out the owner.

"There was another large party that came through here," I stated. "Tell me, was there a young woman, with hair like flame and wearing a dress of the colour of cream? It was trimmed with this."

I showed him the small piece of trim.

"Aye, M'Lord," he answered. "She was there, at a table with an older man, two younger men who may have been his sons, a sallow fair-haired man, and a dark-haired man with a scarred face. The older man struck her for something she said but she showed no fear and even managed to cut his cheek with a knife."

I smiled. Ever since Arden showed me the blade in her boot I wondered if she was self-assured enough to use it. The tavern owner's words were clear that she was.

"When did they leave?" I asked.

He scratched the back of his head and scrunched up his face. "Two hours before sunrise, just as the mist began to form. They were headed northeast, following the main road on the island. The lady was forced out to sleep in the carriage after cutting the man, with two guards upon her but she did not look the worse for wear when they hitched the horses and herded the other women in with her. The oldest one did not look happy at being awakened from her slumbers so early."

We had come closer but were still at least 8 hours behind them.

"Which harbour on the north shore can handle large ships?" Ser Anthony looked sharply at the man.

"The deepest ports that can receive large ships is Sag Harbor then the Northwest Harbour which is further by another day’s travel. Both have received large ships from across the seas. With all the wagons slowing them down the group that was here yesterday will need two days to get to the closer of the two."

We looked at each other with understanding. Pierce should be headed for the closer harbour. There was still a chance we could get to them before they reached Sag Harbour. Barton, who had stood behind my shoulder as the information was given to us, pulled his gloves on.

"Is the order given to mount up, my Lord?"

"Aye, prepare the men to leave. We ride until nightfall before breaking for a few hours rest. With any luck we can catch them by morning."

I paid our host five gold pieces for his troubles and mounted Soldier. Even he seemed eager to go, as if he understood how close we were to catching up to Pierce, and to Lady Arden. I smiled again at the thought of her slicing open Pierce's cheek. He must have said or done something that raised the flame of anger within her. It made my sensibilities feel full to realize that her heart was mine, as much as my heart was hers. She truly was a warrior inside, the blood of her ancestors still strong and vibrant. In every way, she held me captive with her abilities and the fire that burned within her.

Part 5>>

Series Masterlist

Please support the author by reblogging.

[thefallennightmare]

Soldiers-eight

credit to whoever created the picture. found on google/Pinterest.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes(winter soldier era) x Reader.

Warnings: angst, language, fluff, violence, smut.

Summary: Reader has spent the last seventy years in hell as a prisoner soldier; Hydra’s greatest weapon. Well, second greatest weapon after The Winter Soldier. The only thing that got her through that hell was him, even if she was the one behind his biggest pain.

Authors Note:  Russian translations will be at the end of the chapter. I used google translate so if something isn't correct, blame Google.

Tags(open): @elizacusiblog @pattiemac1 @yvessaintmuerte @mdpplgtz03 @mayjaysthots @broadwaybabe18 @sebsgirl71479 @yourfavunsub @themorningsunshine @nikwld @splendidreads @fall-myriad

“Voin, did you hear what I just said?”

My eyes snapped up from the floor over to Ivan who sat behind his large desk, fingers steepled together. There was clear annoyance on his face because of his need to repeat himself. Quickly, I nodded.

“Yes. I’ll go unfreeze Soldat and prep him for the mission,” I said doing my best to hide the waver in my voice.

Ivan gave me a once over before he nodded once, to dismiss me, and I wasted no time in scurrying out of his office and towards the laboratory. I had to take a few deep breaths to steady myself, knowing that this would be the first time I would not only see Soldat but talk to him in almost a month, since that night in my living quarters. Shortly after he left me standing there, naked and confused, Ivan thought Soldat needed to be put back into cryosleep since there was word of a metal-armed assassin being seen in Germany. Soldat needed to go into hiding until the rumors died down.

Could they be called rumors if it was true?

Now, almost a month later, I was ordered to wake him, erase his memories, then prep him for our upcoming mission. Ivan was sending us undercover a few towns over to kill someone that had wronged Hydra; someone that stole quite a few million dollars from Ivan. It didn’t seem as if this mission needed both Soldat and me, not that I was complaining about spending time with him but I practically had to force more information about this job out of Ivan.

“It seems a bit too easy. You say this guy is scum, a lowlife, why send two of your best assassins after him?” I had asked him.

Ivan pressed his tongue deep into the side of his cheek. “This low life is one of the most heavily guarded men in Russia. His father is the leader of one of the most feared mafia gangs. This kid won’t go anywhere without his guards.”

I raised a brow. “Are you afraid of some kid?”

Ivan’s eyes bore into mine. “This kid stole a million dollars from me, he’s smarter than he looks. I’m not going to send someone after him that will fuck it up. Soldat and you are the best.”

At first, I was annoyed that we were being sent on a mission to kill some kid but Ivan assured me that this thirty-something-year-old deserved to die. Not only because of him laundering money from Ivan but this kid had a very lengthy rap sheet that range from drugs to being caught trying to smuggle underage girls into Russia. But as angry as I was, I knew I needed to calm myself because this would not be an easy mission. One of Ivan’s grunts did some research to find out that our target will be at a theater show two nights from now, sitting in his father’s prepaid reserved box seat. This is one of the rare times the target will be away from his guards because he doesn’t want anyone to know he indulges in theater.

Something about being the son of one of the most feared mafia bosses doesn’t allow you to enjoy the finer things in life.

As my footsteps echoed loudly in the laboratory, I gave a tight smile to the doctors that littered against the far side of the wall almost as if they feared me; they did but as long as they stayed on my good side, none of them would turn to dust.

“Voin,” one doctor nodded. “I can assure you, there have been no changes since you were here last night. Soldat is sleeping soundly.”

I knew that, I could hear his heartbeat throughout the compound. It lulled me to sleep every night for the last month.

“Ivan sent me to wake Soldat.”

I didn’t bother giving him any more of my attention. It was all on Soldat who was a few feet in front of me, cold dead eyes peering through the frost on the door of the chamber. I had only seen him like this twice now but it still burned deep into my heart. He was innocent in all of this; he had no say in the choices that were made for him.

Neither did I but I came to terms a long time ago that my say in anything about me seized the second I asked Johann Schmitt to take me in.

My ears tingled as I heard the hushed conversations from the guards that were posted to watch the room.

“Do you think she’ll erase his memories?”

“She hasn’t used her powers in weeks, she’ll end up killing Soldat. Ivan is wasting his time on her. He should have killed her the second Soldat became who he was.”

Anger radiated off of me which caused sparks to shoot from my fingertips. The electricity burned with a hum around the room as I peered over to my shoulder towards the two guards, lips turning up in a sneer.

“It’s like you idiots forget I have super hearing,” I spat.

Suddenly, Ivan’s presence was felt behind me, and with a low growl, I let the electricity fade from my fingers before typing in the familiar code to finally wake Soldat. The cold air wrapped around me like a vice once the door opened and on my own I stepped up to Soldat, letting his body fall into me as I carried his limp body over to the chair in the middle of the room. This whole scene was becoming familiar and as much as I hated it, I didn’t have a choice. Even before Schmitt died and Zola was captured, they made sure I understood that if I didn’t comply with any orders, not only would I die so would Soldat. Immortality meant nothing to them apparently, but they still liked to threaten me with it.

Soldat woke, slowly, and when I sat him gently into the chair, he let out a soft grunt.

“Does he need to be controlled?” Ivan asked me.

I shrugged. “I don’t think it’s necessary.”

He mewled over my words for a long moment before nodding. “Take the book with you in case.”

My eyes darted over to the red leather-bound book, the black star mocking me, and gave my curt nod back to Ivan.

“Wipe him then prep him for the mission,” Ivan ordered.

Biting my tongue, I took the familiar position of standing behind Soldat then let the electricity return to my fingers. Soldat was still in a groggy state, not quite realizing what was about to happen. With my eyes closed, I let out a deep breath to center myself mentally. I needed Ivan and everyone else to think I was erasing all of Soldat’s memories but I was only going to erase previous missions. All of his memories of me will stay intact including the night that he appeared in my living quarters after my bath. And the way he made me fall apart for him, spilling my arousal all over his thick thigh.

Heat flushed my cheeks but did my best to make sure no one noticed.

Soldat’s screams echoed loudly in the laboratory as the electricity from my fingers dug deep into his head. He writhed underneath my touch and I could hear his teeth grinding together with the sheer pain I was putting him through. I had done this many, many, times and it never got easier. Knowing that I was the reason for his pain broke me little by little.

Once the surrounding room was filled with silence, it was then that I pulled my hands away before slowly stepping around Soldat, looking into his deep, colorless eyes.

“Soldat,” I said.

“Ya gotov otvechat.”

Ready to comply.

The motel reeked of overuse of cleaning chemicals and stale sheets but I couldn’t complain too much. We needed to stay at this type of motel to lie low and go unnoticed. Soldat followed closely behind, the heat from him engulfing me. Neither of us said a word the entire two-hour drive even though I was clutching onto him as he sped his way through the night streets on his motorcycle. The guy at the front desk didn’t bother looking away from his book when I asked for a room, he simply tossed the key onto the desk.

Coming to a halt in front of the door, I looked over to Soldat. “Were we followed?”

I knew the answer but still wanted to ask, just to make sure.

He shook his head.

I waited for a few more beats, wondering if he would say something else, but when he remained silent, I let out a soft breath and led us into the room. It matched the design of the hallway to a T. Peeling wallpaper, stained carpet that was from either blood or other bodily fluids, and cracks in the window. Thankfully, the sheets and blanket on the bed looked washed, even recently.

Bed. As in one. The only place to sit or sleep in the entire room.

“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath.

I had told the guy at the front desk that we needed two beds but clearly; he didn’t give a fuck. Yes, Soldat and I had shared a room the handful of times we went out of town for missions but always there were two beds. Not like we both would be asleep at the same time. Soldat usually took watch majority of the missions while I slept. Even though I erased his memories, it’s like he knew he could rest during his next cryosleep.

“What is it?” Soldat questioned, his warm presence once again felt behind me.

“Nothing,” I shook my head.

There was no need to bother him with my internal despair. I was expecting him to toss his bag onto the bed, ready to take watch, so it surprised me when I felt cool metal fingers graze up and down my back. My body shivered underneath his touch and when his warm breath fanned across the nape of my neck, my eyes fluttered shut.

“Last night,” Soldat began.

With a raised brow, I turned to face him. “Last night?”

“Did you enjoy it?”

Suddenly, I realized that he still thought that night between us was last night and not almost a month ago. To him, time doesn’t pass while he sleeps. But to me? It’s the longest passing of time I’ve ever felt. His absence brings a dull ache within me.

Instead of correcting him, I simply nodded my head.

“Yes,” my voice was just above a whisper.

The air around us became thick, encasing us in a cloud of desire, and Soldat’s hands gripped my hips while his lips grazed over the shell of my ear.

“Why didn’t you stay?” I asked, my hands spread across his chest.

With our mission, we decided to blend in with the crowd tonight and not wear our tac suits. Soldat was wearing a pair of black slacks and a black T-shirt. I could feel the warmth radiating off of him underneath my hands.

It killed me not knowing why he didn’t stay longer than night. Was it something I said or did? I replayed that night over and over in my mind trying to figure out what I did wrong.

Underneath my hands, I felt his body stiffen and I could almost see the walls going up in his mind so I dragged my hands down his chest before wrapping around his back. Soldat’s breath hitched when I softly pressed my hips into his. His metal fingers gripped my hip while his flesh fingers dug into my scalp and pulled my head back so I looked up at him at an angle.

“Yesli by ya ostalsya s toboy, ya by nikogda ne pozvolil tebe uyti.”

The Russian words brought chills throughout my entire body, and a quiet whimper fell from my lips. I almost couldn’t handle the intensity that burned from his gaze and I let my eyes fall to his lips. Soldat’s grip was still tight on my hair so even if I wanted to step away to put some space between us, I couldn’t.

Not like I was going to.

“Soldat,” I breathed.

However, all of my breath was knocked out of me when he pushed me up against the wall, his grip on my hair never faltering while his metal fingers grazed over the flesh of my stomach which was visible thanks to my shirt riding up a bit.

“Krasivyy,” Soldat mused while he looked over every inch of my face.

Usually, I never faltered or melted in front of anyone, especially a man but there was something about Soldat that made me want to get on my knees and submit to him.

I let out a quiet hiss of relief when his tight grip on my hair left, his flesh fingers now lifting my chin. I brought my bottom lip between my teeth and dug my teeth into it, the desire to finally kiss Soldat digging deep into my bones. His hips pressed into my heated core and I couldn’t stop the moan that fell from my lips. My nails scratched at the skin of his lower back and brought his hips into me once more. A low growl erupted from Soldat which only fueled my desire. I felt the outline of his semi-hard cock press against the inside of my thigh but it wasn’t enough. I needed more.

I exposed the skin of my neck to him and Soldat wasted no time, his teeth and tongue tasting every inch. My hands were running through his hair, scratching nails at his scalp before dragging down his large chest and stomach.

“Voin.”

My name, well nickname, was moaned into my skin when I grazed my hand over his cock before squeezing it.

Suddenly, the phone in the hotel room rang, echoing loudly against the walls. It made the both of us break away from each other, both standing tall and stiff. The phone only rang twice which was the way to tell us it was time.

Our target was at the theater and we needed to get there as soon as possible.

Breathless, I adjusted my clothes while Soldat stood still, unmoving. His hair was disheveled and his dick was still hard under his pants. It was scary how fast he switched back to the soldier.

“Soldat?” I asked.

“Ya gotov otvechat.”

The large room where the show was being held was crowded, with large groups of people trying to find their seats, and with a gloved hand linked in mine, I led Soldat to our seats that were six rows away from the stage, directly in the middle. My heels clicked along the tile floor while the fabric of my dress clung to my body. The cold air brushed against the skin of my exposed back but the heat radiating from Soldat quickly replaced it. He was close behind me, not allowing more than two inches of space between us.

After we received our message from Ivan, Soldat and I rushed quickly to get ready afraid that if we were even two minutes later, our mission wouldn’t be completed. To get this done with no one batting an eye at us, we needed to blend in. So I was dressed in a floor-length black dress with a plunging neckline and an open back while Soldat wore a black suit, and a white dress shirt underneath. He had a glove over his left hand to hide the metal fingers. It was weird seeing him like this, so normal and not dressed like an assassin, but I liked it. What I loved about the way he looked right now was his long locks were pulled back into a low bun.

My heart skipped a beat when I remembered earlier in the motel room where he allowed me to kneel behind him while he sat on the edge of the bed and I brushed his hair back out of his face.

“Feels nice,” he muttered.

Finally finding out seats, the both of us sat down while our eyes scanned our surroundings.

“Any sight of him?” I asked.

Soldat peered over my shoulder and then gave one short nod. “His box is three rows behind, up towards the left.”

I didn’t follow his gaze.

“Anyone with him?” I questioned.

“A server bringing drinks and one woman.”

This made my brow raise in confusion. Ivan mentioned nothing about there being someone with our target tonight. He was supposed to be alone.

I hummed in response while settling into my seat when the lights went out; the show getting ready to start. My mind was swirling with a new plan, one where we could take both our target and his date out without being seen. Our current plan was I would flirt my way into his box, where I would distract him as Soldat snuck up behind him to snap his neck. Quick and quiet.

I wasn’t thrilled that I would be used as a toy to distract the target because that’s not what I signed up for when I became Voin. But now, there was an extra person to take out, and I felt a small smile pulling at my lips knowing that I wouldn’t only be used as an object tonight.

Soldat was watching me with a soft gaze as I snaked my fingers behind his neck to play with the few loose strands of hair there and leaned in closer to his ear. To the others around us, it looked like a domestic action between two people in love.

“The mission remains the same, only now you deal with him while I get her,” my breath was warm as I spoke against his neck.

Soldat’s body shivered for a quick second before he nodded and we turned our attentions to the stage when the show finally started. My hand stayed at the nape of his neck while his gloved hand rested against my thigh, so close to the knife I had strapped underneath my dress. I did my best to keep my mind only on the mission and not the way Soldat’s fingers slowly slipped through the slit of my dress and then dragged up between my legs towards my core. The cool leather of his glove was a striking contrast to the warmth I felt pooling between me. Even though there were people around us, it was still dark enough that no one knew what was happening unless they were directly staring at us.

His name came out in a breath when one of his fingers slipped underneath the fabric of my panties, ghosting over my folds.

“Ochen' vlazhnyy,” Soldat whispered in my ear.

He pressed a finger into me without hesitation pumping it a few times before sliding in another. I let my eyes shut slowly, biting the inside of my cheek so a moan would pass through. Soldat worked his fingers hard, deep, and fast. I was still so wound up from our time in the motel room, not being able to stop thinking about how good his dick felt pressed up against me I was already so close. The leather added another kind of sensation and when the pad of his thumb began circling my clit, my body tensed for a moment before sheer ecstasy crashed through me like a wave. I grabbed his hand, pressing it harder against my throbbing pussy so I could ride out the rest of my orgasm for a few more seconds.

There were many times that I pleasured myself when I was alone at the compound but none of those orgasms wrecked me as much as this one had. And Soldat only used his fingers.

Breathless, I opened my eyes slowly and noticed that his gaze was trained hard ahead of him, watching the show intently.

“The server has left the box, now’s the time.”

The thickness of his voice told me that my coming undone from his fingers had affected him the same way it had me.

With a nod, I slowly rose from my seat and adjusted my dress before squeezing my way past the people beside me who had no idea what Soldat just did to me in the dark.

RUSSIAN TRANSLATIONS:

Yesli by ya ostalsya s toboy, ya by nikogda ne pozvolil tebe uyti.-If I had stayed with you, I would never have let you go.

Krasivyy-beautiful

Ochen' vlazhnyy-so wet.

[harlequin-hangout]

Incapable

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mob violence, violence against reader (Not Bucky), mature themes, Brock Rumlow just as a person, guns, general mob fuckery, light alcohol use, slutty themes ( Minors DNI), Kidnapping, torture

Contains: Arranged marriage, fluff, some angst, femme fatale/boss bitch energy, strangers to lovers maybe? Happy ending

Word Count: 4.7k

Dividers are made by me! Want some for yourself? Send me an ask!

Summary: Bucky Barnes is the only person to treat you as human, despite your marriage being transactional. How will you react when he's kidnapped?

I do not nor will I ever give permission for my writing to be copied, pasted, reposted to other sites, or edited in any way shape or form. Seriously, just don’t.

A/N: I did not make the gif, and @vbecker10 inspired me to use it. Just look at him! Adorable, and so, so done with people's bullshit. If this progressed kind of fast, I'm sorry! I really didn't want to start another series, and I didn't want to publish something that was INSANELY long either. I love writing our Reader as someone who can handle herself, it makes me so happy. I hope you all can enjoy another Badass Reader fic!! (There will be a super slutty epilogue but I'm so ready for this to be out so the smut will appear in the next bit, but both pieces can be read on their own)

The door to your house was broken. Someone had kicked it in. You step over broken glass, finding every drawer ripped apart. 

“James?” You called out to your husband. Silence was the only answer you received. 

“Bucky??” Your voice was more desperate. You ran from room to room, only finding more destruction. Making your way into Bucky’s office last, you found his sitting corner smashed, with blood staining the carpet and upholstery. A broken cell lay on the ground – Bucky’s work phone. The picture of you and Bucky on your wedding day had been ripped out of its frame, the blade of a hunting knife stuck in the side table through the photo of Bucky, while your face had been scratched beyond recognition. There was no mistaking the message that the sender was intending. Though your marriage wasn’t traditional, James Buchanan Barnes had never made you feel like property. Your husband was the only person in your life that hadn’t treated you like a means to an end, like a bargaining chip or a high-ticket item, and he was missing. You pick up the cracked phone on the ground, managing to turn it on enough to get Steve’s number out of it. You dial, hang up after one ring, then call right back. 

“Hey, Buck, what’s up?” You hear Steve’s jovial voice on the line. 

“He’s made his move. Get Wilson and be here in 20.” Your voice was calm, but Steve could hear the icy bite. 

“Y/N, sweetheart, I know this is tough but–”

“But nothing, Rogers.” You cut him off. “I know that I haven’t been involved in the business, but this is personal. 20 minutes. Wilson. Bring however many weapons you can carry.” You hung up, not waiting for a response. 

Your marriage was transactional, you’d known that from the start. You’d been adopted by Rumlow Senior when your mother had passed, and been raised alongside his son, Brock. At least, that’s the story the Public knew. You had been part of your mother’s efforts to pay off her debts to the Rumlow Mafia family. Your father had passed from massive medical complications – you didn’t know a lot of the details, you had been too young to understand and no one had ever given you much to go on past that – and your mother had borrowed money from the Rumlows to help pay for his treatments. There wasn’t money to pay back her loans, so she paid them back the only way she could. Your mother had become the infamous Mafia fixer known as Lady Death, and you had been sent to live with the Rumlow family at age five as insurance. She had been legally dead since you were adopted by the Rumlows, but your mother had been killed for real on an assignment when you were seventeen. After over a decade with the family, Rumlow Senior had made you a deal. Keep playing the role of his adoptive daughter, and you would be kept safe. When you were twenty one, you were given a choice. Rumlow Senior would be stepping down as head of the Rumlow Family that year.

“But why would you pick me?” The question hung heavy in the air of Rumlow Senior’s office.

“You have been raised in the Family just as Brock has, Y/N. You are every bit as ruthless as my biological son, and I have complete faith that you would make the right decision for the future of the family whenever the need arose. Unlike my son, however, you have a cool head on your shoulders. You do not jump at the chance for violence. You take the diplomatic route whenever possible, and leave none in your path when it is not.” You sat there in silence. This wasn’t a life that you had wanted. True, you had grown up learning alongside Brock in order to maintain the role of Rumlow’s Little Princess, but you hadn’t ever expected to be offered anything, much less control of the family.

“I . . . I don’t mean any disrespect, but what’s the other option?” Rumlow Senior crossed his arms. You knew that wasn’t the answer he was hoping for, but still, he responded.

“If you don’t step into the role of Matriarch, there will be a target on you. Your safest choice would be to marry the head of another family. Your husband’s power would both protect you and benefit our family.” You chew on your lower lip and nod slowly. There was no leaving this life behind for you, not if you wanted to live past the age of 25. 

“If I really do get a choice . . . I would rather the marriage.” You took a deep breath, collecting your thoughts. Rumlow Senior watches you, a pensive expression on his face. “You’ve been an amazing father to me, both before and after my mother’s . . . Passing . . . but this life. . . it isn’t for me. I don’t want any hand in the lifestyle that killed my mother.” You couldn’t stop the bite from sneaking into your voice during your last sentence. Rumlow Senior nodded slowly. 

“As much as it pains me to admit, this life has not been kind to you. I’ll put out the notification to other families and see who we may ally ourselves with. You’ll always be a part of this family, Princess, even if you weren’t born into it.” He gave you a gentle smile. The old man had always treated you carefully and stated that your mother’s debt wasn’t yours to carry, but you’d overheard conversations behind closed doors. An arranged marriage had been in the cards for almost a decade now. You weren’t a part of the family, you were a business asset that he wanted to keep compliant. If nothing else, at least the marriage would get you out.

Several offers had been made. It seems the Romanoff Matriarch liked women, and the Pierce empire also put in a bid for his youngest son. The one that surprised you the most, however, was James Buchanan Barnes. His was a family made of people who didn’t have a home, jokingly called The Lost Boys by Brock and his lackeys. While he had no family power, he was indisputably powerful.

“So which one do you think, Princess? Any of these would make great allies for our family. That Romanoff girl is quite a catch, she’s got fire in her.” You put on your best business mask, looking over the files.

“Yeah . . . She is pretty great, but the Romanoffs only control most of the upper East side. We have the South, which is almost double the size of the upper East. The smartest choice is Barnes. His White Wolf family controls the North and the parts of the East that the Romanoffs don’t.” You close the folders and lay them on the desk. “First choice is Barnes, second choice is Romanoff, and third choice is Pierce. He’s always given me the creeps though.” Rumlow Senior smirked, impressed with your choices. 

“Spoken like a true businesswoman. Let’s have a wedding!”

Within the next two months, you and Barnes were married. 

“Please sit still?” You kept dabbing the medical wipe on his bloodied knuckles despite the mobster’s squirming. “I know it stings, but you did this to yourself. Besides, are you gonna sit here and tell me that you can punch a man multiple times, but you turn into a toddler when I have to clean a cut?” Barnes kept looking down, his face forever brooding. He didn’t answer, but did still his hand. “There. Was that so hard?” You busied yourself putting away the first aid kit.

“You aren’t comfortable around me, are you?” His statement caught you off guard and your head snapped up to look at him. His expression was relaxed. This wasn’t the kingpin that had just beat information out of a Pierce Empire lackey. He sighed, rolling his shoulders. “I don’t think a lot of people would be, especially witnessing what you just did . . . I’m sorry you had to see that.” You chew on your lip and Barnes continued. “I know you were raised with the Rumlows, and I guess I just assumed that you’d be used to seeing that sort of thing.” He paused, waiting for your response, but seemed genuinely taken aback when you started to giggle.

“You think I’ve been distant because of a little violence? James–”

“Bucky,” he interrupted. “Please, call me Bucky.” A soft smile breaks through your mask.

“Bucky,” you corrected. “I’ve done worse than that to Rumlow thugs when they failed to follow my father’s orders. I wasn’t shielded from any of it. In fact, I was even offered control of the Rumlow family. I turned it down. Given the choice, I’d rather not be the cause of violence, but violence doesn't bother me ”

“Then what does?” His eyebrows knit together in confusion, and you sit across from him on the tile floor

“About the beating or the relationship?”

“Uuhh . . . both, I guess?” You’d never heard Barnes sound so unsure. It was refreshing, even endearing to a degree.

“I’ve been treated like a bargaining chip since I was little. First, my mother, then my adoptive father on multiple occasions. Our marriage was just another business deal to him, and I didn’t think you’d want a clingy business deal. You get alliance with the Rumlows, and I get to keep my protection. I don’t see a reason to complicate things.” Bucky was quiet for a few moments.

“And the beating?”

“Oh, that one’s easy. It’s really hard for someone to give you information if you don’t give them a break in between blows to answer your questions. Seriously, that’s basically mafia 101.” Bucky burst out laughing at your cheeky response. People didn’t usually talk to him like that, they were all too afraid. 

“I’ll give you that one, Doll,” he stated as he regained control of himself. He stared at you, taking in your every feature. After a few moments, you broke the silence.

“You’re thinking something, Bucky. What’s on your mind?”

“I’m thinking that I’d like to make this relationship a little more complicated . . . what about you?” 

You had kept your own room, but from then on things with your new husband just seemed . . . easier. You spent most of that night talking about how you really came to be a part of the Rumlow family, and how you had opted for marriage because it was the closest thing to your own life that you’d ever have. In turn, Bucky began to open up about his past. How working for other groups had landed him with a metal left arm and a distrust of most people. How his time as a fixer had caused most people to fear him, and therefore avoid him. He didn’t really have friends outside of Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, and they both worked for him. You got the sense that he chose to have his marriage arranged because he thought it was easier than the alternative for someone like him.

“You know . . . you don’t have to be alone.” You had told him one night. 

“And what do you mean by that, Doll?” He had questioned you, raising an eyebrow as he set down his bourbon glass.

“You say you’re alone because people are afraid, but that’s not completely true. You can’t fool me, Buck. I was raised with the potential to do the job you do. You aren’t alone because people are afraid, but because you don’t give them the opportunity to not be.” Bucky was quiet, but watched you with a fascination. You place your drink on the side table and lean forward. You’d come to enjoy the nights that you and Bucky would just sit and talk. It was a welcome escape from the monotony of everyday life and the drain of keeping up social appearances. Both of you were relieved when you could drop the masks and the roles that you were each expected to play and just exist with another person who didn’t judge you. Who didn’t hold any expectations apart from honesty. Your husband takes another sip, trying to hide the smile that played across his face.

“And what would you suggest I do instead, Sweetheart?” God you loved the intensity of his gaze, and as he ran his tongue over his lower lip, you decided that you were feeling brave. You stood, sauntering over to him. Bucky leaned back in his seat, setting his drink down and allowing you to lean over him, your lips brushing his neck.

“Ask.” That singular word whispered in his ear broke Bucky’s self control. His right hand flew to your neck, pulling your lips to his. You felt the cool metal of his left hand pressing into your thigh as he slid your skirt up, allowing you the mobility to straddle his lap. You press yourself against him as you whine, desperate for his touch. You didn’t sleep much that night, being pushed to the edge over and over and over, only to be brought back without release. Bucky loved watching you struggle. He loved your willingness to fight, and he wanted to watch as the fight drained from you and you submitted to his will. He knew you had been playing the roles expected of you your whole life so here, behind closed doors, he would earn your submission, not demand it. You would choose when you broke, but once you did? Bucky was going to ruin you, and he was going to savor every moment

After that night, you rarely slept in your own room. Your marriage was transactional, no one could deny that. Through the years, however, it had become so much more. You became one of the most powerful couples in the city, though you still kept your distance from the world of crime. Your diplomacy was unrivaled, but one night, that all came crashing down. 

Your brother, Brock, had taken the role of Rumlow Patriarch when your father stepped down. For years, Brock’s temper had been controlled by your father’s background guidance. That all changed the night Rumlow Senior passed away. You attended the funeral, of course, but he passed suddenly. Bucky was out of town on a business trip and unable to make it back in time for the event. You passed along his condolences to Brock, but Brock took your husband’s absence extremely personally. Without the watchful eye of Rumlow Senior, Brock Rumlow’s true nature shone through. Brock was a loose cannon. His temper was unmatched, and his ego caused him to completely disregard the rules that every other family played by. For months after the funeral, the street thugs under your brother’s command ran rampant. They overstepped boundaries and lines of control held by other families as well as started fights wherever the opportunity arose. One night, they went too far. Three of Bucky’s new recruits had been carried back to the office after your brother’s thugs beat them almost to death. All they had done was refuse to leave the bar that they were already drinking at when the Rumlow thugs showed up, stating that the two groups could co-exist. These were just kids, barely old enough to even be IN the bar, and with six men versus the three kids, it was a massacre. Adding insult to injury? That bar was on White Wolf property and owned by Steve Rogers, one of Bucky’s right hands. Bucky had come home fuming that night. You talked him down from murdering your brother on the spot. You had no love for your brother, but murder would result in an all-out war. You spent the better part of the night with Bucky, Sam, and Steve readying yourselves for several outcomes. The following night, Bucky went to have a civil meeting with Brock, Mob Boss to Mob Boss about the behavior of his subordinates. Steve and Sam went on patrol hoping to stop another encounter, and you went to meet with Natasha Romanoff, the Matriarch of the Romanoff family. If this all went south, you would need an ally in order to take your brother in an all out war. 

So that’s how you got here. Standing in your husband’s office surrounded by the aftermath of a ransacking. Your shoulders fell back and your chin lifted. If Brock wanted a fight, you’d give it to him. Brock may be the head of the Rumlow Family, but with Bucky currently indisposed, you were the head of White Wolf. Time to show him what his Little Sister was capable of when someone threatened her family. You headed straight to your room. If you were going to be acting as the White Wolf Matriarch, then you should look the part. You slide into your black business leggings. They look like skinny cut pants, but provide enough flexibility for you to move. A flowy black blouse pairs nicely, accompanied by several gold accessories. You favored rings and necklaces, but added a couple cuff bracelets for good measure. Your knee high riding boots with the steel toe inserts were pulled from your closet. Your winged liner was sharp enough to stab a man was accompanied by a dark lip and perfect brows. Finally, you swept your hair up into a sleek high ponytail. You take one look in the mirror, and your appearance plus the cold hearted look in your eyes made you smirk.

“The bitch is back,” you thought to yourself. You pulled a duffel bag out from under your bed. You hadn’t much from your mother, but you did keep her favorite set of knives. They were well known as the choice weapons for Lady Death, and that fear could serve your purposes. Strapping the wrist holsters to each wrist, you frowned. This blouse was nice, but it didn’t hide the knives well enough for your liking. . . You slipped several more into your boots as you heard Steve’s car pull up. You turned to rush out the door when you paused. One of Bucky’s black suit jackets was draped over the chair by your door. It was far too big for you to wear, but if you draped it over your shoulders . . . You tried it out in the mirror. It worked, hanging off your shoulders like a cape. The extra fabric also provided the cover to your wrists needed to conceal your wrist sheaths better. You grab your phone and head down the stairs to meet Steve. 

“Sweetheart, I don’t think this is a good–”

“Well, then it’s a good thing your job isn’t thinking right now, Rogers.” The blatant interruption caught both men off guard. “You’re going to listen carefully because I’m only explaining this once. The story you’ve been fed about the Rumlows taking me in out of the goodness of their hearts is complete and utter bullshit. My mother worked off her debt to them, and I was kept as collateral. She taught me a lot of what she knew. I was raised as a Rumlow and was offered control of the Family because of my brother’s inability to control his temper or play by the rules. You can either do what I tell you, or you can explain to Mr. Barnes when we return why you didn’t accompany me. Are there any questions?” Whether it be the lack of emotion in your eyes or the ice in your voice, you didn’t know, but neither man argued. Wilson was the first one to speak up.

“ . . . Who’s your mom?” You look Sam dead in the eye, smirk, and with a flick of your wrist you impale one of the knives in your wrist sheath in the ground between his feet. Both Sam and Steve go pale with recognition.

“My mother was Lady Death.”

The Door to the interrogation room blew inward. C4 was such an amazing toy, you were so happy that Sam kept a stash. Hands in your pockets, you step over the twisted remains of the door, the dust settling at your feet. Immediately you hear the click of guns, but that only pulls a sadistic smirk to your face.

“Hello, boys. For those of you who don’t know who I am: look to your elders. For those of you who do: Run.” It was your brother's right hand and childhood friend, Justin, who spoke first.

“Y/N, didn’t expect to see you join the party.” He swaggered up to you, full of confidence that only an upper class white man could possess. He loomed over you, and you weren’t sure if he was trying to be sexy or intimidating. Neither was a good look on him. “What’s your problem, princess? Did we break up your little game of house?” You look up at the taller man, not budging an inch.

“Oh not at all, champ, I just thought I’d give you and your little friends a chance to play in the big leagues. Only three of them? Shouldn’t be much work.”

“Hey, Lady, I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but –” Justin interrupts him before you have the chance.

“That’s Barnes’s wife, dumbass. She’s the Boss’s adopted sister, and the last person you wanna piss off.”

“She don’t seem so scary, all of her power comes from other people! Why should I–” 

“You’d be well to listen to your superiors, or haven’t you learned that yet?” The ice in your voice stopped the newbie dead in his tracks. You stalk towards him, eyes fixed. “Let’s give you a family history lesson, hmm?” You had the undivided attention of all four of the Rumlow thugs. You just needed to keep it that way long enough for Steve and Sam to work into position. You stopped in the dead center of the room “ Justin, how many years ago was Lady Death’s final kill?”

“Uuhh . . . five years? Just before you married Barnes.”

“Good Boy,” you purred, working as much condescension into your voice as you could manage. “And how many years ago did my mother die?” As he did the mental math, Justin began to shift uncomfortably.

“ . . . Seven . . . no, Nine? Nine years ago . . .” As the dots started to connect, the realization began to show on each man’s face. Your smirk grew to a full-on sadistic smile. 

“Let’s try this again, gentlemen. Whether or not you know who I am, it’s too late. I’m Lady Death.” The tension is palpable in the air as the newbies eye you, then the door, as if evaluating their chances, but your backup was already in position. From the rafters of the building, four shots rang out. You’d ordered Steve and Sam to aim to kill, but you hadn’t bothered to check their handiwork, simply stepping over the bodies and making your way towards the last door that stood between you and your brother.

The door creaked open, and your rubber soles thudded against the concrete with each step you took. No matter how hardened to violence you were, you had never cared about any of the people on the receiving end of your violence. No matter how hard you tried, nothing could have prepared for the sight that met you on the other side of that godforsaken door. Bucky was sat in a metal chair. His arms were tied behind his back, and a gag was stuffed in his mouth. His white dress shirt had been discarded, and his undershirt was torn. The bridge of his nose was cut, and someone had busted open his left cheek. Dried blood still caked his skin. The moment he saw you, his eyes filled with fury. He fought against his restraints, almost toppling the chair.

“Aaaah, Y/N, nice of you to join us! Can’t have a party without Daddy’s favorite kid,” Brock spat at you. You study your brother, willing your face back to neutrality.

“You know just as well as I do that that isn’t true, Brother mine.” If your calm demeanor threw Brock off guard, he didn’t show it.

“Well, Sister mine, your husband here had the audacity to tell me how to run my people, after refusing to even honor our father. Our father who spoke of him like the Golden Son just for marrying the whore who wormed her way into my life!” By the end of his statement, Brock was screaming. He took a moment and regained his composure. 

“Do you really think that was a good move?” As you questioned Brock, you walked over to a spare folding chair. You let the jacket fall from your shoulders, draping it over the back of the chair. 

“I can make whatever move I want. Dad may have taught you everything you know, but he taught me everything he knew. That’s the difference here, Wendy. That is what you are, aren’t you? The Wendy to his pathetic troupe of Lost Boys.” Locking eyes with him, your smirk returns.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, Brock. Dad isn’t the only one who taught me things. My mother lived here too, remember?” Brock’s eyes narrow, tracking you as you slowly close the distance between you and him. “How do you explain the kills on Lady Death’s roster after my mother passed, hmm? Think about it.” You could see the gears turning in Brock’s thick skull before he shook his head.

“You lying bitch, you’re trying to play on my nerves. You turned down this job because you weren’t capable” You interrupt, starting to slide one of your knives from the wrist sheath into your hand.

“I turned that job down because I wasn’t interested. Never mistake my disinterest for being incapable.” You flick your wrist, your knife landing squarely in the meat of Brock’s shoulder.

He lunged at you, and the only thing you could focus on was the exchange of blows. He was a lot faster than you’d anticipated, and you were fairly evenly matched. You registered the pain of his blows connecting multiple times, but you pushed it down and attempted to return the favor. Suddenly, you felt his fist connect with the side of your face, then an arm wrapped around your waist. Brock spun, throwing you across the room. You hit the wall with a sickening smack, the wind being knocked from your lungs. Your brother slowly started stalking towards you. He was breathing heavily and wiped the blood from his upper lip as he walked, never taking his eyes off you. Brock grabbed your jaw, dragging you upwards, and you did the only thing you could think of. You slipped a knife out of your boot, and jammed it into him on your way up. Both you and him fell, Brock’s head hitting the ground with a sickening smack. You hauled yourself up, steadying yourself against the wall. You grabbed your brother by his hair, yanking his head up. 

“You’re a fucking disgrace to this family and all that Dad stood for.” You paused, spitting out the blood that was pooling in your mouth. 

“What the fuck happened??” You heard Sam shout as he and Steve finally caught up. You looked from your brother to Sam, steeling your gaze.

“Change in management,” you stated. “Send out a notice. Due to extremely reckless behavior that nearly started a war, Brock Rumlow has been removed as Patriarch of the Rumlow family. Its territories and personnel will be merged into White Wolf. Any concerns can be taken up with Lady Death.”

You turn your attention to Bucky, picking up one of your discarded knives to cut the ropes and gag off of him.

“Doll, that has got to be one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.” Your satisfaction definitely showed on your face. After taking a moment to catch your breath, you pick the discarded suit jacket off the back of the folding chair and hand it to Bucky, leaning on him for support. Bucky pauses, glancing between Steve and Rumlow.

“Bring him back to the office. We’re not going to be done talking for a very long time.”

Tags: @vbecker10 @soubi001 @brattymum96 @vicmc624 @caritobbg @winterslove1917 @xonickibaby @youngblood199456 @thehumanistsdiary @ozymdias @thomase1

[imaxmovies]

Rikki Barnes Bucky and Anya Corazon Araña

By Novacomics

They're too obscure Marvel characters have been a fan of for a while. In the comics they're friends so I wanted a piece of fan art that would capture that.

Rikki Barnes Bucky

Rikki Barnes is the granddaughter of Bucky Barnes in the Heroes Reborn alternate Universe. after captain America returns to Modern Times she became his sidekick and took on the mantle of Bucky.

My version changed a little bit one changes that she is biracial in my version of her grandmother is Sarah Wilson is black. Also rikki is nickname for Rikkita instead of Rebecca like it was in the comics. Also for weapons I gave her some magnetic frisbees kind of like the ones gogo uses in the Big Hero 6 movie and TV show for her to use as weapons.

Anya Corazon Araña

Ayna Corazon / Arana grew as a young child in Mexico City. Her dad was a crime reporter for an important newspaper in the city. Her mom is eventually allegedly killed by Mexican gangster Jade for her dad's reporting. Ayna and her father moved to the United States city of New York. Where he got a job as a reporter at The Daily Bugle. Ayna was able to eventually pick up English but she still has a Mexican accent

When Ayna was 15 she was wounded in the cross fire between two secret societies. The spider society and the WASP Society, she was saved form her injury's by Miguel Legar a senior mage of the spider society whom believed Ayna was predestined to be a person of great importance to the spider society.

Miguel became a mentor and eventually partner to Ayna as she took up the role of ' The hunter', one of two magical enhanced protectors for the spider society and all good an innocent peoples against the insidious wasp society.

Through out her training and magical enhancement, Ayna gained most of the powers normally attributed to members of the spider family. Though her ability's were more mystical in nature such as manifesting 'spider armor' and using an grabbling hook instead of web shooters

[the-darkdragonfly]

NEW CHAPTER!!! A Trick of the Light

Chapter 10: The Sword in the Stone

..... it's been 84 years....

but srsly tho - sorry dudes.

♥️♥️♥️♥️

The human body has, on average, 1.5 gallons of blood. 

Emma had gagged, turning to the boy she’d befriended from class, useless as that endeavour was, she would be gone in a month regardless of how many people she left behind. The boy had smiled, miming an explosion and catching a glare from the teacher who paced back and forth at the front of the class. 

It had been a fact she remembered at random again one afternoon while walking through a Boston hardware store with Killian, undecided as to what colour to paint the baby’s room, Henry and Hope trailing behind them holding wooden stir sticks like swords, Killian’s quiet voice providing advice as Henry spun and slowly parried his sister’s outstretched weapon held tightly between two chubby hands.  

Emma had settled on a soft green paint which looked like forest moss when the waiting buckets of primer caught her attention. She’d tapped her nail on the lid, Killian’s hand on her hip as he warned Henry not to wander off, his hook snagging through the hood of Hope’s jacket as she howled in indignation- you alright, love?- and she’d smiled remembering when she’d leaned her cheek against his shoulder in the cool dark of the barn, the smell of horses and hay around them, recalling how his face had scrunched up knowledge as she watched him bend to hoist up his enraged daughter. 

The human body has, on average, 1.5 gallons of blood. 

Red gathered like a rising tide around her feet, Killian bellowing with rage as he slashed his way towards her, stunned onlookers and knights clearing from his path. 

Killian’s voice rang through the throne room, Alec already moving, a stolen blade from a now fallen knight in his grasp as he kept Liam tucked to his chest- get my children out of here!- and Fiona slashed out with a dagger Killian hadn’t noticed before. 

Find Henry! His command was met with only a nod from the older man, a man so much a father to him. 

His blade, the sword of a king, had severed the head of the man who had kicked her, the power of his blow still smarting her ribs. She watched as it rolled away without ceremony under a table which held a scattering of glassware, Killian’s voice booming like thunder from above her. 

Release my wife. 

♥️♥️♥️♥️

Read the rest here.

Read my other stuff.

Tagging:

@elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @sailtoafarawayland @teamhook @wefoundloveunderthelight @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @veryverynotgood @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @jrob64 @kmomof4 @artistic-writer @gingerpolyglot @xarandomdreamx @justanother-unluckysoul @zaharadessert @xsjax @karlyfr13s @tiganasummertree @wyntereyez @klynn-stormz @onceratheart18 @rkrbirdgirl @ouatdaily @blowmiakisscolin @courtorderedcake @winterbaby89 @pirateprincessofpizza @superchocovian @deckerstarblanche @jlsadphoenix @alexa-fangirl-forever @stahlop @undercaffinatednightmare @lostintheskyfaraway @anmylica @motherkatereloyshipper @last-tsarina @lfh1226-linda @hookedmom @yikes-00 @midnightsuki @paradiselady19 @jonesfandomfanatic