#they could all rain the trai-*GUNSHOTS* | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

helloilikepurple · 1 month ago

Text

I know a bunch of people have already written stuff for this but I was so inspired I couldn't help myself.

It rains a lot in Gotham, especially in the winter months. Water pelts the roof of the manor now, the sky weeping buckets that will fail to wash away the grime and filth of the city. It's supposed to get worse overnight.

It feels disrespectful to do this on a rainy evening.

Danyal hated the rain.

"Damian."

He turns his gaze from the window to meet Father's worried eyes. Richard stands at his side, purposefully loose in his stance; a contrast to the other man's tense posture. A reassuring smile and a serious frown. His brother and Batman, Father hidden somewhere beneath. The cowl sits alone in the Batcave, yet its wearer stands here in the communal space, a towering figure of severity.

Damian scowls. Father insisted to be here for this, yet he has the audacity to meet his youngest son as some character he invented one day instead of the man he is. His lip curls up in disgust. How cowardly.

Father doesn't even have the decency to quail under Damian's stare, instead meeting it head-on with a firm, defiant detachment. Pathetic. If he insists on acting like a child, perhaps they should reschedule. Or, better yet, he could step aside entirely and allow Damian to deal with the matter on his own as he should have done after giving the guidance that was asked of him.

"You good, Little D?" Richard, always the peace-keeper.

"Quite." He bites out. His glare doesn't stray.

As he always does, Father remains stubborn. Unyielding. Infuriating. How dare Father stand there, matching Damian's glare with one of his own, like he has any right to be angry or afraid? Father is not the one who died - who was murdered at only nine. He is not the one who's suffering.

Damian understands grief. He's intimately familiar with it, just as Father is. But Father only lost a son. Danyal lost his life. Danyal is dead.

"Master Bruce, if you would step aside."

Father breaks his stare, eyes darting to land on Pennyworth as he strides into the room towards the coffee table, tray of homemade pastries, and perfectly cut fruit in hand. Father shuffles out of the way immediately, respectful in a way he hasn't tried to be with Damian. The tray is put down without even a tink as glass meets polished wood, yet Father's stubborn-set shoulders still jump just a fraction like a gunshot went off.

Damian sneers.

Father clearly knows he's in the wrong—why else would he be so on edge around Pennyworth? It's almost laughable that it took the intervention of his father to soften the stern, professional crease in his brow. At least Pennyworth shares Damian's displeasure. Richard does as well, obviously, but he's otherwise engaged hovering in this uncertain sort of way like he's torn over what to do about it, no doubt a result of the heated argument he and Father had last night.

"Excuse me while I fetch the water." Pennyworth glances meaningfully at Father. "Do behave while I'm off." And then he's gliding right back out.

A child would grin smugly at the show of support. Damian isn't a child, so he does no such thing, but he does grip the post-it notes in his hand a little tighter.

Cold hands press the stack of paper into his own, the touch lingering as it drinks in the warmth of Damian's living flesh. It's as greedy as it is needy, like this brief moment of contact is all it takes to remind his dead heart how to beat again. Damian, as he always does, indulges it, because it gives him just as much life as it does Danyal.

"These are summoning sigils." His brother says, voice accentuated by a ghostly echo that's long since grown familiar. "I drew them myself so they're a bit rudimentary, but they should work."

He pulls away, taking with him a post-it note off the pile and his touch. Damian feels colder without it.

"Just think of me, rip it down the middle," He demonstrates, the torn halves catching fire the moment they part, the flames a brilliant, Lazarus green, that spreads up his hands and swallows him whole in a fraction of a moment, "and I'll appear." He smiles, popping back into sight a few inches closer in a burst of heatless green.

Damian blinks, and crosses his arms, disapproving. "You were on fire."

Danyal grins wider. "Cool, right? Don't worry, it doesn't hurt. It doesn't really feel like anything except emotion and magic."

"Emotion and magic." He repeats, voice flat.

"Yep. It's a bit fun, really. Like teleporting! I hardly ever get to teleport. CW prefers portals." He adds with a roll of his eyes.

Damian glares, unconvinced. "Is it safe?"

"Of course it is! Look, Dami, it's really weak magic. I could refuse a summons easily, anytime. And it's not like I'll stop visiting. This is just a way for you to call me over. I promise, it's harmless."

"TT. Fine. But if it ever causes you the slightest discomfort inform me and we will find some other method for me to use to get in contact with you."

"Deal!"

Richard may be emotionally compromised, but he'd still jump to Damian's defence over Father's without hesitation, and Pennyworth has clearly allied himself with them as well. All it would take is for Damian to say he's changed his mind, that today is not in fact the optimal day for this, and they would agree without thought. Stand firm at his side in the face of Father's assured disapproval.

The certainty that he would be listened to strangely enough keeps the words from forming. It's raining. He reminds himself. That's more than enough reason to put this off. But Damian Wayne doesn't 'put things off', and he is not going to start now, no matter how much Father continues to test his patience.

Footsteps draw his attention back to the doorway. It seems Drake has seen it fit to finally arrive with Gordon. Not late, likely thanks to Gordon's influence. With a twist of the knob the door swings soundlessly open, revealing the pair on the other side.

"Sorry we took so long." Gordon greets. "Someone fell asleep at his desk."

"I was resting my eyes!" Drake counters.

"For two hours?"

Drake grumbles something into his coffee cup that Damian doesn't bother to listen to as he walks deeper into the room towards Richard. Gordon situates herself instead to Father's right, closest to the entryway and beside the sofa. A tactical choice, seeing as it leaves Father trapped between her and Drake, both of whom have never been shy about putting him in his place.

As if on cue, Pennyworth returns and shuts the door silently behind him, another tray in hand. This one carries a pitcher, a stack of glasses and two plain mugs, one entirely an emerald green and the other a Nightwing blue. An earthy fragrance fills the room, rich with spices, the distinct aroma of cardamom and black tea.

Karak chai.

Two mugs, identical in all but colour. Pennyworth sets the drinks down without fanfare, placing the mugs close to Damian. Pennyworth made karak chai for him. For him and Danyal, undeniably with the recipe Damian had entrusted to him all those years ago when he'd been craving home in the cold unfamiliarity of the manor.

Pennyworth does not speak nor look his way as he straightens back up.

"Thank you." Damian says anyway.

"You're welcome, young master." He nods easily, a pleased smile on his lips as he turns to stand on the fringes of the group.

His family is staring, he knows. Damian can feel Richard's sad eyes as they pin him with empathy and sorrow. He doesn't need the comfort. Damian is not sad. He is emotional, perhaps, but not sad. This is a pleasant emotional, like nostalgia and the surety he is cared for wrapped tight around his heart.

He clears his throat, and this time when he speaks his voice comes out strong and sure. "Now that everyone is present, we should begin."

Richard is a tense bundle of concern in his peripheral vision. "We don't have to if you don't feel up to it- "

"I feel fine." Damian interrupts, tilting his head so he can look his brother in the eyes down the bridge of his nose for good measure.

"Okay." It's a quick acquiescence. A show of trust.

"If there are no other matters to discuss- "

"Wait, are we supposed to sit or stand? Did we ever decide on that?"

Damian respectfully ignores Drake. "- then I shall begin."

The topmost post-it note peels off the pile smoothly. The paper is a toxic green, not quite the shade of the Lazarus pits or Danyal's eyes in death. A circle of runes etched in black pen covers most of the page, leaving only the corners free of marking. The script makes no sense to him, and even now, after numerous days of research, the language eludes him.

Danyal gave him a stack of thirty summoning sigils. After today, Damian will only have eleven left. If all goes well, he will never use those last eleven. The thought doesn't fit quite right in his mind, no matter how much he rolls and flips it.

Do this so Danyal can rest. He tells himself. For Danyal.

He grips opposite sides of the paper with both his hands, poised to tear it in two. He thinks of blue eyes so much like Father's. He thinks of private, hidden smiles and hugs shared under the dark of night. Of afternoons spent sparring, speaking without words as their swords clashed ruthlessly under their instructors' judging eyes. Of hands identical to his own.

Danyal.

He pictures stark white hair and a voice insisting it's more than white. "It's the colour of the stars, Dami. How can't you see it?" He imagines freckles dotting out constellations on unnaturally pale skin that had only ever known kisses of pain that left winding, twisted streaks of puffed pink. Damian draws Danyal with his memories in crisp lines that outline fangs and claws and a smile so happy it hurt.

I miss you, akhi.

He rips the post-it note in two. It wastes no time igniting in Lazarus flames. They grow quickly, tickling his fingers with wisps of power. He drops them only when the fire has almost entirely enveloped the paper that sparked it.

Danyal, won't you come see me?

The paper floats gently down, swaying to the whims of the flames. It has drifted down to be level with Damian's waist when it happens. He's already averted his eyes when the sigil explodes with light, flames large enough to brush the ceiling dancing out in a spectacular, blinding display.

The smile that his lips are drawn to in response is both entirely involuntary and decidedly soft, even as Drake's startled curses reach his ears past the roar of the fire. He steadies his stance as the light dies down, planting his feet into the carpet and bracing his legs.

In a swirl of magic the blaze vanishes.

"Ahki!"

A blur of black, white and green crashes into him with a strength that belies the lean frame that makes itself at home in his arms, burrowing fluffy hair into his neck. His body reacts instinctively to the sudden embrace, pulling his twin close as cold fingers grip at the back of his shirt, clinging to the fabric as tightly as the razor-sharp points of his nails allow.

Damian huffs as he rests his head on Danyal's shoulder. "Is it necessary to do this every time?"

"Definitely!" Comes the chipper reply, voice a giggling lilt in his ear.

"TT. I take it you've been well?"

Danyal pulls away, so jittery his freckles flash glitter-bright. Damian tries not to let his gaze linger on the starburst of Lichtenburg figures that crawl up his brother's face, slashing through his otherwise unmarred eye in jagged, faintly green scars. A marker of his second death. A second death so far from Damian he hadn't known of it until his twin appeared in his room one quiet night.

"When am I not? I'm the picture of wellness!" He grins, lips stretching just a margin too far.

Damian raises a brow.

Danyal doesn't wilt, floating back so they are no longer pressed up against one another. "Someone's grouchy." He teases with a mock pout. Always so childish. "Does the super-secret mission that you couldn't tell me about have anything to do with it?"

Super-secret mission. Damian's excuse, put less crudely of course, for requesting a period of no-contact to prepare for today. Close to two weeks of not seeing one another whatsoever after months of meeting up consistently at least biweekly.

"I don't believe I called it a 'super-secret mission'." Damian pointed out.

"Mm, no, I'm pretty sure you did."

Richard chooses that moment to succumb to the urge to sneeze.

Danyal reacts instantly. Damian gets a brief glimpse of his features stretching, pointed ears, fangs and claws growing substantially, skin turning any icy blue, as the ghost snaps around, placing himself more firmly between Damian and his family with a growl so deep it rattles in his bones. His spine looks as though it's been yanked up, standing pointed and crooked, around the abyss of light that Danyal has become.

Damian knows just what his siblings, Father and Alfred must be seeing. A dark, impossibly dark, almost pitch black void of a face, floating teeth and eyes, far too many of both, floating in the darkness, static buzzing nauseatingly at the corners of every visible feature. His Lichtenberg scar will have lit up, in contrast, a sharp green cut through a warped, mangled body, twisted in ways it shouldn't and far too long in all the wrong places.

"A monster from hell." Danyal had called himself once, ashamed and frustrated, eyes averted like he feared to see the agreement he expected.

Damian, though, had far from agreed. "A guardian." He'd said, calm in the face of Danyal's surprise. "Hurt and frightened, perhaps even angry. But kind. I cannot imagine any monster so flawed. A guardian, though, is hardly anything else. You paint a strong figure, akhi. Do not let unfounded shame confuse you."

So when he raises a hand and rests it on his brother's shoulder, frozen cold under thinly pulled skin, he does so without hesitation nor disgust.

"Akhi, they are trusted people. I give you my word. We're safe."

A glance to Father proves perhaps they're not. There's horror in his eyes. Traces of grief and regret and loss, but horror, blatant in his expression. Damian sneers. How uncouth. This is his son. His youngest child. He should know better than to behave so poorly, regardless of how shocked he may be.

The others, at least, look largely surprised. Pennyworth seems hardly phased, of course, and Drake's gaze is far too calculating for Damian's taste but it is not unacceptably so. Richard, the emotional buffoon, is obviously twisted up, features pulled down in, well, the closest term Damian can think of is heartbreak. Thank the Ancients, as Danyal would say, that Gordon is sensible enough to be visibly unmoved.

"Tt. Ignore Father. He is being foolish."

As though reminded of himself, Father pulls back into a carefully blank, but open expression. An obvious mask, but an improvement nonetheless.

Danyal turns slightly, and Damian can see, just barely, his eyes blink slowly. "Father?"

"Yes."

Danyal is still for a moment, and then suddenly he's shrunken down to normal; the right amount of eyes, dulled points and his natural height. He doesn't turn around fully, though, keeping everyone in his sights with sculpted ease.

"Oops."

Damian raises a brow, pinning his akhi under his judging stare.

"They surprised me! You should have told me I'd be meeting the family! This isn't fair." Danyal whined.

He frowned. Of course Danyal would be uncomfortable; he'd never shown any interest in meeting Father or any of his adopted children. It was cruel of him not to warn him, but he couldn't risk Danyal refusing to attend. This is simply too important.

"I apologise." He ignores the wide eyes at the easy apology, most of all from Drake.

Danyal forgives easily, as he has always has. Not without fanfare, of course. "Ugh, you're lucky I love you so much." He accuses with a point of his finger, expression comically serious.

"Tt." An agreement without words.

His brother nods with humph, and whirls around to face the family he's yet to meet, back to Damian. A show of trust, even after a clear betrayal. Trust had killed Danyal, yet he still had so much to give. The thought made Damian's heart inexplicably ache.

"Okay!" Danyal started, a little too peppy to be genuine. "Sorry about before. Didn't mean to spook you."

Damian chooses not to acknowledge the wordplay.

"I'm Danyal Al Ghul. Or Daniel Fenton, I guess, but call me Danny." He smiles. Without the accompanying glow Damian has grown accustomed to it doesn't look quite right.

Father steps forward, acting the part of gentle parent. A disingenuous play rooted in truth. He supposes it's the best Father can do. Danyal does not move to close the distance, nor widen it. He just eyes him critically in a way Damian easily recognises as apprehensive.

"I am Bruce Wayne. I'm your biological father."

"I know." Danyal makes a show of looking him up and down. "I thought you'd be taller."

Father freezes, as though struck. For a brief moment, his eyes clearly glaze over as though brimming with tears, while his mouth twitches like it's not sure whether to frown or burst into hysterical laughter. And then he melts back into a marginally wider smile than before, expression almost nostalgic. A sort of sad joy.

"I get that a lot." Father replies.

"And I'm Dick!" Richard pipes up with a delighted grin. "Damian's favourite adopted-brother!"

Danyal whirls part way around to face Damian. "I thought Jason was your favourite?" He says with faux innocence.

Richard gasps, apparently betrayed by his "own flesh and blood". An incorrect statement, seeing as neither Damian nor Jason are related to Richard biologically. As he often does with the former acrobat's dramatics, Damian doesn't acknowledge the ridiculous display.

"Tt. I do not have favourites."

"Everyone has favourites!" Danyal cuts back. "Like, you're my favourite twin!"

"I am your only twin. There is no competition."

"Exactly!"

"Following that logic, would I not be your least favourite twin as well?"

Danyal brushes off the very sound rebuttal with a shrug. "Semantics."

Richard chooses this moment to let loose a high-pitched squeal, without even the decency of looking ashamed when Danyal is immediately distracted by it. "You're so cute together! It's like double the Damian!"

Danyal shifts back a little, farther from Richard. It's such a slight movement, if he weren't in a house full of detectives no one would have noticed. But to their trained eyes, his discomfort rings clear from that miniscule action.

Most of all to Damian, who is absolutely furious at Richard's choice of words.

How dare he.

"Damian. Spare."

"Stop! What was that? How can someone so incompetent have shared the same womb as our heir? Damian, come here. Demonstrate for that one."

"Lesser Damian, what do you think you're doing? You don't get to drink water until you do this right. Again!"

"You could do to be more like Damian."

"Better! Do more of that and people will start mistaking you for Damian."

"Danyal is his own person." He snaps. "He is not a copy of myself."

Richard, to his credit, realises he has mis-stepped immediately, if the way his expression falls is anything to go by. "Of course he's his own person. I wasn't trying to say he isn't! I'm sorry it came off like that."

It's a dissatisfying apology. A floundering for words and a panic to undo harm. It's not enough. Not for Damian. Not for Danyal, even if he is to argue otherwise.

It's an irrational anger, Damian realises. Richard truly had no idea they would react badly to a passing comment. Yet here he stands, furious to the point of missing his sword.

Tension mounts and is promptly broken by Gordon, who hardly lets Richard finish his sentence before she cuts in.

"I'm Barbara." She smiles, all approachability and unparalleled calm. "Everyone calls be Babs, though."

Danyal smiles back, tense muscles loosening as the topic shifts. "Hi."

Her smile loosens, becoming gentler in response. "The one with the massive eyebags is Tim," an undignified squawk punctuates her statement, "and that," she nods her head towards Pennyworth, "is Alfred. He's the one in charge."

"I know. I've been dying to meet you. All of you. Damian's told me so much about you." And there's the glow, white-green and joyful. Damian relaxes fully at the sight of it. It's not as bright as usual, but it's there, and it brings him immeasurable relief.

"All good things?" She teases.

"If by ‘all good,’ you mean a couple of lucky breaks mixed into a chaotic storm, then sure.” He teases, grin playful.

She grins. “So, what I’m hearing is… there were some good things?”

"Maybe if you squint." There's a pause, in which Danny rocks back and forth in the air as though rolling on the balls of his feet, considering. "So this is nice and all, but why am I here? What's the special occasion I couldn't know about in advance?"

Damian tenses up all over again, a familiar knot tightening in his stomach. Here it is, the moment he has been dreading, the one he had hoped, with a small but significant part of himself, would never arrive.

Their precious time together is rapidly drawing to a close, because Danyal asked, and someone will answer, and then they'll have to start. Someone will inevitably respond, and soon he will find himself at rest, left with the haunting silence where their conversations once flourished. No more secret meetings in the sanctuary of his room or the serene solitude of the library—just an empty space filled with what could have been.

(How many years until they'll meet again? How long will Damian have to wait to see his brother? How long will he live?)

(But this is what's best for Danyal, so the answers to those questions don't matter.)

"It's personal shit, mate. The sort of ghost your kid is won't like being seen by strangers. Poor bloke might even Fade right then and there if he sees me lurkin' about." Constantine says, taking another puff of his cigarette.

"Fade?"

"Die, Batsy. Like, proper die for them dead fellas."

"So I should not be present." Father says.

"You're family, ain't ya'? He'll be able to tell. Listen, them young'uns can be fragile, but they're still dead, mate. The dead know a lot more than the living do."

Father doesn't look assured. "How is Fading different from being put to rest?"

"Blimey, do I have to spell it out for you? Fading's dying. Rest is rest. The kid'll go back to whatever afterlife he's been in and stop tryna' take your boy with 'im. Be able to wait for him to come round the natural way. Or natural as it gets with you lot." He shrugs.

Father acquiesces. "What do we need to do?"

"Always so serious. Listen, it's simple as shit magic. Even the kid over there could do it."

Damian sneers. "I am no 'kid'."

"Sure ya' ain't. The runes can be drawn in anything. Chalk, blood, whatever tickles your fancy. They just gotta be big enough he can stand in the middle without touching any of the lines." He hands over folded piece of paper, presumably containing a sketch of the runes in question. "They'll just make him more agreeable. Sometimes the young ones panic and you don't want the fella to hurt himself."

"This can cause him harm?" Damian interrupts, stepping closer to the magician with a scowl.

Constantine scoffs. "Course not. What do you take me for? I wouldn't give it to ya' if it would. I don't go around hurting kids, mate, not even the dead ones."

Damian's scowl deepens, untrusting.

"C'mon mate. As much as I like your company I got things to do. Places to be. Demons to scam. You know how it is. So what's it gonna' be? "

"Your help is appreciated." Father steps to be in line with Damian, resting a hand on his shoulder. A leash disguised as affection. Damian seethes under it. "What else do we need to do?"

"What?" Danyal asks, wary. "Has someone died?" His grin is shaky, his glow dimmed to nothing.

Father steps forward. Danny floats back a little, basically pressed up against Damian. Father stops. "Danyal -"

"Danny." The halfa corrects. "Only Damian and Mother call me Danyal."

Father nods. "Danny, Damian has told us about your situation."

Danyal raises a brow, both confused and annoyed. "My situation?"

"We only want to help."

"Okay." He draws out the 'ay', suspicious. "Help how?"

Richard takes over then. "Send you home. So you can rest." His eyes are gentle and sad, his body language open.

"We spoke with a trusted magician." Damian pipes up, surprising himself and Danyal. "You won't feel any pain. I assumed you would like not to be alone, hence the company."

"I'm never alone if I have you." Danyal implores, turning earnest, green eyes to him. Eyes that used to be blue, years ago.

"I'll be there." Damian promises, because how could he not. "Just not yet Danyal."

"I don't understand."

"We're putting you to rest," Drake interjects. "Sending you back to the afterlife where you belong."

"Tim!" Gordon hisses.

Under typical circumstances, Damian would shoot Drake a sharp glare for his crassness, especially towards Danyal when emotions are already running rampant. However, these are far from normal circumstances and right now, he couldn't care less about crassness of all things.

Because he has a clear view of Danyal's face, and the only way he can describe his expression is devastated. His bright, Lazarus eyes have turned a murky green, the light sucked out of them and replaced with brimming tears, his already ashen skin turning an even paler grey-blue. He's not glowing at all, not even slightly, and he's always glowing. Like this, he looks like an actual corpse, and the image makes him nauseous.

"You want me to go? I thought you- you said you missed me. Why are you trying to send me away?" The tremor in his voice hits Damian like a bullet. He'd never heard his akhi sound like this before. Not since the day he died.

Damian grabs him, pulling him into a tight but brief hug. "I have missed you. I always miss you when we are apart." He draws back, still holding onto Danyal as he meets those dull eyes with his own. "I just want what's best for you. I do not wish you to be in pain. Everything I do, I do for you."

"You want to send me away!" Danyal cries, and it's then that Damian looks away from his expression and realises his brother is shrinking. "I don't want to go. Why won't you just come with me instead?"

Danyal is clinging to him now, shaking fingers digging into him as tightly as they can. Likes this, Damian can feel him grow smaller as well, having to look increasingly further down as Danyal's features grow more youthful.

"Please don't make me go. I'll visit less, I won't bother you so often, just please, let me see you. Please, akhi." Tears begin to fall, streaking pale skin with twin rivers.

"Danny, this will be good for you, I promise. We're not trying to hurt you." Father beseeched, uncharacteristically pleading.

"Shut up!" Danyal snaps around, baring fangs in a warning growl. "This is your fault. Damian would never choose to send me away. Right Dami?"

How could he possibly disagree? Danyal is so young now, a perfect picture of the body that Mother carefully laid into the Lazarus Pit. A perfect picture of the corpse Damian made of his brother so long ago. Perhaps he should be grateful the de-aging has stopped where it has.

"Right."

Something in Danyal's expression cracks. "Please don't make me go. Please don't send me away." He begs, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

"Anything for you." Damian says, the response coming easily. "You do not have to go anywhere you do not want to. I want nothing more than for you to be by my side forever as well."

"Damian- "

"Really?" Danyal asks, his voice so fragile.

"Tt. Do you take me for a liar?"

His brother sniffs, still crying profusely. "No."

"Good."

Damian lifts his gaze, already preparing to argue that they should delay this ritual a little longer. But the words die in his throat as he catches sight of Richard’s eyes—wide and filled with panic. Something is wrong. He shifts his focus, and for the first time, notices the runes etched in pencil on the ground are glowing, radiating a brilliant white light.

Father stands at the edge of the glow, his expression unreadable, lips moving quickly in an ancient Latin chant, each syllable sharp and firm. The sound carries an eerie weight, resonating with a power that prickles Damian’s skin. Nearby, Gordon, Drake, and Alfred are all trying, desperately, to pull him back—to break the spell. But Father isn’t listening. He’s completely entranced, lost in the cadence of his own voice.

Chanting. Over and over again, the Latin words spill from his mouth, growing faster and fiercer, as if compelled by some unseen force. The room feels charged, and the air itself seems to hum with energy. Damian’s stomach twists, dread building in his chest. He knows this isn’t right—whatever they’re doing, they’ve already gone too far.

"If ya' ghost is being, let's say, uncooperative, you can put him to rest forcefully. Don't recommend it, though. It really freaks the little bugga's out. Not gonna' hurt him or nothin', mind you, but it's hard to cast a spell when ya' got some kid bawling his eyes out. All the ghost feelings might attract some blobs too, but they're harmless bottom feeders so they shouldn't cause ya' much trouble."

If Father is going to lay Danyal to rest against his wishes, then he can lose two sons. Damian has lived more than enough. He should have died the day he murdered his brother. If he's going with Danyal, well, Damian could not ask for a better end.

"Danyal." Big, wet eyes find his. "I'm ready to go home with you."

Danyal immediately latches on, and everything goes green.

Dcxdp

Just thinking of like a demon twins au where danny finds out damian is no longer under their grandfathers rule and goes to visit him in ghost form.

And damian is grieving all over again. Because thats his little brother, dead at his hands. Never able to grow up and live a full life. Just this weird mirror version of it. And now that damians embraced his fathers way of preserving life it feels even more of a waste and he mourns the experiences they could've had together. It felt like less of a blow when he was still in the league and surviving wasnt much of a life. Danyal was most likely happier at rest then there, but now? Now damian wishes they had more time.

Danny not realizing hes forgotten to tell his brother hes actually still alive. keeps saying that damian should come with him. See his home, meet his friends, Etc. Damian thinking danyal wants to drag him to the afterlife. Considers it even, because he owes him that much. Scared by his own thoughts and telling bruce or dick about it. And theyre both grief stricken and furious. Just this whole misunderstanding snowballing. Another son but one whos been lost before they could ever meet. One theyd never been able to know. Who never got the chance to be a child before his time was cut short. And everyone wanting to find a way to lay danny to rest without him stealing damian away too. Bruce desperate to meet this imprint of a son he never met but terrified of it taking away the son he still has.

Lol thinking of like 100 ways this could go.

Bruce calling in constantine. Danny feeling betrayed that they called someone to banish him? He thought damian would be happy to see him? Would accept him. Thought he could meet his father as well.

Damian making him a grave and showing him that he can "rest" now like hed never been properly laid to rest with the league. Danny thinking its either a) a funny joke or b) finally realizes whats going on.

damian offering to go with him as long as hes able to come back? He still wants to live his life and there are others in dcu who can go between realms (sorta i guess?) Danny being like yeah? No duh we'll come back xD damian being like??? When he sees amity lol.

2K notes · View notes

melviships · 3 years ago

Text

Soaking in All Your Energy (Davison)

After much time being spent together, Mason feels comfortable enough to stop by Undead Inside's flat for a longer visit. Unfortunately, the atmosphere seems to have other plans for them.

Davison playlist can be found here

Title taken from Hot Tea by half•alive

Pairing: David x Mason

Word count: 2,238

Content warnings: thunderstorms, vague sickness, nudity, and unsanitary descriptions, suggestive themes

Tag list: @dirt-juice @goldenworldsabound

It was a last minute decision. Mason knew this very well as they navigated the dark empty streets in their van, only getting the occasional glimpse of a mailbox or a wandering opossum when their headlights roved over them. It grumbled to itself, “Gods, y’all need to get on the city’s ass about these street lights. Ridiculous. This shit is dangerous.”

The moon was of no help thanks to the thick overcast of a looming thunderstorm. Incoming inclement weather motivated them to find the place faster. Mason was exhausted enough to not think to turn on their GPS. They were having trouble recalling where their phone was as well. It was likely tucked on the wall netting by their glorified coffee table of a dining area. Trai hoped it was as they made a final turn onto a more well-lit street and spotted the complex. Mason parked by the curb, careful not to crush the dandelions nestling in the cracks of pavement. They made a quick rhythm of switching off the ignition, unbuckling their seatbelt, opening the door, and jogging up the stairs. A flash of lightning startled them- they looked up as distant thunder rumbled through the neighborhood. Mason quickly turned back and bolted to the door and stopped before pressing the buzzer. There was not a single light on in the windows.

Mason cursed, ”Shit, shit, shit- they’re asleep, aren’t they ?” It ran its hands over their face and buzzed head, squatting on the welcome mat, almost taunting them. “You fucking dumbass. Of course they’re sleeping.”

It paced back and forth as it debated on how best to proceed. Mason was a rude guy, a nuisance, a hindrance, a being of deep annoyance- they repeated the mantra in their head as they sneered and closed its eyes. Why was it suddenly hard to be an asshole ? Storms did not wait for people to get over themselves. Surely the band members could understand that if they were rudely awakened. Mace was rude. They weren’t expecting guests, but they could expect that of them. Trai showed up unannounced all the time. At least they bothered to knock. It could break in if they really wanted to. David would get mad though. No, he wouldn’t- Pluto definitely would- but the thought of David getting upset made their heart clench.

“This is stupid,” Mason roared and swiveled on their heels to walk back to the van. It jumped back as a flash of light assaulted their senses, the following boom ripping through their body like a gunshot. Rain pelted the ground, rolling over the street and rooftop in hissing waves. “Well, fuck me, I guess !”

This was probably for the best. Waiting out in the van was not the safest option with the lightning. Mason was practically a conductor. A voice in the back of their mind said that huddling under the tiny overhang of their 'porch' was a worse option, but they ignored it as it folded into itself in the corner, forming a ball. Wind whipped more ropes of rain underneath the roof and soaked them through. Their skin sizzled with steam, sort of like how chefs cleaned their teppan at hibachi restaurants, and it chuckled at the thought. Humor did not keep them from shivering. “I look…” The exhaustion caught up with them as the drizzle continued. “Ridiculous.”

Mason was chilled to the bone as their body slumped over and its cheek hit the mat. Great, they thought, now I’m really going to look like a corpse when they find me. Curling up did not keep their temperature from dropping, but it aided them to sleep, water coating them in sheets. In the morning mist they looked like a slumbering ghost.

Their eyelids felt glued together when they opened them again. “Eugh.” Mace rolled onto their back with a wet slap. Its body felt waterlogged and they made no effort to rise yet. The sun had not bothered to greet train, so it did not move to answer the day. Golden light still spilled over them through the panes of the house windows. Mason shot up and stared. The lights were on. They scrambled to their feet and smacked the doorbell. Their stiff joints protested as it knocked rapidly. The door swung open.

David rubbed his eyes. “Can you keep it down ? I just woke up, it’s early, some of us aren’t even awake yet…” He groaned and put his hand to his side, finally taking in the sight of Mace’s soaked form. “Mason ?”

“Hi, David. Long time no see.” Their teeth chattered.

“Were you out here this entire time ?” David asked rhetorically.

“They say rain noises are great for sleep,” Mason joked. David looked unamused- Mace could say he looked concerned, worried even. They flushed under the attention and clutched at their arms as their body shook. “I was out later than intended and got it in my head that I should visit. So, here I am.”

He moved aside so they could squeak past. “Fucking- get inside, shit, you look awful.”

“Awfully hot, you mean.” The delivery was weak as they trudged in.

“Yeah, because you look so warm right now. You should take off your wet clothes,” David sighed and gestured from head to toe. “Your wet everything.”

“If you just wanted to see me naked, you could have asked.”

“I’m asking,” he deadpanned. Mason did a single waggle of the brows before grimacing as they unzipped their boots, their socks squelching as their feet hit the tile. Bending over was an endeavor so they went for the hem of their shirt instead. David cleared his throat and pointed a thumb behind him. "I should see if Helen has a robe you can borrow. As nice as it is, I don't think they'll appreciate you standing nude in the entrance."

Mace stuck out their tongue and wiggled their hips as they clawed at the seam of their pants. "Their loss."

Helen was not enthusiastic about her robe getting dirty, but David's miserable look was convincing enough. He made his way over to Mace and clicked his tongue as he saw they had made zero progress undressing. The ribbed fabric clung tight and they struggled to get their arms over their head. He took pity on them and helped peel it off. “There, much better- woah.”

Trai became distinctly aware of their exposed chest and covered their sternum with its arm. Its flesh was clammy and pale, but that was nothing unusual. In fact, it was in better shape than they were expecting. They squirmed and mumbled, ”Well, geez, way to make a guy self-conscious for a minute.”

“What ? No, you idiot, it’s your…” He reached up and waved a hand over his face and along his jaw, running his fingers through his goatee. They stroked their chin and felt the scratch of stubble. They followed it along their own chin and jaw, eventually crawling up into sideburns. The fuzz continued to the top of their head, creating a shaggy pixie cut, and they used both hands to comb through it.

They stopped and squinted at him. “Why did it take you this long to react ?”

“I was more concerned about who was at my door at the asscrack of dawn. I was clearly wide awake and ready to start my day,” David spoke sarcastically. "I was going to shower, but I think you might need it more."

"You can join me," it said as they slipped the robe on before going to unbutton their pants.

"While that's very tempting, I'm going to have to wash your clothes first." He gathered each item as Mace threw them off with a ceremonious plop. He grumbled, "And mop the floor."

"Boo. No fun." They used the grey water to draw a sad face with their toes.

"You're having too much fun."

They rubbed their grimy face on his and he scowled at the abnormal texture. It smirked. "So, shower ?"

"Past my room on the left. You do remember where that is, right ?" He smirked back as their ears released a small cloud of steam.

"Mhm." They removed trainself and they stepped in that direction, their sticky feet tripping them and causing them to do a twirl. Trai braced itself on the wall and shot David a thumbs up, in case he saw it.

He shook his head and gave one back. "See you in 15."

"Free hot water ? We know it'll be 30 at best," trai cackled as they shut the door.

It was 45 minutes later when David removed the clean clothes to a hamper to hang up. The bathroom door opened, hot vapor steadily pouring out, and Mason's clawed hand wrapped around the frame before their head emerged from the fog. "Psst. Um. You wouldn't happen to have any dry clothes."

He hoisted the basket up and grunted "Well, not any of yours. I am willing to let you use some of mine until yours are, though." He quirked a brow. "Unless you have a problem with it."

It huffed and rolled their eyes. "As much as it pains me to wear the uniform of my nemesis, it would be foolish to not seize the opportunity."

"I'll bring you some stuff."

"Don't take too long," they sang as they shut the door.

"Don't use all the hot water !"

"No gods, no masters !" they shouted behind the dampened wood. It was followed by a softer, "Put it on my tab."

"You're getting the fries next time, then," he chuckled as he grabbed the black mesh basket full of clothespins. He would hold them to their word, only if they did not forget again. The band leader hung their clothes out to dry before grabbing a few of his own: a black turtleneck, some ripped black jeans, goofy bone-patterned black boxers, and black socks with visible white stitches. They seemed content with the selection as it shimmied in its towel when he set them on the counter.

"Thanks, Davey Baby," trai teased as he left, rolling his eyes.

He returned to wash the dishes from his and the girls' breakfast. He leaned back in one of the dining room chairs afterwards, breathing loudly for show. Mace padded in, the socks scrunching near their ankle. The stitching for the heel was above their actual one. It was hidden as they sat at David's feet and he sat up in the chair with a quiet creak. Trai perked up at him, a beacon of pale white and blossoms of peach in the sea of black fabric that encircled their head. The fabric that stretched around their biceps was more obscene than their slick bare arms. The sitting man coughed once and bent down to take the towel bunched up in their lap, then dropped it onto their head. They protested," Hey !"

"You are dripping still. You did a fantastic job getting the water out on my pants," he complained.

They muttered, "'M not used to having hair."

"I can tell," he said with a huff and a smile, pulling the towel away once their hair was thoroughly tousled. He laughed as he combed it into relative neatness with his fingers. "There's my Macy," he murmured. The body jumper went red to its ears, their puffed cheeks audibly whistling with steam. He was so pleased with himself that he did not realize it was the kettle on the stove. "Ah, one moment."

They looked at him, perplexed as he poured water into a cup and handed it to train. Their top lip jutted out as it craned its neck down to stare at the liquid rapidly turning a sweet red. "What's this ?"

"Youthberry tea. You're shivering," he sighed and rubbed their shoulders. Trains scalp was very inviting for him to press his lips there, but he decided it would be too sappy for them. This was pushing it enough. Mason's face scrunched and they turned trains head to look at the wall, staring with no aim. They were pouting. David sighed again. It mumbled something incomprehensible. "What was that ?"

They avoided his gaze. "This was stupid."

"Yeah, it was really stupid of you." Mason gaped at him in and exhaled with offense. "But I'm… kind of glad you did this." They straightened their spine. David smirked. " Hah, you usually don't show up in one piece. Or sober. Or unscathed. Or for more than five minutes. Or-"

"Okay, we get it."

He slid forward to cup their jaw, running a thumb over their lips. It was warm from where the tea had touched, the rest a worrying amount of chilled. He whispered with a soft expression, "And I know you'll hate me admitting it, but I like taking care of you."

Mason's eyes went wide and its face turned as red as the tea. David laughed heartily as the drummer buried its head in his thighs, warming him up to his core. He ruffled their hair and pushed both hands through, moving them apart to briefly give the exposed skin a kiss.

"...too."

He bent his head next to theirs, ear pressed closer to their mouth. "Come again ?"

"I like it when you take care of me, too !" they whined, not removing their face from his thighs.

He smiled and wrapped his arms around their back, smoothing them over its back muscles.

"Good. Because I am going to keep doing it."

#KissMyFist #melviships drabbles #oc x canon #oc x oc #original fiction

4 notes · View notes

octalove · 4 years ago

Text

Small Mercy

(Damian Wayne/Reader)

Tag;

@hyp-oh-critical

Description: Reader gets hurt, and (older) Damian helps.

Note: are they lovers? siblings? bff’s? coworkers? who knows. whateva u want.

The cave was dark; only azure light from the computer system’s resting screen battled the shadows. Dark, and quiet. In fact, my ears rang with the silence; it was a sobering contrast to rain on asphalt, sirens, and gunshots. After a firm retreat order from Batman, I had reluctantly slunk back to home base to dress my wounds.

I sighed deeply, hobbling toward the infirmary. Alfred was out of town, and I was left to pull the shrapnel out on my own. It wouldn’t be the first time, but I anticipated a long, agonizing suturing process.

As I slumped into a cold, steel chair, I coughed, and the pain was so deep and so fervid, I stopped and coiled without thinking. An involuntary shudder ran through me. My body rippled with the pain of a vicious bullet wound, as much as it trembled under the weight of a battle lost. I could only assume Nightwing was still in the city, and only hoped he wasn’t faring so poorly on his end.

I gathered my strength, of which little was left, resting my head on a bloody hand- when the metal door of the infirmary creaked open. I pulled my dry eyes upward, and they fell upon Damian, who was assessing me through narrowed eyes. He was almost as tall as the doorway, arms crossed against his broad chest. Dick hated how he wouldn’t stop growing.

I didn’t bother saying anything witty- it would have fallen flat given my condition. He was in harem pants and a t-shirt; his night-off wear. A moment passed where he just regarded me and I just sat there with my head propped in my palm.

“You look like shit.” He stated.

I nodded, partially out of agreement, and partially because he’d said exactly what I thought he was going to. He strode to the cabinet and pulled out some sterilizing supplies and bandages, prepping it all with practiced ease.

“I can do it.” I said through a hoarse voice that barely sounded like my own.

Damian scoffed. “Only if you want to make it worse.”

“It’s your night off.” I tried again.

He was quiet after that, just the sound of alcohol pouring and freezing metal tools. The clean scent of the room was dizzying. He brought his tray over and set it down on the table beside my chair.

“It’s my night off from fighting criminals, not keeping you alive.” He muttered. His voice always had some coldness to it; but it often lessened when it came to matters of people he loved- as best he tried to harden himself. He pulled my armor plates away from the gunshot.

“Fighting criminals is probably a lot eas-“

I cut myself off with a pained hiss as he pressed the cold alcohol cloth to the wound, and I reflexively jumped back.

“Ow! Fuckin’ warn me next time!”

“Stay still. You’re not a child.”

“I’m still a... ow... regular person...” I muttered, already reckoning with a wounded ego from letting some goon get a shot in.

I sighed when he didn’t respond, lost in the concentration of his artful mending. When I flinched again, he glared at me.

“What? It hurts.”

“Control yourself.”

“...”

“Was it Blackmask?” He asked. I almost lied, because I didn’t want to hear his succeeding opinion, but I didn’t bother.

“No. One of his goons.”

His eyebrows raised a little, but he made no comment.

“Then I’ll have to finish what you started tomorrow night.”

“Don’t go after him when you’re angry, Damian. It’s dangerous.” I said. He was a vengeful person. Even as a child, if he could find a reason to harbor a need for revenge, he would. It was a matter of honor and code, instilled in him by the league a long time ago, but I think he held onto it because it gave him purpose. I had seen him charged up, using battle as reprimand; a way to enact his vengeance. It made him reckless.

He was quiet after that. For a while, I thought that would be the end of our conversation. But then, he sighed.

“When I was young, I was cut during training. Not too bad, but enough that I needed stitches. I’d missed the mark, and didn’t parry quick enough. It left a gash on my rib. Hurt like hell. My mother gave me the stitches, instead of getting a doctor to do it... she’d never give me anything for the pain. She said...” He hesitated for a moment, letting his full attention fall to his dressing of my wound.

“...If it didn’t hurt, I wouldn’t be afraid to get cut. And people who aren’t afraid to get cut make terrible fighters.”

“...And did you parry next time?”

“The next time, and every time after.” He looked briefly amused, fingers nimbly working the cloth around the wound, and I watched him the whole time, lulled by his movements, the quiet, and the blood loss.

“Blackmask doesn’t scare me. My own mother is twice as hateful and fearsome as any pathetic lackey that runs around this city.” He answered after a moment, finally dragging his fingers away from me. A darkness had settled within the colors of his eyes, wherein a tiredness lay, woven with veins of apathy. Recollecting his grim past always put some distance in between himself and all that was around him. I tugged him back to the present by placing my hand over his, both of our gloves long-since removed. His attentiveness revealed itself in the swiftness of his eyes meeting mine.

“I’ll parry next time.” I promised as the exhaustion coaxed my eyelids to fall.

“You’d better. It’ll save me the time, at least.” He replied quietly. I wasn’t sure if he ever looked away. Sleep came like a sweeping wave, knocking me off my feet as the pain slowly bled away.

#batfam #batfamily imagine #batfam drabble #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne robin #damian al ghul #damian wayne #damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne x sister!reader #damian wayne x batsis #robin x y/n #robin x reader #batman and robin #batman daughter #dick grayson

160 notes · View notes

rae-is-typing · 5 years ago

Text

Bravery

Description: Your uncle has to pick you up early from school. A case the BAU is working on lands you in a tough situation.

Characters: reader, the BAU, unnamed officers and school staff

Warnings: non consensual groping, fighting, guns, hostage situation, reader shoots someone for self defense, swearing

Word count: 3.6k

“Hotchner!”

You glance behind you to see the giant teenage boy stomping towards you, fury radiating off of him. He shoves other students aside. Greasy brown hair falls into his face, he doesn’t bother brushing it aside. You roll your eyes, shut your locker, and shoulder your bag. You begin walking away from him, which fuels his self-righteous anger.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, dumb bitch!”

You keep a straight face, and keep walking the busy halls of the school. Students had started parting like the red sea, not wanting to be bulldozed by the titan toddler throwing a fit. A hand grips your shoulder hard, forcibly turning you around. You come face to face with an acne covered, pissed off linebacker. His breath smells like rotten egg so much so you physically gag.

“Listen here, bitch-” He was cut off by you ramming your knee into his crotch. You rip your shoulder away as he doubles over, clutching his balls. Adjusting your bag with a huff, you whip around and walk away, all the while ignoring the gasps and stares you received in the hallway.

Twenty minutes later, you’re called to the office. You stand up from your desk, grab your things, and march to the office, ready to fight the principal.

“Y/N, have a seat.” Mrs. Huffman, one of the three secretaries, says. Her wrinkles are amplified by the fake smile gracing her cracked lips. You give a curt nod, taking the uncomfortable seat closest to the door. You pull your phone out of your back pocket, opening it up, and mindlessly scrolling through twitter.

‘Y/N,” Your vice principal, Mr. Roberts, starts, exasperation seeping into his voice. You look up from your phone to see him beckoning you into his office. You get up and walking into his office, dreading what he’s going to say.

You sit down in front of his desk, and he takes a seat in his. “Tell me what happened in the hall, Y/N.”

“Tyler grabbed my butt before the period ended. I told him off. The bell rang, I left the classroom. He ran after me and grabbed me again. I kneed him in the crotch so he wouldn’t hurt me.” You explain, unable to keep the underlying anger out of your words.

Mr. Roberts sighs. “You can’t assault other students in the hallway, Y/N.”

“I shouldn’t have defended myself?”

“You shouldn’t resort to violence.”

“I should’ve let it happen?”

“You should’ve waited for a teacher to get involved-”

“So I should’ve let myself get assaulted by someone twice my size without attempting to get myself out of the situation at all?” You challenge once more, anger rising further.

“You’re a good kid, Y/N. You’re the top of your class, you have a bright future, and you have a clean record. Don’t throw it away because another student bothered you.” “Being groped is being bothered.” You deadpan, unable to keep the utter shock out of your voice. “Tell me, Mr. Roberts, has anyone ever grabbed your ass without consent?”

His face hardens at your choice of words. “I’ll let you off with a warning. This won’t go on record. If it happens again, I will suspend you. Your uncle will be here soon to pick you up. You can wait in the office for him.”

You grab your bag, flinging it over your shoulder while you gave him the nastiest look you could muster. Stomping out of the small subsection, you take your previous seat closest to the door. Your leg bounces up and down, your hands shake, and you’re ready to fist fight someone.

It doesn’t take a long time for Aaron to get to your school. His eyes are hard, so is his face. Rain drops fall from his coat as he marches in like a soldier on a mission into the office. His face doesn’t change when he sees you, and he signs you out without a word. You follow him out to the SUV. It’s stormy, rain pounds the sidewalks, and thunder rolls in the distance.

The ride to his work is quiet at first, filled with tension so thick it chokes you.

“I was just defending myself.” You say, eyes locked on the storm in front of you. Aaron’s grip on the wheel tightens, making his knuckles appear white.

“This was the worst possible time, Y/N. I understand that you get annoyed by your peers, but this has to stop.” Aaron tries to make his words even, but exasperation drips off of every letter.

“He grabbed my ass and was going to attack me in the hallway!” You snap, turning to look at him. “Aren’t you always saying that I need to stand up for myself?”

“Not like that. There are better ways-”

“Like what? Letting myself get harassed and not do anything about?” You cut him off, hands still shaking.

“You’re supposed to get an advisor or teacher when this happens.” “Like they’d do anything. They didn’t do anything when Leah was groped in the middle of the gym. They didn’t do anything when Caleb was shoved into a locker after being beat up. They didn’t-”

“That’s enough, Y/N!” It’s his turn to snap. “You used violence when you knew that is against the school’s policy. I understand that you were put into a rough position, but sometimes you have to let it be.”

Knowing that Aaron won’t back down, you make a noise of aggravation and sit back against the seat. As soon as he parks the car, you throw open the door and storm to the building, completely ignoring the rain that gets in your eyes and soaks your clothes.

Security is a breeze to get through; everyone knows you and your bag is almost empty. You’re making your way to the bullpen when someone calls to you.

“Bambina! Why aren’t you in school?” You turn to see Dave pacing towards you carrying a small tray of coffees. He holds his arms out and you step into them gratefully, and he wraps his free arm around you. “What’s the matter?”

“People fucking suck,” You sigh, embracing the older man.

“Language, darling. Care to elaborate?” He asks as you pull away. You sigh, willing your hands to finally stop shaking from anger.

“Some dumb guy grabbed my butt at the end of class. He was going to do more in the hall, so I kneed him in the dick so he didn’t.” Dave cringes, placing his hand on your back while you walk at a slower pace to the larger area of the bullpen.

“Something tells me that isn’t everything.”

“Aaron doesn’t think I should’ve resorted to violence.” You say, some frustration returning to your voice.

It’s Dave’s turn to sigh. “Your uncle only wants the best for you, Bambina. Violence is a great way to get kicked out of school.”

“It was self-defense.” You defend. “The school system doesn’t see it that way.” “Yeah, well the system is a piece of-” “Y/N, what are you doing here?” You and Dave spot Penelope and Derek walking into the bullpen at the same time as you. You open your mouth to say something, but Peneolope beats you to the punch.

“N/N, you look upset.” Penelope gasps, rushing forward, the sound of her heels clicking against the tile floor reverberates throughout the busy bullpen. “Oh, my precious thing, what happened? “This guy grabbed my ass, so I kneed him in the balls, and got excused from school.” You say as she cups your face. This is standard behavior from Penelope, in her words you’re ‘A precious bundle of sunshine that I must protect at any cost because you’re one of the only good things left on this deranged planet.’

“I’m sorry, N/N. Are you okay?” She all but coos.

“I’m fine, just really frustrated.”

“What a scumbag. What happened to him?” Derek asks.

“No idea, but I hope he feels it for a few days.” You scoff. “If he gets off with nothing, I’m gonna be even more furious.”

The murmurs of agreement that spread throughout the small group is swallowed by the sounds of not only the other BAU agents, but regular police officers too. There are at least six officers, and many other FBI officials. “Am I allowed to know what’s going on?” You frown.

“Some stuff with the local PD. Nothing to worry your pretty little head over,” Derek remarks, ruffling your hair to make a point. You smile, batting his hands away. Dave passes out the coffee, and you sit near the group table, pulling out your phone as a distraction. Aaron comes in a moment later.

“Y/N, head up to my office. You don’t need to hear anything about this case.” He says without making eye contact. You don’t respond verbally, only get up, grab your stuff and go to his office. Normally, you’d put up a fight, but you’re barely allowed in the bullpen as is, and you don’t want to sacrifice that privilege.

His office is clean save for the papers littering his desk. You take a seat on the chair behind the desk, and go back to playing on your phone.

It’s not long before an alarm goes off. It’s high pitched and shakes the room. Your hands immediately shield your ears from the screeching noise. Officers and agents alike are scrambling out the door, leaving half the BAU and only four officers left.

One of the officers barks something into a walkie talkie, and the alarm finally shuts off. You relax back into the chair, but keep a watchful eye over the rest of the bullpen.

Within minutes, two new officers have replaced the old ones and are getting in Dave’s face, not trying to hide the fact that they’re arguing about something. Penelope and Spencer are trying to diffuse the situation, but it doesn’t seem to be working.

Then the lights flicker. It starts slow, then gets faster until the lights just give out. The bullpen is now shrouded in darkness, making Aaron’s office pitch black. You’re about to turn on the flashlight on your phone when you hear two loud bangs.

You’ve heard the sound of gunshots before, but that was when your uncle took you to a shooting range in a very controlled environment. Remembering everything Aaron has ever taught you about active shootings, you fall to your knees and hide under the desk. You press you back against the desk, clutching your knees to your chest. Breathing as evenly as you can, you strain your ears for any sound.

Muffled yelling wafts through the air and reaches your strained ears. Two more bangs. The yelling stops. You breathe hitches as tears fill your eyes. Someone is dead, you’re sure of it. Pressing your hand against your mouth, you keep the sounds of your distress at bay.

What feels like hours pass when you hear footsteps coming towards the office. Curling up tighter, you try to make yourself as small as possible. The door is thrown open hitting the wall with a boom. You bite down on your lip, dig your fingernails in the soft flesh of your palm, and hold your breath.

Loud stomps come towards you and stop. “Come out, kid. I know you’re here.” He barks. A few more steps. “You better show yourself or you’ll be sorry.” A couple more steps. Tears begin to fall down your cheeks. Wiping them away, you start to resign yourself to your fate.

Suddenly, the chair is thrown back and your wrist is grabbed. You yelp sharply as your entire body is torn out from under the desk. An arm wraps around your neck, loose enough so you’re able to breathe, but tight enough so you’re unable to get away.

“Listen hard, okay? You’re going to come downstairs and play nicely while we get what we need, understood.” The man’s breath tickles your neck as he speaks, arm tightening around your neck ever so slightly as the other snakes around your midsection.

“Yes,” You say, desperately trying to keep the rest of your tears in your eyes.

He drags you down the stairs. Through the little natural light, you can make out a small huddle of people in the middle of the bullpen. A shove to your back makes you land hard on your knees next to the huddle. Pain spreads up your legs and through you wrists, making you wince. Without much time to react, you’re gathered in someone’s arms. They pull you close to them and begin to whisper.

“It’s okay, Bambina,” It’s Dave, and you want to bawl. You’re supposed to be the tough teenager, not a crying child. All of the adrenaline and anger had faded, leaving you shaking from fear and not indignation. “We’ll get you out of here.”

You can only nod along to the comforting words he whispers. He rubs one hand up and down your back, using the other to press your head against his chest.

Glancing up, you see three officers. All of them wield what look to be rifles and they circling the group like vultures. There’s a pile of cellphones and weapons in the middle of the pile. You shift, confirming that your phone is still in your back pocket, covered by the sweatshirt you stole from Aaron.

Suddenly, there’s a noise reverberating through the room. A generic ringtone, something overly obnoxious. You hold your breath and shift again, trying to feel any vibration. It’s not yours. One of the police officers walks out of the room. The other two get closer to the group, compensating for the loss. Dave tightens the grip he has around you. It’s silent for a few minutes. The only thing in the air is tension. You can barely make out the face of Spencer across the circle. He’s doing that thing where he has to sit still, but he’s busy putting two and two together to solve a case. His eyes dart around the room, his fingers drum on his legs, and he’s mouthing something. JJ sits next to him, a very concerned look etched into her face. Penelope is nowhere to be found.

The sound of weighted footsteps approaches the small circle quickly. The officer that left returns, very infuriated. He holds his rifle close to his side as he once again yanks you to your feet and away from Dave’s protective grip.

You gasp, immediately struggling. Cries of protest rise from the rest of the BAU.

“Take me instead,” Dave demands, standing up. “I’m more valuable than her, you’ll get more of what you want if you have an esteemed FBI agent instead of a civilian."

The officer’s face twists. Without hesitation, he slams the butt onto Dave’s forehead. He crumples to the floor, clutching his now injured head.

You fight tears once again. I need to be strong. I can’t be scared right now. I can’t be scared. I can’t be scared…. Your inner mantra replays in your head as your forced down a narrow hallway, the officer gripping your arm. You walk along with him, breath shallow and tears stuck in your eyes.

But then you notice something.

A smaller handgun sits loosely in a holster attached to his hip. The grip of the gun is hanging out of the holster, almost falling out with each hurried step.

If you could just…

When you turn a corner, he lets go of you. You make your choice in a split second. Surging forward, you grab the grip, turn the safety off, and you pull the trigger. You hit him in the hip just below where a bullet proof vest would be. The you cock the gun and shoot one more time in his thigh.

As soon as the last shot goes you, turn the safety back on, and begin to sprint.

The only advantage you have in this situation is your knowledge. Thanks to Penelope and Kevin giving you a very in depth tour of the place when you first started tagging along with Aaron, you know every nook and cranny on this floor, and the ones above you.

With the help of another rush of adrenaline, you easily sprint down the hallway. All semblance of rational thought left your mind. All that’s left is the instinct to run as far and as fast as you can.

You run until you’ve managed to get up to the top floor of the building. Because of the outage, every door is unlocked, but really heavy. You push the final door with all your might. It doesn’t budge. The blood rushing through you is the only thing that matters, it’s the only thing you hear and the only thing you feel. You give it another shot, using every muscle in your body. There is a loud creak as it finally budges, allowing you to slip inside.

The top floor is the only one you’ve never been in. The little natural light is starting to fade. You need to find a place to hide and find one fast. Jogging down the halls, you find that all of the doors to the offices are closed, and mostly likely locked.

You swear under your breath, stopping at a corner. You hear the loud creak of the door as it’s opened. Fuck.

Your blood runs cold. You don’t wait to listen for footsteps this time, you haul ass down the corridor until you’ve come wide area with a ton of doors. You slam your body against the door next to you while turning the handle. Nothing.

You stumble to the door across from it. Locked as well. You try one last door as you hear footsteps over the blood roaring in your ears.

Finally. This one is unlocked. You fall inside of an empty room, landing on your knees once more. A pained noise slips from your lips, and you freeze. The footsteps are still coming. You kick the door closed and push yourself into a sitting position next to the hinges.

Once again, you press your shaking hands over your mouth. Heavy breaths come out through your nose. You squeeze your eyes shut, a few tears slipping out. You clutch the gun to your chest, slowly taking it off of safety.

At some point during the night’s events, your phone fell out of your pocket. You aren’t sure when, nor are you able to call anyone or tell them you tried your best to stay alive. More tears fall from your eyes.

You’re going to die.

Those fuckers are going to get revenge for their buddy, and you’re going to die.

“Y/N! Y/N are you here?”

What? You stop breathing for a second, that sounds like Derek.

“Y/N!” And that’s Spencer.

You don’t dare move, blink, or breathe as shock envelopes your body.

“Has anyone else found her?” Derek demands, sounding as stressed as ever. “Not yet. Morgan, what if she-” “No, Spencer. Don’t.” Derek’s voice is full of desperation, and mainly fear.

That’s enough for you. You push yourself off the floor with one hand. Opening the door, you get blinded by light. You wince, covering your eyes with your free arm. The bright LED light from their flashlights were a lot to take after not seeing any light for god knows how long.

"Y/N, oh thank God.” Derek breathes out. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I-I don’t know."

"C'mere.” He says, wrapping an arm around you. You feel the gun being pulled from your grip. “Spencer, call the others."

You melt into his embrace as the tears finally fall, steadily and silently.

Downstairs, Aaron paces wildly with red rimming his eyes. The local police department was corrupt and had been after important documents that would lead to incredible opportunities for organized crime. The BAU caught on too late to stop the hostage situation, but when they realized what the officers had been after, they sprung into action.

When the others told him about you being taken by the leader, the gunshots they heard, and the fact that neither of you came back to the bullpen, his mind jumped to the worst. All of their minds did. But when they went searching, they found the leader bleeding out in a hallway, missing a gun with you nowhere to be found.

Now, Aaron can’t stop pacing. Dave sits close by, injuries tended to. His attempts to comfort his friend fell of deaf ears.

But Aaron can’t lose you too. He was supposed to keep you safe. He took you in because his brother couldn’t keep you safe. Even with the call from Spencer, he couldn’t believe you were okay until he sees it. He gets his reassurance when he sees the elevator opens. Morgan has an arm around you, bracing you and protecting you from any perceived threat.

You rush forward when you see him, throwing your arms around his neck.

“You’re okay.” He says, comforting both you and himself. “I’m sorry,” You choke out.

“What for?” He asks. That was certainly not the reaction he was expecting.

“I shot him. I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do-”

“Y/N.” Aaron pushes you away from his chest so he can look you in the eyes. “You did what you had to. You were protecting yourself.” You can only nod with tears in your eyes. He brings you back into his arms, fingers carding through your hair for both your comfort and his. You bury your head in his chest, blocking the rest of the world out.

Everything is going to be okay.

2K notes · View notes

stefciastark · 4 years ago

Text

Captured ~Webpril Day 17

A/N: Sorry for the late update and a shorter chapter! Last night was a long long night with assessment, and this upcoming week will be interesting. This one I found super difficult to write but I enjoyed the challenge. One day I'd love to expand on a storyline like this :) This is a combined prompt fill for Charlotte_Stars on AO3 who wanted to see Peter getting saved by Tony from the Raft. Hope you guys enjoy xx

~Read it on AO3

~Read it on FFN

“You might want to hurry up, Tony, I’ve got two - no three bogeys coming in on the radar.”

“Hold tight, Happy, I gotta get the kid out.”

All Tony heard over the radio was a sigh and then the firing of jet engines as Happy began to manoeuvre the aircraft away from the immediate radar range of the Raft, and to likely deal with whatever threat was going to burst through the cloudline.

He had never been more furious yet more afraid for Peter. The level of sheer stupidity to act out of bounds in strict violation of the Sokovia Accords had landed him in superhero prison, all in the name of doing some ‘underground information gathering’. It was out of character for Peter, and once he had the kid back safe, they were going to have a tête-à-tête about what the hell had been going through his head. Tony was even more furious, however, at the prison’s lack of leniency, especially considering Peter was fifteen years old. The Raft was keeping a minor prisoner, and Tony wasn’t of a mind to tolerate that level of bullshit.

The rain pattered harshly over the suit, and he was glad when F.R.I.D.A.Y’s systems filtered out the white noise. The only sounds he needed to hear were voices and footsteps.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, get me inside.” The large circular landing platform at the centre of the facility’s exterior had not opened to greet him. He hadn’t really expected it to.

“On it, Boss.”

Ironically, breaking into the Raft would most likely land him in the Raft if he wasn’t careful. Then again, ‘careful’ wasn’t really on the cards for Tony.

The landing pad unfurled in response to F.R.I.D.A.Y’s disarmament of the frontline security systems, its large metal jaws opening to reveal about two-hundred metres of darkness that would eventually culminate in a high-security, architecturally hideous - yet somewhat effective - prison.

If they didn’t know he was here before - but with Happy circling around the prison, that scenario was unlikely - they did now.

Standing at the edge of the abyss, Tony did not hesitate in the slightest before diving in, slowing his descent moments before his landing with a few well-timed micro-blasts of the repulsors.

Eyes locked on the first of many security doors, he began Phase 2 of the rescue operation.

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

Peter traced circles mindlessly on the white sheets, the mattress feeling like stone beneath him. He may as well be sitting on the floor. The fabric of the blue uniform was stiff and sharp against his skin, the facility obviously needing to be introduced to the concept of fabric softener. The shade of blue was his marking as a prisoner. His marking as an ‘incarcerated enhanced individual’. He missed the days when he was just an ‘enhanced individual’.

A metal tray laden with an ambiguous mystery concoction of ‘food’ lay untouched in the opposite corner of the small room. The only thing Peter had taken from the tray was the small plastic cup of water, which did nothing to quench the burning in his throat. When he got out of here he was absolutely going to leave a bad review. ‘Room service and hospitality leaving something to be desired.”

Although it had only been a matter of days since his imprisonment - a reality he had yet to come to terms with - it had felt like at least a month. The once a day serving of whatever nutrient-poor food they did provide tasted like cardboard and mothballs, a flavour Peter didn’t particularly want to re-experience, and he wasn’t sure in the first place how a flavour like that even happened.

One guard stood on the opposite end of the circular room by the heavy security door, gun in hand. Peter, being the only one held in the facility, didn’t exactly need half of the Raft’s personnel to supervise him.

The guard frowned in response to a voice that crackled over the radio. Readjusting his one-handed grip on his weapon, he placed his finger on his earpiece. Peter heard his uneasy reply. “There’s been a breach in Section 2A? Copy that, I’ll-”

Peter heard the static cut in over the guard’s communications, the bearer of the news having suddenly lost connection with the radios.

“Hello? H-hello?” No response from the other side.

He could faintly hear the sounds of gunfire and the clangs of metal coming from...fairly nearby? Peter could only guess, seeing as the reinforced walls and specially made superhero-proof architecture of the place made it almost impossible for him to tell. Standing up from his prison cot, he approached the bars of his cell.

His heart pumped faster, fingers trembling with the adrenaline already flowing through his veins. He had no web shooters, no suit. He felt profoundly useless. It was only a matter of time before whatever threat was coming through those doors found Peter, and he had no way to defend himself.

The guard was now trying in vain to leave the room; swiping his access card, scanning his fingerprints, or entering his pin number did nothing to release the latch on the door. Whoever was coming in was smart; keep the guards separated, and assume almost complete control of the computer systems. The technological infrastructure was theirs to manipulate.

With a pitiful whimper, the guard jumped back from the door as three gunshots went off before being followed by a loud bang.

The door slid open.

Before the guard could raise his gun with quivering hands, a blur of red and gold grabbed the firearm’s muzzle and bent it upwards, rendering it completely useless. Tearing the weapon away from his hands, Peter’s rescuer introduced the butt of the soft machine gun to the side of the man’s head. Falling unconscious - but still alive - to the ground, all went silent.

“Back away kid, it’s going to get hot in here.” Tony had made his way over to Peter’s cell, and what looked like highly concentrated flames of a welding torch emerged from his palm.

Scrambling back from the barred door, he shielded his eyes away from the sparks that flew from the metal before becoming a molten lump on the ground. Peter thought it was kind of ironic how a prison cell meant to keep people with special abilities in wasn’t in the slightest fireproof. He thought wryly that that would probably be a top-priority upgrade to the facility after today.

There was now a gap in the bars wide enough for Peter to walk through without bending over or contorting his body in any way. He was free.

Leaving the room behind without a single glance back, he wrapped his arms around Tony’s suit, the cold metal feeling warmer than anything else he’d felt in days. Tony’s armour-clad hand rested gently on the back of his head, a comforting weight that grounded him in reality.

“You came for me.” Peter stated, not really certain why he felt surprised.

“What did you think I was going to do, let you rot in jail?” The helmet had receded, worry lines prominent on Tony’s brow. This kid was going to be the end of him.

The comfortable silence was broken by Happy’s agitated voice breaking over Tony’s comms. “If you guys could leave the sweet reunion for later, we need to go. Now.”

7 notes · View notes

dontcare77ghj · 5 years ago

Text

Strength

Tony x reader x Natasha x Bucky

Next part of heart will be out in the next week.

The four of you were the strongest of the avengers. The strength the four of you possessed was something you had worked on for years.

Natasha had crafted her strength during her many years in the red room. It was easier to be what they wanted if she built up a hard shell, built up another persona, for when they were around. It had taken her years to show another person the real Natasha and even now, only a few people were allowed to know the real her.

Tony’s strength had come from years of being neglected and mental health issues. In a similar play to Natasha, Tony had built up a persona for the media. He had become a carefree playboy and this personality still shone through to this day when he felt threatened.

Bucky had been born in a much harsher time than the rest of you and was then forced to endure seventy years at the hands of HYDRA. His strength was born from a place of survival, to survive and to continue surviving Bucky had to be strong.

You somewhat understood what Bucky went through at the hands of HYDRA. You yourself had lived through years of torture at their hands as they attempted to create the experiments, they’d previously performed on the Maximoff twins. You had to become strong to keep yourself. To keep your mind and self in control.

The four of you were the strongest of the Avengers. It was because of your shared strength that no-one was surprised when the four of you announced you were all together. But everyone’s strength could bend, even the strongest could have moments of weakness.

Any enhanced, whether they had been born with it or had had their genes mutated, would agree emotions could be tricky. Your mood and the emotions you felt could become the deciding factor as to whether or not you would remain in control of your abilities.

You hadn’t been born with your abilities; they had been the result of experimentation at the hands of HYDRA. At first you hated it. You hated the fact you weren’t normal anymore, but over time you grew to love the powers you’d gained and turned your anger towards HYDRA.

It was because of your anger towards the organisation you’d joined the Avengers. A team with people who’d seen similar things to you. People who’d lived through similar experiences. Here, you were normal.

Until you lost control. That was when you lost any sense of normalcy. When you lost control, you lost control. When you had the ability to manipulate and control the weather, and you lost control all hell could rain down.

The four of you and Wanda who had been assigned this mission and despite the shitty conditions and the complete lack of sleep, it had been going fine. It had all been going well until HYDRA had caught wind of where you were camping out.

“I fucking hate these assholes.” Natasha swore as she fired another clip at the agents.

“I don’t think anyone particularly enjoys being around these people, Nat.” Tony said, blasting at the incoming swarm.

“They should just do the courteous thing and die.” You grunted, creating a mini tornedo and throwing dozens of them as far as you could.

It didn’t seem to matter how well the five of you were doing, the hoardes of HYDRA agents seemed to be never ending.

“I really don’t like these men.” Wanda grunted, levitating a large mass of agents and hurling them far away.

“No one does.” Bucky smiled as the five of you met up. “We need to pack up and get out of here.” Bucky said, wrapping an arm around you. “More’ll be back soon.”

“Let’s get out of here. We got what we needed.” Tony agreed. The five of you made your way back to the set-up camp and quickly began to pack up the equipment. “Damn it I can’t find my tablet.” Tony cursed.

“You left it in the tent, hon.” You told him. “I’ll grab it for you.”

“Thanks, darling.” Tony kissed your cheek before you made your way back to the large tent. You’d only just entered the tent when you let out a loud scream. A rouge agent had hidden in your tent and stabbed his knife into your thigh and dragged.

“Y/N!” Natasha yelled, rushing her way over to you as you stumbled out of the tent, holding your hand to your gushing wound.

Natasha made quick work of the man as Bucky and Tony knelt beside you. Wanda was already on the radio alerting them to the situation.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Tony muttered as he attempted to stop the bleeding.

“Tony you’re not helping.” Natasha snapped, breaking out the medical kit as Bucky knelt behind you.

“I can see her bone, Nat. I can see the fucking bone.” Tony said, pressing his hands tighter to the bleeding wound.

“Oh God, I’m going to be sick.” You gagged after catching a glimpse of the wound. Tears began to sting the corners of your eyes.

“No, no you're just fine. It’s not that bad.” Bucky soothed you as the wind began to whip around you violently.

“I don’t feel so good.” You groaned. A whimper left your throat as Natasha began disinfecting the area.

“You’re fine. Don’t say that it’s fine.” Tony said loudly over the wind which was beginning to grow louder and louder with every minute. You couldn’t see past the tears the glazed over your eyes.

“Y/N, you need to calm down.” Natasha told you without looking up from her work. “You need to stay in control.”

“I can’t. Oh God it hurts.” You whimpered, still looking at the gushing wound. The wind was now screaming as it violently roared to life as tears slid down your cheeks.

“No, no, no.” Bucky said, lifting your chin. “Don’t look at it. Look at me. You need to stay in control, honey. We can’t help you if we're dealing with a tornado.”

“I can’t, I can’t control it.” You cried.

“Y/N, look at me.” Tony said, moving next to your head. He gripped your hand tightly as you gasped at the feeling of Natasha stitching the wound. “You can do this. You need to breath with me.” He said, putting your hand on his chest.

You gave Tony a nod and attempted to do as he said. Tony’s heartbeat was slightly faster than normal but was still much calmer than your erratic pulse. The whipping wind died down as you clutched his hand.

“That’s it, you’re doing so well, kisa.” Natasha said soothingly. Natasha quickly wrapped the wound tightly and leaned up to kiss your tears away. “That should hold until someone gets down here.”

“Fury said the team will be here soon.” Wanda said, walking over. “I’ll finish packing up.”

“Thank you, Wanda.” Bucky said. “You’re okay sweetheart. You did so well.”

“So, so well.” Tony agreed, squeezing you hand. “You’re so strong.”

“Just close your eyes kisa. We’ll protect you for now.” Natasha murmured, brushing hair off your sweaty face.

“I love you. I love you all.” You mumbled as your eyes began to close.

“We love you too, sweet cheeks.” Tony said, squeezing your hand once more.

Non-reader POV

It had been a quiet day. Well, a quiet day for the inhabitants of the tower at least. There were no explosions coming from Tony’s lab, no building shaking roars from Bruce or yells of annoyance directed at a pranking Clint.

And that day had progressed into a tranquil, quiet, night. A night that for once the four of you had spent together. The four of you had spent a lovely evening together, sharing more than one bottle of red wine, before retreating into the bedroom.

After a couple hours of doing some recreational activities together, the four of you had drifted off to sleep in a tangled pile. An hour later it became clear to Bucky, it was not going to be a peaceful sleep.

Bucky’s dreams echoed with the sounds of gunshots, screams in English and Russian and orders constantly barked at him before pain would ghost through his body.

Bucky let out a distressed noise as he shifted away from his sleeping partners as his dreams took a turn from memory to nightmare.

“Do it.” The voice hissed into his ear.

“Bucky don’t do this!”

“James it’s us! You can fight this!”

“Tin man, you’re not this person anymore!”

I don’t want to do this.

But I have to. Without another thought Bucky raised his gun and with three quick shots he shot each person between the eyes. As the ringing in his ears dulled he suddenly became aware he was in control.

Bucky dropped the gun in his hands and stared at the blood soaking the skin of his hands. Bucky continued to stare at his red stained hands until he saw the blood that was now soaking through his shoes.

His eyes followed the trail of blood until he saw the gruesome sight that sat before him. Two women and a man sat before him, their heads slumped onto their chests and blood pooling around them in a terrifying shade of crimson.

Bucky was compelled to move toward them, needing to know the identities of his three newest victims. He gently grasped the neck of the closest woman to him to revel the face of his Natasha. Her eyes were still opened widely, a bullet hole now featured in the centre of her forehead.

Quickly Bucky checked his two other victims and collapsed to his knees as he saw his other partners with matching bullet wounds.

He’d done this. He’d killed them.

Bucky awoke with a loud, distraught, scream which woke all three of his partners. All three began searching the room for the cause of Bucky’s distress and when they saw no threat they turned to see him struggling to breath.

“Bucky, look at me honey.” Y/N said, holding her hands in front of him. Bucky didn’t handle being touched well when he was like this. “You’re safe here with us.”

“It wasn’t real, James.” Natasha tacked on, mirroring your body language. “It was a nightmare.”

“That’s all it was.” Tony agreed. “Come back to us.” The three continued attempting to calm the man without being able to touch him.

It took what felt hours before Bucky able to calm himself down.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Bucky finally said, dropping his head in his hands.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” Tony said, moving closer to him and wrapping an arm around him.

“Absolutely nothing.” Y/N nodded, sliding into Tony’s side.

“You’ve been doing so well, you came out of it much faster this time.” Natasha complimented him, curling into his other side.

“I’m supposed to be stronger than this.” Bucky mumbled quietly, removing his hands from his face. “I’m a soldier.”

“You’re allowed to have a bad day, Buck” Y/N said, taking one of his hands. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

“That’s why we're here.” Tony told him.

“To be strong for you.” Natasha agreed. There weren’t any more words exchanged as the three of you continued to silently comfort Bucky with your presence. You didn’t need words to comfort each other.

Reader POV

Natasha had worked really hard to wipe out the red in her ledger. In her mind she had done too much to ever fully clear the darkness of her past and the red out of her ledger. Her main motivation for joining the Avengers was to help others, to help enough people that she could clear at least a third of her ledger.

But Natasha was a do-er. When it came to missions, Natasha would do whatever it took to ensure the safety of the team, her partners and to make sure the mission was successfully completed. Natasha knew what it felt like to have the blood of innocents on her hands and she didn’t want any of her team to have to go through that.

On missions the rule was, capture and don’t kill but sometimes it was just unavoidable. On these missions you had to kill to survive and it was Natasha, Bucky and Clint that took it upon themselves to protect their team. Their lives and their consciences.

Natasha had been on a mission with Steve and Wanda when it happened. Steve said they weren’t sure who blew the building, but someone did and Natasha believed it was her fault for the deaths of the civilians.

In retaliation, Natasha seemed to have been taken over by something as she made quick work of the Hydra agents around them. Steve and Wanda had barely been able to recover from the shock of watching the building collapse before Natasha had killed them all.

That call had been twelve hours ago. Five hours after that, they had arrived home. It was now eight hours later and the three of you had not seen her since she’d arrived home. Natasha had come straight back up to your floor and locked herself in the bathroom as per her custom after a bad mission.

“Nat?” You knocked softly. “Bucky made dinner for when you’re ready. I'll leave it in the oven for you.” You said when she didn’t reply but you didn’t leave. “We love you Nat. Just so you know.” You added going to walk away when you heard the click of the lock.

Taking that as a sign, you opened the door to see her sitting on the floor, still in her uniform and fiddling with a dagger. You didn’t say anything as you took a seat next to her.

You counted out five minutes before she shifted closer and stole your hand. You counted another five minutes before she rested her head on your shoulder and you gently began to run your fingers through her hair.

“How can you even stand to be this close to me?”

“Because I love you.” You said, scratching her scalp lightly. “We all love you.”

“Why would you do that? How can you love these blood-soaked hands?” She asked you, pushing her face further into your shoulder.

“I personally love those hands.” Tony announced, coming into the bathroom. He took a seat directly in front of her and gave her a gentle smile as he took the dagger out of her an and replaced it with his own. “No matter the colour.”

“They’re the hands of a murderer, Tony. They’re disgusting.”

“They are not.” Bucky said, entering and joining the rest of you. “They are beautiful and strong and delicate, just like you.” He said, sitting on her other side.

Natasha remained quiet for a minute, mulling over your combined words and actions.

“Can we go have some dinner, please?” She asked quietly.

“Yeah, yeah we can do that.” Tony said, standing. “Do you need a hand old man?” Tony asked Bucky, causing Natasha to let out a quiet chuckle.

“Fuck off, Tony.” Bucky rolled his eyes as you and Natasha stood. While the boys argued you and Natasha led the way to the kitchen, your hand never leaving hers.

Though Steve disapproved of the language he would agree with the sentiment that HYDRA, were fucking dicks. Busy fucking dicks. The dicks seemed to be working 24/7 on projects to destroy the world and to ruin your lives.

“Where do you want to go after this?” Tony asked over the comms. “I was thinking some place Italian.”

“Last time we got Italian; you didn’t stop complaining the entire dinner.” Natasha snorted at the suggestion.

“That’s not fair, Nat.” You chided. “He complained the whole way home too.”

“You're both mean.” Tony whined.

“You two better be nicer to him or we’ll have to hear him complain the rest of the mission.” Bucky chuckled.

“Speaking of the mission, maybe the four of you could start paying attention.” Steve suggested, finally cutting in.

“Speak for yourself punk.” Bucky grunted. “We’re already in the building.” He added as you all met up.

“What exactly are we looking for again, Rogers?” You questioned as the four of you began moving through the narrow corridors.

“The informant said there’s a secret room somewhere where they store their experiments.” Steve told you.

“Yay, secret room.” Tony cheered as you all moved into a large lab.

“Is there an exact location for this secret room, Steve?” Natasha asked him as you began to cautiously explore the area.

“Yeah what book do I pull?” Tony added.

“Sorry, he just said you'll know it when you see it.”

“Steve, be honest with me. Was Fury the informant?” Bucky asked him, knocking on the walls.

“Fury’s going to kick your ass when he hears that.” Natasha smirked at the brunette.

“Found it.” You chimed as the wall in front of you opened.

“Aww, I wanted to find it.” Tony whined, moving next to you. “When we get back remind me to fit the tower with secret rooms.”

“I thought we would’ve had some of them already?” Clint spoke up over the coms.

“He’s too lazy to do it.” Natasha said as you all moved from the lab and into the secret room. The room itself was small but had five separate doorways lining the wall.

“Oh this is fucking suspicious. F.R.I.D.A.Y. scan for heat signatures.” Tony said.

“Language.”

“Scans show only two heat signatures behind doors one and four.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. told you.

“Buck and I’ll take door one if you two take door four.” You said, the three each giving you a nod. Bucky aimed his gun at the door as you slammed it open.

There stood a man who had to be in his late thirties with a malicious look on his face. His head snapped up at your entrance and suddenly his skin turned into molten lava. He pressed his hand to the ground and a trail of lava shot towards the two of you.

Bucky quickly took a shot to his shoulder and you shot a blast of ice at molten rock. After you extinguished the flames, Bucky rushed forward and knocked the man out.

“Good job.” You smirked, pulling him out of the room. The two of you rushed towards the fourth door and saw an unconscious man in his late teens next to Natasha and Tony, who was out of his suit, who were kneeled on the floor.

"Tony. Tony, look at me." Natasha said, tapping his face gently. "Come on Tony focus on me."

"What's going on?" You asked her, kneeling next to her.

"The dick over there has Wanda’s powers." Natasha said, still tapping Tony's face. "Come on Tony, we're right here."

Tony let out a loud gasp as his eyes suddenly focused and began darting around the room.

"Tony, breathe it's us. You're okay. No-one's going to hurt you." Bucky soothed, touching his arm.

"Oh shit, I'm having a heart attack." Tony gasped, holding his hand to his chest. "Oh shit, I'm dying."

"You're not dying. You're having a panic attack." You told him, taking his face in your hands.

"You know how to stop this Tony." Natasha said. "What are the steps the therapist taught you?"

The three of you coaxed Tony through his steps until he could finally breathe again.

For a minute the four of you just sat there, Tony still breathing heavily as the three of you watched him in concern.

"I'm good. It's good. I'm good." Tony said, standing on shaky legs.

"Yeah? You're ok?" Natasha asked him.

"Yeah. I promise." Tony said, giving her a weak smile.

"You know we're talking about this when we get home, right?" Bucky said as you wrapped an arm around his waist.

"I know, that's okay." Tony nodded. "Let's get out of here. We'll get the clean up team to deal with these two."

Tony wasn't great at displaying weakness around the team so it wasn't until you made it back home he shut down.

The boy had shown the three of you and the team dead and Tony wasn't able to do anything. The three of you stayed with him fort h night ensuring he knew you all loved him and he was doing more than enough for the world.

The four of you were the strongest of the avengers. The four of you had a lot of walls, and it was only when around each other you allowed the walls to fall and show some semblance of weakness.

Taglist

@hopingforbarnes @piper-koko-barnes-rogers @skeletoresinthebasement @rvgrsbrns @agent-barnes40 @jelly-fishy-babie @smilexcaptainx @starlingelliot

Show me your support. Give it a like. Leave a comment. Share with your friends and reblog. Inbox/message me any comments, ideas, pairings, taglist requests, or whatever you wish.

Coming soon;

Dean x reader x Cas

Wanda x reader x Vision

Steve x reader x Wanda

Natasha x reader x Wanda

Tony x reader x Steve

Meg x reader x Cas

177 notes · View notes

imnotwolverine · 4 years ago

Text

The Englishman JACK - CHAP 3

< Chap 2 | Chap 3 Cocks And Guns | Chap 4 >

Summary: Jack finds himself in a crossfire between friends, foes and silent admirers.

Author’s note: To the handful of people reading this: I hope you’ll enjoy this one! Have a good weekend my lovelies. ❤️

Word count: 5.105 (18 min. read)

Disclaimers: NSFW - Strong language, misogyny, lots of cigarettes, alcohol abuse, extortion, WWII PTSD, (gun) violence, mobsters

–

Cocks and Guns

The woolen uniform itched and Jack was eager for the night shift to be over. With sweat running down his back, he peered into the darkness that surrounded the makeshift war camp. Everything seemed so calm and quiet; it was near strange to think that a few miles from here the Germans lurked. The enemy.

A few months ago he had seen their faces for the first time, the mood grim in the dead land between bloody trenches. It had rained for weeks on end and Jack could have sworn it had been God himself crying for the travesty that was this war. In that moment he had also wondered if these Germans before him truly wanted to fight. He, for one, surely didn’t. He felt the same dread he saw in them. Cheekbones fallen in, eyes wide.

That day the battlefield had remained calm. And not many days later Jack was reassigned, one general impressed with his good eye for detail and sharp mind. It was why he now was here, belly flat on the earth as he peered out into the distance, eyes sharp and back soaking wet with sweat. Behind him he could hear the occasional male voice or thump of sturdy boots. But before him the land was unreadable. All scraggly bushes, haunting tree shapes and the song of hidden cicadas. Jack felt the sound irked him, even though he couldn’t quite explain to himself why. The creatures were perfectly harmless and he had learned that the locals were terribly fond of them.

At first this new job hadn’t seemed so bad. They got more rest than in the trenches, and the men seemed a tad more cheerful. On the odd occasion they had even slept in real beds, made music, met women. And these women, French women, were utterly divine. Jack had never been outside of English territory, so he was near shocked to find how very different the French were from his usual English birds. In a hash he thought that maybe, if ever he’d get out of here, he’d marry one of those pretty brown eyed mademoiselles. Start a life here in the rural lands that usually harvested wine. What a life that would be. Besides, it wasn’t like he missed England all that much. Especially not when that same England sent him out to fight like this.

Scratching at some sweat that was drying on his jaw, he lost focus for just half a second. And though the cicadas continued to sing and the stars to shine, Jack knew something was amiss straight away. The male voices were no longer solely behind him. They were before him. Hushed and part of the darkness that stared back. Had he imagined it? Swallowing harshly he focused on the black lines of branches and bushes. With the wind quiet, any movement would indicate unfriendly visitors. But none moved. None sighed. Indeed, perhaps he had just imagined it. With a coded click of the tongue he signalled the other scout whom lay a few meters up ahead.

The man shot up disturbed, helmet crooked on his head, followed by a thump of lead hitting flesh. Jack’s heart was racing in an instant, eyes noting his dead fellow scout, shortly followed by then a blitz of stars in the bushes. Bullets were being fired and even ducking low he could swear he would be hit. That this would be it. That he would...

Gasping, Jack shot up from the bed. A sheen of sweat stuck to his brow and it took a good few moments before he realised he was no longer in France. The room surrounding him was dark, but he recognised it well enough. He was at the Maniari’s, having just awoken from a bad dream. Sighing, he let himself fall back on the comfortable mattress. Even years after the war, he was haunted by his days in the army. And he felt it only got worse when he was alone, the cold sheets a cocoon that trapped him in the most frightening of memories. Staring out at the ceiling he waited for his heartbeat to calm and breath to steady. But that was not going to happen.

Gunshots fired in the night outside. And before he even realised it himself, Jack had thrown himself off the bed and onto the floor, arms tiger crawling up to the window sill, eyes peering over the edge. The window was cracked open slightly, letting in the cool nightly Tuscan air to relieve the heat after a sunny day. That same heat still remained in the stone ledge he pressed his cheek into, bewildered eyes finding the cause of all this ruckus: Augusto and his men.

Down on the patio on the far end of the house there stood a group of swaggering, loud men. Thick cigar smoke curled up in the air and from the way they had to steady their every move, it was obvious they were well into their cups. In total there were four, faces hard to discern in the low moonlight. It didn’t however refrain the men from clearing their identities with loud laughter and booming voices. With a shotgun in hand, Augusto stood at the front, a cigar hanging over his lip as he looked over his shoulder, hinting at the other men to watch.

‘Watch and learn!’ He growled, body starting to jerk as he cleared a few shots in the dark. Jack noticed that he wasn’t just shooting at nothing; from a tree hung a white ribbon that stood out just enough for even the drunk men to see. Not knowing whether Augusto hit anything at all, Jack flinched as the men started to cheer even more loudly.

Next up was one of the more slender looking men. Perhaps one of the bodyguards. Holding a handgun he outstretched an arm, aim more pure than that of Augusto. With a Hollywood-esque exaggeration he blew the heat from the gun’s barrel, laughing as one of the other men clapped his back.

Like this the nightly banter outside continued. It felt like hours upon hours, and though Jack had forced himself to lay back down in bed, he could no longer catch any sleep. Staring out at the ceiling he watched and waited, and dozed and mulled on thoughts that mixed reality and dream until finally he saw the first rays of sun crawl over the wooden beams above him. The sheer lace curtains drew pretty patterns there, reminding him of his first acid trip. How relieving that moment had been after months of struggling to deal with his post traumatic shock disorder.

You’ve got it bad boy, Lucia had whispered, brushing away his hair when he would wake bathing in sweat.

She was gone now.

Sighing, Jack pushed himself off the bed, head feeling dazed. He hoped that this wouldn’t occur every night, but something told him that he shouldn’t keep his hopes up. This family was mad and he knew it. Stretching himself out, hands above his head, he cracked a few joints before returning to the window sill, eyes finding that a butler had moved out to the bullet shell covered terrace on his left. The man was placing a whole collection of glasses, half finished liquor bottles and crowded ash trays onto a larger tray, face stern and focused.

Then Jack realised there was another person up and about. Just beneath his window, seated at the long end of a table, chair covered in a black and white striped cotton, sat the only daughter of the Maniari’s. Bunny. She was all dressed up to the nines, hair neatly coiffed and body clad in a blue knee length dress.

From his position, Jack could see everything perfectly. The way her cigarette smudged with lipstick, the way her eyes sometimes moved to the butler who was cleaning up the mess on the other terrace. And he also noted that her fashion magazine was a bit peculiar; either they had started to include an accounting segment, or Bunny dear was holding a secret. The pages looked off. Reaching a little further, Jack tried to figure out what it was she was hiding, but that move betrayed him. The window creaked and with a hurried scowl Bunny looked up, hand closing her magazine.

‘Good morning,’ Jack chimed, smiling warmly. Bunny sucked on her cigarette and stared up at Jack. A moment passed.

‘If you say so.’ She sighed, pressing the half-finished cigarette into a glass ashtray before walking back inside.

Jack contemplated how he had wronged her, but as his eyes wandered over the curves of the misty hills, his mind bleaked. In the far distance, behind the neatly kept gardens, he could see the vineyards, stretching for miles. Most of it owned by the Maniaris, small houses dotted over the landscape, all rented by locals or used by family members. Today was the day he would meet some of them. He wondered if they would be just as mad.

‘Too expensive.’ The old nan flared an aggravated hand in the direction of the suit clad man who had come to gather the rent. Her eyes spoke poison, but also intrigue when she noted Jack. For a short moment her trembling jaw quieted, wrinkly features studying the unknown man before her.

‘YOU, you do something about it!’ Her finger directed back at Big. ‘The protection is shit! Last week one of my goats was shot and look at what you do. NOTHING. No-thing. You scum! You..-’

One of the men pushed Jack outside of the small cottage and closed the door, leaving Jack alone. The sun was starting to sink down and with a quick check on his peculiar sundial watch he noted the time. 4.30, just about. And violence..? He listened and heard the muffled whines of the woman inside. Yes. Biting his tongue he started his way to the end of the small garden that stretched around the cottage. Vegetables were growing in long rows of green. Cabbages, leaks and the like; nothing spectacular. But he also noted feet. Or feet marks to be exact. Dragging in the mud and too large to fit the small woman that lived here, alone. Had she had a visitor? Clicking his tongue he turned heel, hearing the front door re-open, men pouring out.

‘Fucking nuthouse.’ One of the bodyguards muttered, lips glueing to a cigarette that was lit with a bloodied hand. Jack noted that too, but said nothing. It was not why he was here.

‘Found some footsteps over there.’ Jack nodded, and the men looked up.

‘So?’

‘Male. Large male. Old, most likely, or wounded. Hard to see through the red stain of this darn mud.’ Jack pointed at the garden and two of the men stepped in, one of them taking notes and photographs of the measurements and findings. They nearly looked professional - were it not for them to be stinking like a brown pub in the wind.

‘Unlikely to be Alfi.’ Big stepped forward, still distrusting of Jack. Luigi hadn’t come along, though he had offered; it was Jack who had refused. At first the idea of having Luigi with him seemed pleasing, but seeing Luigi’s slightly particular behaviour yesterday made him rethink. Perhaps it was better to find the brother’s motivations and relations one by one; in the end they both had been in Paris at the time of Lucia’s demise.

So far though, the young Maniari mostly just seemed like a spoiled brat, who, unfortunately, wasn’t all that clever. Big scowled at Jack, who smiled a fair laugh.

‘Alfonso can’t get hurt, you say?’

‘It can’t be him because why the fuck would he be in some old hag’s shitty garden? He’d come home if that’d be the case. Pfft.’ Big shook his head in disbelief and regarded one of the men who had walked to a nearby tree to take a leak, hand brushing down the pee on his pants before he let out a relieved sigh.

‘Fwoa. You just keep on pissing from that stuff.’ He laughed.

Big smirked. ‘That’s what you do. Drink like a god? Piss like a god.’

The rest of the men laughed, but Jack didn’t. He turned around, watching the distrustful woman who peaked at him through the lacy veil of her curtains. Perhaps he’d return to her later.

The sun was sinking fast, but apparently there was one more job to be done. After a short stop at the villa, a small garrison of three sleek cars drove up the ruby red roads. At the front was Augusto’s car, a silver Mercedes, it’s lacquer shining in the last drops of honey hued sunlight. In the far back was the brandless black beast that carried Jack and four square shouldered men. These men were new to Jack, and for a moment Jack wondered if he was brought along so Augusto could keep an eye on him. Of course he had hoped that he would have been just allowed to lumber around alone, but reality was different. In reality even family friends had to join in on the dirty work. Whatever the dirty work would be right now.

After a short drive the cars halted before a small winery, long rows of vines weaving in patterns behind the tall cypresses that stood at either side of the muddy road. The sun was close to disappearing now, leaving long and tall shadows at the men’s feet. The Maniari crew had nine men in total, which seemed excessive for a visit. But then again; perhaps it wasn’t enough. Jack noticed how they all kept a hand close to the insides of their jackets, buttons undone. He was no fool. There were weapons held disguised, ready to be used at will.

Turning on his heel, Augusto was surrounded by his trusty bodyguard number One - a surprisingly small and slender man - and the four jarheads.

‘No words English. Just watch. I need your eyes alone. No funny business.’

Jack nodded, not sure what was about to happen. With confident strides the men walked up to the near abandoned looking winery, an old tractor parked near the door. The yard was muddy, leaving hundreds of tracks of cars, feet and what looked to be dog paws.

‘Nando!!’ Augusto called at a man who stepped out of the front door. The leather faced man was obviously not eager to see Augusto, eyes skittish and hand holding onto the door knob.

‘Good eve.’ Nando watched the many men that surrounded Augusto, eyes narrowing. ‘I don’t want no trouble sir.’

‘Then there won’t be any trouble.’ Augusto smiled broadly - too broadly, his cheeks drawing menacing shadows in the light of the sinking sun. ‘Just business talk.’

‘Right now? I was just about to eat sup--’

One of Augusto’s men pushed Nando back inside, pushing through the narrow hallway until all men were indoors. It was there where yet more visitors were found. More tough looking men in suits, hands staying nervously close to their pockets.

Jack barely got a chance at properly looking at these other men before the situation escalated. Augusto voice boomed with some insult about ‘crooked investors’ and then all hell broke loose. Or, so it seemed. Being pushed back against the opposing wall of the narrow hallway, Jack lost track of movements. Men were rushing back and forth, commands being yelled. The house was too small and it didn’t help that Jack had hurt his head, his vision swimming.

It was seconds later when the calm returned. Jack found himself leaning into the wall. On the ground in the small living room red stains leaked into the carpet. And watching Augusto, he saw those same red stains on his blouse. Had the mobster been wounded? Gasping in horror, Jack blinked, memories flooding him.

RUN JACK. RUN! Harry’s bloody teeth gulped the words, eyes wide.

The memory faded.

Hold! Hold! Hold for the king! Rain clattered on poorly made helmets, the dark night icy cold. Are you soldiers? Or are you weak? Right there the enemy awaits us, but we are ready. Squadron 2, line 4. Get ready to climb!

Jack felt sick, feet stumbling. The whole hallway seemed to tilt a few degrees, like he were on a ship filled with cute picture frames and handmade doilies.

‘Let’s get outta here.’ Big pushed Jack back out of the door, the rest of the men following.

‘What a fucking mess.’ Augusto growled. He didn’t sound as wounded as he seemed. Jack inhaled sharply, the evening air biting into his lungs. Panic and trauma washed over him and he had to try his best to stay afoot. Around him the other men walked out, reminding him of the soldiers in the trenches. The same mud that slipped beneath his unsteady feet had been there in France. Day in day out. Everything had been so wet, all the freaking time. At some point he hadn’t even known anymore whether it was the rain, blood or both. With blinking eyes Jack focused on his shoes, red splatters climbing up his leather shoes. He knew he wasn’t in France. He knew he wasn’t hurt - yet. And yet the ache in his heart seemed to seep in every corner of his limbs, turning his usually sharp mind to muddle.

‘Such a waste of wine.’ Augusto clicked his teeth. ‘And to you.’ He reared his head and looked at the man who looked at him through the small doorway. Jack didn’t know the man, but he seemed like a boos of sorts. His smug face raised a challenging chin, but said nothing.

‘Shame on your pitiful blood.’ Augusto spat on the ground. ‘This was once my father’s land. And now what?! Look at this! The moment some poor man comes up and tries to rebuild it, you take it from him.’

Jack frowned. Before him he saw the same Augusto that had beaten his daughter and threatened his family with the worst of repercussions. And yet that same man now wanted to protect this poor winemaker. Really? It almost seemed absurd.

‘There’s much waste, old friend. But this? I see potential. You see flaws. You hold onto the old. I embrace..the new!’ The smug looking man laughed. ‘And you see, Nando here.’ He turned and squeezed the terrified looking farmer into the door frame. ‘Has become a very, very good friend of mine. Haven’t you Nando? Hmm?��

The poor man swallowed and nodded quickly. ‘Y-yes sir.’

‘No no. We’re friends. Call me Gio, please.’

‘Yes..Gio.’ The man nodded, terror clear in his eyes.

Augusto sighed dramatically. ‘Well, dear Gio, you ruined my shirt!’

‘Oh curse you old friend. Buy yourself a new one. And kiss your wife for me, will you!’

‘Watch your words!’ Augusto wanted to step in and all men were back to grabbing for their pockets, but Big was there to hush his father.

‘Father, let us deal with this another--’

‘Another time? Would you look at that smug bastard with his..’ Augusto waved his hand in the air with disgust, his pretentiously friendly tone gone.

Gio laughed and waved, his skin lighting up with the last rays of sunshine. ‘Let us have proper wine soon my friend. We’ll discuss business, like the old days!’

Augusto spat on the ground and shot one last poisonous glance at the boisterous man in the doorway. It was obvious the two had a history. And Augusto was pulling the short end of the string tonight. With dragging feet he let himself be guided back to the cars. Even now Jack wasn’t quite sure why they had come with so many. Was it to show off? Or had they really been ready for a war? Still feeling a little wheezy, he walked to the last car and got in, his body soon squeezed in the middle of the bench between the two large men.

‘You’re hurt!’ Luigi exclaimed. With hasted feet he worked his way through the men who had started to scatter in the large hallway. Some went to the lounge for a drink, others to their quarters for sleep. None were rueful enough to deal with their boss Augusto right now.

The man groaned. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Oh why look at you father.’ Luigi tutted, peeling at the winesoaked blouse of his father. His father swatted his hand away.

Luigi hesitated. ‘Ehh.. I must warn you, father.’ Luigi licked his thin lip. ‘Mom has one of her...moments.’

Augusto turned heel, eyes wild. ‘She..what? Why didn’t you do something?!’

Luigi shrugged in defeat and pointed outside. In a flurry of curse words his father ran out, feet thundering on the loud marble floor.

‘You alright?’ Luigi stepped in next to Jack. The other men had dispersed, leaving the two men standing here alone.

Jack nodded quietly. France still ringed in his ears. Or perhaps it was a mild concussion. Either way he could do with some rest and a meal.

‘Quite a day it was.’

‘Indeed. I heard Mrs. Tuscesi got another beating. What a woman. What. A. Woman.’

Jack nodded, allowing Luigi to guide him up the stairs like he had yesterday. Again that fleshy warm hand found his lower back, but Jack didn’t object. Stepping in turn with Luigi, he told his friend about the little situation with Gio. Luigi sighed.

‘My papa never learns.’

They halted amidst the stairs, where a window gave a lookout over the shadowy gardens. Little torch lights cast a mysterious hue over the greens, where the signora danced, a little 3-legged dog by her side. Meanwhile Augusto was storming through the long lane between sky high cypresses, right at her.

‘Didn’t know you had a dog.’ Jack said. He didn’t want to question what was the matter with Luigi’s mother - it seemed a touchy subject, especially now he was living here with the Maniari’s. For a moment they watched as she waved her expressive arms in the air, before throwing a shoe for the dog toe catch. It hobbled awkwardly on its three tiny stilts.

‘My mother has a dog.’ Luigi corrected, then returned his warm hand to Jack’s back. Jack again, didn’t object and followed as they continued their way up the stairs. This time Luigi got a little further before he halted amidst the hallway, feet quiet on the stone floor.

Jack smiled, knowing exactly what Luigi wished to ask. It seemed near inappropriate, but in a way Jack could use some friendly company at the moment. Besides, he still needed to find out what Luigi’s true motivation was in life. He had changed so much since last they met in person. Not only had he grown in size, also his manners had changed. The Luigi he had met in Paris was not quite the man before him. That Luigi had been an oversized boy who liked to play. This was a man who made the game.

Turning on his heel, Jack looked over his shoulder. With a single nod the affirmation was given; join me. And so Luigi joined.

With most of the men gone on their nightly mission, the house was left quiet. Bunny peaked through her cracked bedroom door. On either side of the hallway the lights were dimly lit. But no guards were there to keep watch. No brothers were there to call onto her. All she could hear was her mother on the phone and her brother’s record player downstairs. From the looks of it both were preoccupied and so Bunny took her chance, feet slipping out of the door frame.

The heavy creak of her door made her flinch. Fuck. Holding tight onto the door knob she waited. Perhaps there soon would be footsteps, guns cocking, knuckles cracking. But no, there was nobody here.

Continuing her quiet pitter patter, Bunny made her way to one of the doors on the right. Not far from here her mother was babbling into the phone. Or worse yet; crying into the phone. Bunny again halted her steps.

‘But I need you! I..I need you!’

Her mother sounded positively desperate. But then again, so were all women who lived in this household. Her mother would drink herself to death. Bunny would run herself to death. Pick your poison, they say, right?

Gritting her teeth, Bunny turned her attention to one of the doors on her right. It’s where Alfonso’s study was located. A bunch of mystery rooms that she had rarely been allowed to visit. And the attraction to visit became even stronger when Alfi disappeared. The brother’s had looked inside for a bit, but decided there were no clues worth mentioning to the Englishman. All seemed as it should be, they said.

But Bunny didn’t believe it could be that easy. Alfi always had been a weird brother. Being the oldest of the bunch, he had always felt terribly important with his books and administrational work and numbers. He had always been the precise one, the easily ignited one. One thing out of place would send him into fury, and so it was here where Bunny decided to do some of her own research. Here in his study. Where all her brothers seemed too busy with their gun fights and extortion, Bunny knew that it was unlikely to be just a regular kidnapping. There had to be clues. There just had to be.

With a click of the door knob she opened the study room. And it was exactly what she expected to find. A simple desk set amidst ceiling high bookshelves filled with administration and books. It was kept so orderly it was hard to think this may just be the start of a crime scene. But Bunny had read books herself, too. Agatha Christie had taught her one thing: death is in the details. And patterns are always there. The only difference was that this was no oriental train or desolate island, but home. The home she had lived in with people that could very well star in one of Christie’s books. For they were characters, each and every one of them.

Behind her, Bunny could still hear her mother’s wails, followed by a sharp click of the door. Was her mother going out? Oh no. Oh shit. Quickly closing the door behind her, Bunny pressed her ear against the door, listening to the footsteps in the hallway. It was definitely her mother, and from the way her heels tapped the floor in an uneven rhythm, it was clear that she was drunk. Not that this was such a surprise; each time her mother suffered a setback, she’d fall back into the dirty old habit of binge drinking.

‘Zazoooo. BABYYY where are you sweetieeee.’ Her mother’s shrill voice called as she clambered down the stairs, footsteps fading.

Zazoo hadn’t been able to climb the stairs ever since the incident. A shooting incident. And though all said it had been the Luchesse’s, or perhaps even Gio himself, Bunny knew better. She always knew better. And she was sure that it had been one of the family who had shot the dog’s leg during one of the many drinking fests. One night the dog had four legs, the next just three.

Poor dog.

Turning back around, Bunny let out a sigh. Again her eyes fell on the many small details around her. Having learned from her mystery books, she tried to find clues. The burned candles, the disturbed dust on the shelves, the…Hmm. She walked to one of the shelves that had obviously been disturbed quite recently. With a tug she pulled out some of the folders that were tucked tightly together. She wasn’t sure what exactly she was looking for, the numbers all unfamiliar. But there were names here too. Many names, though unfamiliar in most cases. Only the Luchesse named immediately rung a bell, but then the numbers didn’t clarify much either.

Flitting through the pages, Bunny let her eyes slide over the neatly noted numbers. Prices, codes, phone numbers. They could be anything. Continuing her research, her eyes stopped on one page. A blood stain had poured into the thin paper, dark red, though also still slightly slimy. An unusual type of blood stain when at best you’d suspect a paper cut.

Noises in the hallway made her turn on her heel again. More people. Male. Fuck. Hurrying to get the folder closed and back on the shelf, Bunny nearly let it slip from her hands. Her heart was thundering and fingers slippery. She knew that if she was caught red handed now, this would be last day she ever saw daylight. Her father would not have this. He didn’t like unsubordinate little women. He wanted them meek and mild, not curious and self established.

Rushing towards the door, Bunny already tried to find excuses to tell. Perhaps she had heard a faint noise and since she couldn’t find the guards, went to see for it herself. Perhaps she thought she heard Alfi. Perhaps she..

‘My mother has a dog.’ Luigi’s chuckle reverberated up the stairwell. Bunny sighed and relaxed a little. Luigi didn’t give a crap about these administrational books. He cared more about appearances, self pampering and other slightly dubious male activities. Pressing her ear back against the door she listened, but no further words came. It were two pairs of feet, moving in the same direction. Towards the Englishman’s room, or hers. Oh no. Oh no! You can’t be saying they were looking for her!

Making sure the footsteps were far enough away, Bunny unclicked the door and rushed into the hallway. The men were gone. Though their voices returned, chuckling through Jack’s door.

Bunny knew at that moment that she would be better off if she just went back to her room. She was putting her nose in things she didn’t understand. In things she wasn’t supposed to understand.

‘Oh Jack!’ Luigi exclaimed, followed by a bit of laughter. Bunny quietly moved in closer, ears peaking to pick up the sounds. But no more sounds came.

Then Bunny made another mistake. She watched. Women weren’t supposed to see these things. But here she was, bending over and peeking in through the keyhole. Inside the well-lit room stood the two men. Jackets removed, embracing. But it wasn’t the type of embrace she knew. This was..different. Long lasting. Luigi’s hands were on the Englishman’s buttocks. And it lasted too long. This was..this was. Bunny watched in shock and awe through the tiny keyhole. And then Jack’s blue eyes found hers.

Fuck.

Chap 4 >

General tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @tumblnewby @magdelen69 @thereisa8ella @darkbooksarwin @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @hell1129-blog @agniavateira @tillthelandslide @elinesama @maddyreads14

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry as jack #the englishman jack #mobster mystery fic #original story #multichap

4 notes · View notes

chocnat · 4 years ago

Text

Coffee and Chaos | Loki x Reader one-shot

So I joined @the--sad--hatter ‘s Tea Party Challenge for her birthday and I chose to write for Loki (of course ehehehe). Advance happy birthday, Kara!

Title: Coffee and Chaos

Words: 1,453

Notes: non-gendered reader; also available in AO3

Summary: You were sent to a mission with the God of Mischief. One morning you woke up to Loki bringing the mischief to you and you haven’t had a cup of joe to deal with it.

A STRONG BLAST WOKE…no, tossed you from the bed. You opened your eyes and grabbed the pistol sitting on the bedside table. You checked the time: it was 4:26 AM. You yawned but a round of bullets floors below rattled the sleepiness from you.

You scanned the room and found the other bed empty. Where the hell is Princey?! You thought as you moved from the side of the bed to the door. You opened the door just in time for a startled Loki to barge in and fill the room with a shimmer of green mist. "What is happening?" You asked urgently.

He looked at you, panic written all over his face. A panicked Loki was not a good sign in the morning - or anytime. “We need to leave. Now,” he commanded as he paced the room and peeked at the window. You two heard trucks screeching into a halt outside the apartment building you two were hiding.

You picked up your bag. “Can you at least tell me what’s happening?” You demanded, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “I was tossed out of bed, you barged in here like death’s after you, and I even haven’t had a cup of coffee yet!” You ranted as you inserted magazine reserves on your belt.

He stopped on his tracks and turned to you. “Yes, death is after me! HYDRA detected me when I entered their facility.” You gawked at him. “We don’t have time!” He grabbed you by the hand and left the room and headed to the back of the building.

“You owe me one cup of coffee for this trouble,” you grumbled behind him. You weren’t a morning person and you needed a dose of caffeine to function, just like Stark.

Your eyes popped open. Oh yeah, speaking of Stark. You released your hand from his grip. “What are you doing?” He grunted.

“Have you told Stark about the sitch?”

“I didn’t have time.” He led you up the stairs, heading to the rooftop.

“Great.” You fished your earpiece from the pocket in your bag and pressed it on your ear. The earpiece came to life and FRIDAY greeted you. “Get me to Stark please,” you said in between your huffs as the two of you trod the 8 floors to the rooftop.

“Hey! What’s up?” A lively Stark piped in through your ear.

“Stark, Princey done huge trouble here.”

Loki stopped jogging on the steps and spun to face you, making you bump into him. “Hey! They detected me! Wasn’t my fault!”

“And how did they detect you, exactly? You haven’t told me that part yet!”

“What’s happening there?” You heard Stark ask.

“They were using magic to reinforce their security,” Loki replied to you. A blast shook the whole building. You two leaned on the rail and saw that they had blasted the main door open and their army filling the ground floor. “Shit!” Loki hissed and you pushed him to run.

“You two might want to tell me what the sitch is.” You didn’t reply. “FRIDAY, pull up Veronica. It’s her time to shine.”

“Now, why are we heading to the rooftop?” You asked him.

“So far they left the facilities on trucks.”

“Dude?! Have you ever thought of snipers around this building?!” You almost yelled.

“No.”

Doors were breaking on the floors below you. Civilians were screaming, filing out of their units.

“What?!”

“I needed to leave so I could get to you, okay!” He said over his shoulder.

“I might have bad news for you.”

“What is it, Stark?”

“There is HYDRA militia on the rooftop.”

“Shit!” You hissed and grabbed the hem of Loki’s leather tunic.

He grabbed on the rail, almost falling on you. “What?”

You released him. “HYDRA militia on top and wear your freaking earpiece, dammit!” You peered to check the upper floors. There were only 3 floors between you and the rooftop. Loki placed his piece into his ear. You pressed your back to the wall, placing a hand on Loki’s chest, implying that he’ll do the same. “Now what?”

“Stark, how many people are on the rooftop?” Loki asked.

“15 on the rooftop. 4 snipers on each direction, 20 feet from the center of the rooftop.”

“Okay.” The noises of the HYDRA militia from the ground floor are getting louder.

You tapped your foot. “You better think fast, Princey. We don’t have time.”

“Stop calling me Prin-!”

You glanced at him. “Alright, alright. Now, what are we -”

“We’re still heading to the rooftop.” He grabbed your wrist and fled. You pulled your hand from him, and then your gun, and then the slide of your semi-automatic. A floor left and you took two steps at a time. Loki used his magic to blast open the door and gunshots started to rain on you.

“Wow, that’s a lot of gunshots.”

“Tell me about it!” You replied to Tony.

Even after years of working with the Avengers, being at the receiving end of a firefight still scares you. But as you stepped out of the emergency exit, you found yourself wrapped in Loki’s force shield.

You grinned. “It’s showtime, baby,” you taunted and started to shoot at the HYDRA agents when all of them were thrown off the rooftop by a wave of green energy. You turned to Loki. “Did you just do that?!”

“Yes, I just did.” He has a shit-eating grin on his face. A helicopter rounded up to your building and when you’re about to shoot it, Loki sent a green beam at it and it blew up. Your jaw fell, forgetting the snipers and the other HYDRA agents floors below you. Loki pushed your chin close with a finger and snickered. “I’ve got this under control, darling,” he said and he held your hand.

A second later you were seeing the lush green landscape of the Avengers compound’s vast backyard. “That was fast. Welcome back.” Tony chimed into your earpiece.

You rolled your eyes at Loki as you two sauntered on the gravel road to the back entrance. “I can’t believe they still sent me with you for that mission when you can handle yourself well,” you babbled.

“I was also thinking of the same thing,” he replied arrogantly.

You exhaled heavily. “You still owe me a cup,” you told him before you took the right turn to your room.

AFTER AN HOUR, you heard a knock on your door. “FRIDAY, who is it?” You asked, not even moving an inch on your bed.

“It’s Loki,” the AI replied.

“What does he want now?” You pushed yourself off the bed and dawdled to the door. “Yes, Princey?” You began when you opened the door. The smell of freshly brewed coffee hit you.

“Here’s your coffee, as you demanded.” He raised a tray with two cups of coffee, a small pitcher of milk, and two small bowls of brown and white sugar.

Your brows scrunched. “Are you trying to kill me? I can’t finish two cups of coffee.”

He frowned. “Who even told you you’re finishing two cups?”

You squint your eyes at him, thinking. “Are you saying…”

“Can’t I have coffee with you?” He grumbled.

“Oh.” You laughed and opened the door wide. “Come on in. I don’t want my coffee to be cold.” He entered and placed the tray on the coffee table next to the glass wall that gave you a picturesque view of the woods surrounding the compound. He gave you your cup and sat on the chair next to the table. “Thanks for this.” You poured milk and 2 spoons of brown sugar into your cup.

“You better be grateful for that, I ground the beans myself.”

You chuckled. “You didn’t.”

“FRIDAY, show us the footage of me making coffee. I know you have it.” Loki commanded and a video appeared on the glass wall, showing him working on the manual coffee grinder.

You almost choked on your coffee laughing. You had to place the cup back on the table and sat. “I might have to sit down for this.” He looked at you with curious eyes. “I didn’t expect that.” You faced him as you pointed at the video.

He shrugged. “Well, I almost got you killed so why not do that.” He took a sip of his coffee.

You reached out and placed a hand on his knee. He looked at your hand then to you. You beamed at him and said, “thanks a lot, Princey. That was one great effort.”

He gave you a toothless smile and you two continued to enjoy your coffee and the view of the forest as the afternoon sun took its departure.

10 notes · View notes

rotten-whispers · 4 years ago

Text

Short piece - Parasite

Another POV of Justine, just after being infected by Praxis, a cold and uncaring parasite. Characters are from the second Boxes, a novel in progress!

Tw: non-graphic animal testing and mention of needles

You aren’t doing this right.

It whispers again, crawling like an insect across the bed of my thoughts. I can feel it writhing inside my mind, its presence sharp and unpleasant.

“Be quiet,” I think back, tightening my grip on the syringe. “I’m giving it a partial dose, it isn’t going to die like the last one.”

The last one is unmoving on the other side of the table, in another tray. Its black and white fur is crusted with blue liquid and its eyes are dull and lifeless.

It will.

“I made a mistake.” My breath hitches in my throat. “It isn’t going to happen again.”

All that you ever do, the parasite says, is make mistakes.

A shuddering wave of tension passes over my body, like an electric shock. My bottom lip suddenly trembles, and the room seems very cold.

Being in here is claustrophobic – the white walls are oppressive, a weight against my chest with every breath. There is no space left in my mind with the parasite’s overwhelming presence. Cold, like an ice-encrusted window, and sharp, like the blade of a knife. Its words always manage to cut through me as though I were nothing.

And I am nothing in its eyes. The creature must sympathize with these rats, I think. With all of the creatures that are no longer alive because of me.

I place the syringe down on the table and take a deep breath to steady myself, struggling to calm my racing heartbeat.

Some fresh air will do me good, my mind whispers, but there isn’t any available. There are no doors that lead to the outside world, there are no windows that can be opened. Essentially, there is nothing that could allow any of them to get in, or any of us to get out.

The hallways are not any warmer. I linger in them for a few moments, kneading one gloved hand into my forehead and struggling not to think.

Appreciating, for once, that my mind is empty and quiet. That there is only my shaky breathing to fill the silence.

I spend so much time thinking, always churning over anxieties and possibilities and solutions to my problems. It’s suffocating being inside my own skull sometimes.

"I understand why you don’t want to be in here,” I tell the parasite, childishly. Knowing that I should not be encouraging the creature’s existence. But sometimes it feels as though it is the only thing that I can talk to.

You don’t want to be in here either, it replies, with the usual lack of empathy. Pitiless, for the ignorant fool that splintered its consciousness into something that can only live through the flesh of another.

And it doesn’t matter if it was an accident, or what I was trying to accomplish. I brought it here, and now there is nothing that I can do to free either of us.

“Of course I don’t want to be here. I’d rather be outside,” I murmur, with a longing glance at the empty white walls. Thinking about the gentle sway of wind through grass, the dapple of sunlight across an overgrown meadow.

“I think that all of us would rather be outside.”

My footsteps seem to echo in the empty room like gunshots, and the syringe is very cold in my hand – like ice-encrusted windows in December, like the blade of a knife. The freezing blue liquid inside gently bubbles from the tip of the needle and down my arm.

But there is no outside anymore. There is only this room, and this chilling pull in the back of my skull.

The little white-furred body below gives a jolt, its blue-encrusted flank falling still. Now both bodies are unmoving – frozen prisoners of this silent tomb.

I told you that it wouldn’t work. Nothing that you try is ever going to work.

I ignore the creature’s disapproval, placing the empty syringe back on the table. Struggling to imagine cloudy skies from the silver sheen of the instrument. Empty, infinite skies, without the promise of rain or the illusion of sunshine. Or any distraction from the endless serenity of nothingness.

My bottom lip trembles, but I refuse to lift my gaze from the syringe.

“It’s so cold in here. . . I wish that it wasn’t always so cold in this place.”

#i wrote this for a class last week and decided that it was worth sharing!#boxes 2 #boxes 2 plot #justine #praxis #writing #short stories #stories #horror #horror stories #dark stories #tw animal testing #tw animal death #tw needles #boxes writing

2 notes · View notes

lancelotchronicler · 5 years ago

Text

So a friend introduced me to “Humans are space orcs” and...

It gave me emotions. Specifically the post by @soprana-snap , it gave me a LOT of emotions. Pardon if this looks rushed or like I was having a hard time seeing the keyboard. I kinda did.

We, The Titans.

“Shot?” “Seven times, mostly superficial flesh wounds but he's lost a lot of blood from one penetrative wound and needs a transfusion.”

“Damnit. Get him fixed and get A'rool to start scanning for another deposit as soon as scanners are back online!”

Voices swirled around Alex's head as he passed in and out of consciousness, he could hear his Captain yelling but it wasn't until he heard A'Rool's name that the pieces fell together. Groaning from the stinging pain of the gunshot wounds in his arms and sides, Alex started sitting up in the medical bed which caused everyone to rush over and try to keep him down.

“You've been badly injured, Alex! Please, lay down!” The second voice again, this time Alex was able to wipe the blood from his eyes to see the second in command, P'tuure, squeezing with all her might to try and keep him on the bed which amounted to a very weak grip to the human.

Alex pushed P'tuure's arm away, reached into the top pockets of his ripped and bloodstained cargo pants, and produced a small silver oval remote with a singular blue button in the center. He pressed the button, power surged through the ship and the whole thing jerked violently as a massive transport beam dumped over a hundred tons of pure Zanthani crystals into the cargo hold.

“What in the hell was-?!” The second voice, Captain D'tarr, spluttered out as the ship corrected its flight trajectory and the gravity generator recovered. “You're sure? The entire cargo hold? … Atta-Lure's light how...?” D'tarr grinned from ear to pointed ear as Alex wiped off his brow and gave the Captain a thumbs up. “Get him patched up and fed, and Alex?” he paused, shook his head and just tipped the edge of his hat to the human before leaving, “Good work out there, Titan.”

Alex smiled and closed his eyes, finally laying back down to allow P'tuure and the medics to tend his wounds. As he lay there, feeling the skin-healing foams applied to the superficial sites and the dull, deep ache of forceps entering his abdominal cavity to remove the bullet lodged near his hip, his mind wandered over to what exactly his life had come to.

He lived on a colonial ship, a Fourth Generation Spaceborne Human, or a Titan as his crew called him, and was one of the handful of his species that shared a home aboard the RLS Mul'toralow with a people called the Yorn. They were a wide-spread race with two major factions; The Royal Fleet which consisted of mostly exploration or Colonial ships destined to seed new worlds, and the Marauders. The Marauders stemmed from the first contact with humans, their original leader used Humans sheer durability and raw power as an example that without struggle the Yorn species would be too weak to survive. A lot of humans joined them, the call to adventure and deep space far too appealing, while a smaller yet arguably far better trained group joined with the Royal Fleet.

Small, three four and a half foot tall fur-covered creatures that looked like a cross between insects and felines. They had two pairs of ears that sat on either side of their head one above the other, two massive, oval eyes with a false eyelids, and multiple spines always in even pairs behind their ears. Their mouths were very thin, unless talking it almost looked as if their small nose was the only opening on their face, and a little scaled tail swished behind them, mostly for balance, that could glow with a colour matching their fur, and would change if the Yorn was experiencing a strong mood.

Most shocking of all, when space travel began to take off, was that humans discovered just how strong our mother Earth made us. We thought our forms were inefficient, always looking for ways to improve and enhance our natural limits, when the average lifeforms in space was something far, far less capable. Life elsewhere typically required very precise conditions, it was rare and only a handful of species had emerged into the cosmos, all peaceful for the most part due to the shared frailty of life.

Humans changed everything. Weapons that would outright kill a Yorn or Gab-rab-rou only caused minor damage to a Human, extreme weather or toxicity for the average species was a mild irritant for humans diverse and powerful biology. They were like demi-gods that had been growing stronger every day on their home world, and now they among the stars; drastically tipping the scales of power.

What the average species lacked in sheer physical capability they more than made up for in cooperation and connectivity, surging to space-age technology because there was nothing holding their societies back like conflicting religions. With a life span of roughly twenty human years, a human that lived sometimes five times that was unbelievable.

Alex smiled, eyes still closed, as he felt a small four-fingered hand slip into his palm. He squeezed very gently, the flesh of a Yorn was very soft and pliable, the species were hyper intelligent but very weak. “You don't have to worry,” he finally spoke as he cracked open an eye, catching P'tuure with those big eyes locked onto his wounds, startling her for a moment.

She scoffed, swore in her native tongue and proceeded to rain little whaps against his arm in frustration.

“Stupid Titan! You're not immortal, you let that damn title go to your head!” she exclaimed, sniffing hard as she fought back tears. “You and the other four are all we have to protect us... we need you,” she choked out, finally ceasing the assault on his bandaged arm.

He didn't speak, he knew she was right but the ship needed those crystals to power literally everything on the ship. Without it, they would be adrift in a matter of weeks with no way of signalling for help and they were at least another five years away from their destination with 20 years of travel already behind them. He just sighed, he knew he'd do it again in a heartbeat even in his current state.

P'tuure sniffled once more, moved the food tray closer so Alex could reach it and pat the top of his hand twice. “Eat, when you can, okay?” she asked, to which Alex nodded and smiled. She turned to leave, she still had crew to check on and a lot of damage evaluation to go through, so she had to leave him with the medical crews capable hands.

She looked over her shoulder, one hand on the door while she looked back at the bloodied human, a small smile cracked her expression as she watched him start to tear in to his food. With a nod she tapped the door to get his attention and called back: “Rest well, my Titan Atlas.”

Alex just raised one closed fist up, grinning as only humans could while the door closed behind P'tuure.

(Again I whipped this up in about fifteen minuets so I’m sorry if I screwed up on grammar or spelling. Now if you’ll excuse me I need to go convince myself to not add yet another story to my already massive list of things I want to write!)

#humans are space orcs #possibly a series?#idfk I just needed to write this thing out and share it

17 notes · View notes

storytime-hoe · 5 years ago

Text

Tough Love Ch.1

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x O/C

Summary: Story picks up during season three as the group goes into Woodbury to rescue Glenn and Maggie from the Governor. However, they pick up another prisoner of Woodbury, Emma (O/C). She is a thief who fears friendships after her hard losses. She stays on the move, studying communities from afar and then robbing them blind. She has stayed alive this way for a while until the Governor catches her in the act. Now she finds herself with the group from the prison in a mission to kill the Governor for what he has done to her. She plans on stealing supplies from the prison group after the Governor is killed, but she might be growing a little too close to the groups members, especially one man in particular: Daryl Dixon.

Warnings: Slow burn, language, usual twd violence, mentions of abuse/rape

Authors Note: This is my very first fan fiction so please don't be too mean about it. I'm trying… sort of. I am a little rusty so sorry if this sucks. But like this chapter is a slow start but it will get better I promise. Leave some feed back because I would like to improve my writings. Thank you for reading!

I never thought I would reach a breaking point. I always had something to fuel me, to keep me going. Even when my mom died I got through it because I just knew that I had to. Back then it didn't matter how much pain I was in or how tired I was or how depressed I felt, I kept going fucking no matter what. There was a purpose to keep going back then though, someone I was responsible for: my little brother. I would've done anything for him. But when the time for him to go did come, all I did was nothing.

Once my brother was gone I felt a curtain of darkness consume me. For a while I teetered on the line between giving up and seeing how much I could take. But the second I laid eyes on the Governor I think I tumbled head over heels towards giving up.

I held out against the abuse I was put through in Woodbury for as long as I could. I spent weeks shivering in the small shit room he kept me in. The damn Governor used to come in everyday. I became trained to hear his heavy footsteps entering my room. The moment he came in I could anticipate what he intended to do with me that day. Sometimes he just got his anger out on me through beatings. Other times he liked to grope me or make me take off my clothes, letting himself run his slimy hands over every fucking part of me. The day he did more than just run his hands over me was the day I felt myself become drained of my worth. I felt like I was nothing.

I prayed for the end. I wanted more than anything to be taken away from under the control of the Governor, no matter how my freedom would come about. He had broken me, as much as I hate to admit it. But, I had been through hell and hell changes you. It changes who you are and who you would've been. I would never be the girl I once was. I was torn apart from the inside out. I didn't trust anyone anymore; he made me the cold hearted bitch I am today.

I felt like a pitiful animal, huddled up in the empty room, holding onto myself as if that could protect me. My body shook and muscles spasmed from time to time. Blood was starting to crust over and dry onto my lip from my nose. However, the last beating I had taken was not from the Governor. He had ordered his henchman, Merle, to try and get information about that fucking prison from me. The thing was, I didn't have any.

The Governor always suspected that I knew more than I let on. I was a damn snake, that was for sure, and I knew everything about Woodbury before they even knew about me. It made sense that he would assume I know about his rivals at the prison too, but I hadn't gotten to them yet. Woodbury had enough valuable things for me to take at the time.

That's what I do. I stop by communities that people have built up and I scope out everything about them. I learn the ins and outs; I memorize everything about the place from the faces of the people to the sewage systems underground to the amount of provisions they have. When I find an opportunity, I strike. I come in secretly and take what I need to survive. However, I never take more than I need or too much so that they won't pull through from the loss. I pat myself on the back for that. It's nice of me to be thinking of others. It made me feel like I wasn't a total asshole.

I went on thousands of looting missions and had never been caught before, or if I had I was always able to slip away or talk myself out of any real trouble. I was sly as a fox back then. But the day I hit Woodbury, the precious Governor was supposed to be out. I had everything planned perfectly. He was to go out at sunrise with his men to inspect the pits they kept of Walkers. He had a schedule to keep to and he always did, but not that day.

I should've accounted for his whore. I never should've let it slip up. But he stayed in with her passed time to go on his run. He was still in Woodbury and I had no idea. When he found me in the pantry I was too in shock. I tried to shake the bewilderment that he was there. He looked pissed, but he locked away his angry demeanor and quickly talked to me like I was a wild horse that he was trying to tame. The thing is that I was too stubborn to be tamed.

I attacked him with the only weapon I had, a small knife. He knocked it from me after I put up a hell of a fight. I was proud that his nose was gushing blood by the time he had me restrained. His buddies came in after hearing our ruckus and I was knocked out cold. I must've been captive in Woodbury for weeks. I barely had anything to eat anymore. My muscles, which were at one time toned and impressive, were weakening.

The Governor hadn't come to me in a few days. Merle would come in and give me a small tray of molded food, but that was it. He used to stay and talk with me sometimes, just to get some stuff off of his chest. He would talk about his little brother and how they got separated a while back. I felt bad for him at first, but when he came in one day and told me how his brother was seen in the area, I ridiculed him endlessly for being too big of a coward to go after him. Merle liked his happy little life in Woodbury; he had it all here. So when I called him out for his bullshit he got mad and eventually our little chats came to an end. I wasn't surprised, slightly disappointed, but not surprised. I could almost be content with life when Merle would sit around with me and talk about how much his life has sucked. Even if I did hate his guts, anything was better than being stuck alone with my own thoughts to haunt me.

I held the thin shirt I had to me. My pants and shoes had holes worn into them. My hair was so tatted and dirty that I probably looked like a wild animal at a glance. I hadn't cleaned off in a month probably, maybe more.

I was sniffling in the corner, waiting for it all to end, when I heard the gunshots. They were close. Too close. There had to be a fight in Woodbury. My mind immediately thought of the group at the prison that the Governor was so desperate to get information about. They were here, attacking. Everything in me hoped they would put an end to the Governor, but another part of me hoped they didn't. I wanted to kill him for myself.

Multiple shouts echoed outside of my door followed by a spray of gunshots. I flinched before ducking my head down between my legs and hunkering with my hands over my head for protection as dust and pieces of the cheap room I was in rained down on me.

I thought about calling out to them, thinking they might help me, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I couldn't trust them, even if these people were against the Governor, they might come in and treat me worse than he has. I couldn't risk facing another person like the Governor, or someone who might be worse. I hated myself for being afraid and I hated the Governor for making me think this way now. He made me an untrustworthy monster and I hated the power he had over me, how he had snuffed out any fire in me, how he had caged my soul and thrown away the key.

Just then the door of my room was kicked open with a terrifying force. My heart hammered in my chest. I shook in the corner, staring at the ground and not at whoever was entering, afraid of what I might see. I heard the movement and clicks of their weapons. I knew what was probably going to happen, I just wanted it to happen already. I was ready to go. I couldn't fight anymore. I was done and ready to join those I left behind. I was ready to join my family again.

"Another one of his hostages." The gruff voice was full of disappointment and had a long southern drawl to it.

I still refused to look at the people who were in front of me, but I could feel that there were only two of them present. The figures inspected be from behind their weapons.

"Where's Maggie and Glenn?"

"Do you know where they keep any other prisoners?"

I didn't answer. I didn't know the answers. Just shoot me. Please shoot me.

One of them grabbed my shoulders roughly, attempting to shake me from my vacant state. I looked up into his face for the first time. He wasn't like the Governor, I could tell instantly. He didn't fake anything like the Governor does. He wore no mask of who he really was. He wasn't a bad person, though his actions would say otherwise. He wanted answers; he was eager to find his people. His soft eyes pleaded with me almost, as if they could will the answers from me.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out, only strangled sounds of my dry throat. I shook my head to get the message across that I had no idea where his friends were.

A look of grief and anger washed over him. He released my arms and stormed away, back towards the other man in the room.

"We jus' gonna leave 'er?" The other man asked, his crossbow still pointed at me cautiously.

The first guy stopped in the doorway and ran a hand over his curled hair, thinking about what my fate should be. "Bring her. She might know a few things about this place. Anything can help."

My stomach lurched at the command. They only wanted me for information just like the Governor did and I was willing to bet they would take the same actions against me to get it. I was being used one after the other. I would've cried if I had any tears left in me.

The guy with the crossbow looked at me through his scope. Shoot me.

His fingers twitched around the trigger that would release the arrow into my skull. Kill me.

He lowered the weapon slightly and looked at me with an understanding. I felt the pull of his gaze like a magnet. I couldn't stop myself from looking him in the face. His squinted blue eyes bore into me as I silently pleaded for him to save me from this shit-show. I didn't want to walk out of Woodbury, I wanted to be put out of my misery right here and now. He could tell what I was asking for. I was miserable and he knew that. That's why my heart broke when he grumbled for me to get up.

My brain screamed to sit still. But my legs found the strength to work and I was following him out of the door in seconds. I wanted to sit in my room, refuse to go, then maybe he would've killed me, but I was not risking staying around to chat with the Governor in the aftermath. I had to choose what I thought was the lesser of two evils.

The stranger with the crossbow led me out into the smoke and chaos that now filled the hall. The first man I spoke to was running for the exit with an injured guy hanging from his shoulder. A young girl followed quickly behind them. Looks like they found their friends, Glenn and Maggie.

I followed after them into the streets, having no other choice. We rushed inside a building where Glenn was dropped to the ground. Each breath he took looked to put him in pain. He didn't have a shirt on, and he held his arm cradled against him. Not to mention the blood that covered injuries on his swollen and badly bruised face. I knew who did this to him without a second thought, and Glenn confirmed it too.

"Daryl," he breathed out in pain as his little girlfriend Maggie wrapped a shirt onto him. "This was Merle."

The guy with the crossbow–Daryl–looked at him in almost disbelief.

"He threw a Walker at me. He was going to execute us," Glenn continued, his face a scrunched up picture of agony.

"My brother's the Governor?" Daryl growled out and took a few aggressive steps closer, visibly hungry for more information.

My eyes widened at the statement. Brother. This was Merle's brother that he had talked so much about? Are you fucking kidding me? I almost couldn't believe it. The thought actually almost made me laugh. Merle was a douchebag through and through, but this guy didn't seem too bad at all. Sure he gave off the usual strong headed vibe like Merle, but he wasn't the creep that checked out every pair of tits that passed him. And when he first looked at me in that room, I felt a sense of calmness. The only thing I felt towards Merle was disgust, and occasionally a bitter hatred.

"He's not the Governor," I offered, my voice a croaking mess from not being used in so long, and they all turned to me, making me shift uncomfortably. It was the first time I had spoken in days and I barely recognized my own voice as I did. "Merle's his right hand man. The Governor's an even worse piece of shit then him, believe it or not."

Daryl seemed torn as he paced around, his mind whirling with mixed thoughts and emotions. "Does he know I'm with this group still?"

"He does now," Maggie said, the venom dripping from her words. Looks like she hated Merle almost as much as I did.

"Rick, we told him where the prison was. We couldn't hold out." Glenn's face twisted with pain again.

"Don't be sorry," Rick said and got up to glance out the windows, his eyes flicking around wildly, surveying the area. "Can you walk?"

Glenn nodded as he was helped to his feet by Maggie.

Daryl swallowed hard and stepped towards the door, ready to take off into the streets again. "If Merle is 'ere I need to see 'em." The eagerness in his voice was unmistakable. My heart lurched out for him. I knew that if the brothers' positions were switched, Merle would be sprinting out of here without a second thought for Daryl.

Rick put a hand on the door to stop Daryl from leaving without thinking clearly. "We need to get out. We are in hostile territory."

"Maybe I can talk to 'em. Work somethin' out."

I shook my head. There was no way Merle loved Daryl like he claimed to if he stayed back in Woodbury all this time knowing his brother was a few miles out in the prison. I felt obligated to tell Daryl that, to help him out and make him realize that Merle was not who he wanted him to be. Daryl was the first person to look at me like I wasn't scum on the bottom of their shoes. When he found me, his gaze might've been filled with sympathy for me, but now our positions were switched. My heart broke at the sight of him distraught over his brother, someone he loved so much, when Merle would never feel the same.

Good thing was that I didn't have to be the one to talk him out of it. Rick did the job for me. "You're not thinking straight. They are hurt and we need to get them back. If we run into Walkers or if the Governor catches up to us? I need you. Are you with me?"

It was strange how much Rick looked to care about Daryl. He was the kind of brother that Daryl deserved, not Merle. I hoped he could see that. I don't know why I cared so much about people I didn't know. Maybe I was feeling that my own brother could have, or should have, found someone better than me? If my brother found someone like Rick to take care of him maybe he would still be alive.

Daryl gnawed on his bottom lip with hesitation. I could see him debating in his mind what his next move would be. He glanced at the floor and back up at Rick. I stood behind Rick's shoulder silently. When his eyes flicked over to mine it was almost as if he were reading my mind again. It was a mistake to go after Merle right now and we all knew that. I was relieved to hear him mumble an agreement to Rick as he looked back down at the ground.

Rick nodded back at him and turned to me sharply, pressing a bowie knife in my hand with a cold look of warning to stay in line. I stared back at him blankly, not letting him read my emotions. Daryl tossed out a smoke bomb and the streets of Woodbury became a sight of chaos and gunfire in the matter of seconds.

People were dropping dead from gunshots that looked to have come out of nowhere. The rush of being out in a fight and danger again coursed through my veins. With each breath I felt a part of me returning; it gave me hope. I felt almost okay again. Maybe the Governor hadn't shattered me completely.

Despite how weak my muscles felt from the amount of time I sat dormant in a cell, I was overtaken with an urge to get revenge. My skin flushed with the anger I felt towards the Governor and, even though I didn't know everyone in Woodbury, I hated them all too. Walkers were flashing across my sight of vision in the clear patches in the smoke. I stood still and watched it all happening around me, drinking in the screams of the falling.

A Walker spotted me from within the smoke and he was slowly coming for me. My sweating fingertips felt around the handle of my knife. Part of me wanted to let the Walker eat me, but I was too stubborn to go down this easy anymore. I refused to be taken down by a Walker. I stared it in the face, daring it to come closer. It did, inching towards me and snapping its teeth in my direction.

It was close enough for me to reach out and touch it when its head exploded all over me. I didn't even flinch as the blood and rotting insides of the creature coated the front of me and the blood ran down my face from my hair. My eyes focused on who was behind the Walker that had killed it. I was shocked to see Rick, who had been so harsh to me earlier, had gone out of his way to save me, not that I needed saving. He held out a colt python in which were his means of killing the Walker. He had a crazed look in his eyes. His head tilted ever so slightly and I found myself looking away from him and for Daryl to save me from his mad friend. However, the archer was nowhere to be seen in the midst of chaos.

"Rick!" Glenn yelled from on top of a truck just before he jumped down to the other side of the wall.

Rick turned his attention away from me for only a second so he could respond to them. Soon enough he was glower at me again. The look he gave me told me this was not someone I wanted to mess with. His crazed eyes were message enough that he would do anything to protect the ones he loved. I understood that. There was a time when I had the same look and feelings as he did. That was a long time ago, back when I still had people to care for and vice versa.

"We have to go. You're coming with us."

Everything about him made me want to run, but I found myself nodding at him. He said before he would need me if I could tell him all I knew about Woodbury. If I could help take Woodbury down I would, even if it meant working with a fucking maniac.

61 notes · View notes

imagine-loki · 5 years ago

Text

Wedded Bliss

TITLE: Wedded Bliss CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 40 AUTHOR: MaliceManaged ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Odin determined to find Loki a wife in a misguided, though somewhat well-intentioned attempt to ‘mellow him’. … RATING: T _____________________

Loki ended up having to magick the glitter off himself and Edith, else they never would have gotten rid of it in time for the party that evening, there was so much of it. When the cake was mostly gone and more than a few jokes were made about Loki’s age that got Tony quite a few slaps to the shoulder from Pepper; Natasha and Pepper whisked Edith away to get themselves dressed for the party while Tony took charge of the guys. Edith had, as she usually did, worked with a seamstress early in the month to design her dress and even had some input for Natasha and Pepper’s, so they had the dresses brought up to the penthouse for a final fitting along with some champagne.

“You guys seemed a bit closer,” Pepper commented as the seamstress made a few tiny adjustments to the back of her royal blue dress, “I take it he liked your present?”

“He did,” Edith grinned then bit her bottom lip, “We may have shared ‘I love you’s…”

“Oh, my god, that’s great!”

“Yeah. Thanks so much, you guys, for helping me with that; hiding it until then by myself would have been impossible.”

“Well, what are friends for if not hiding things from your boyfriend?” Natasha joked, winking and taking a sip from her glass, earning laughs from the other women.

“I’ll drink to that,” Edith replied with a sip of her own. She eyed Pepper up and down as she struck a pose once the seamstress was done, “Oh, niiiice! Sexy!”

Pepper laughed. “Why, thank you! I really like this colour, and your taste is impeccable as always.”

Edith basked in the praise happily before waving at Natasha to stand up. “Come on, you next, Nat!”

Natasha rolled her eyes but nonetheless stood and walked over behind the screen set up in the room to change, coming out a bit later in a sleeveless dress of a grey so deep it was almost black, though it shimmered red as she moved. “Well, it looks like you finally did it,” she commented amusedly as she stepped onto a low platform so the seamstress could shorten the hem a bit and looked at herself in the mirror, “You finally got me into something shiny.”

“I told you I’d do it,” Edith replied smugly.

“How in the world did you keep that little detail a secret?” Pepper asked, more than a little impressed.

“Bribes, Pepper. Bribes.”

“Ah, of course; a time-honoured tradition.”

Edith’s dress was a dark red halter top that fitted her closely to the lower waist then flared out into a sea of crimson and yellow skirts cut in such a way as to look as though it were fire, and Pepper gasped as she walked out from behind the screen. “And here I thought your prom dress was perfect,” she managed, “You look so beautiful.”

“You’re going to give that boyfriend of yours a heart attack,” Natasha commented, twirling her finger to prompt her to turn.

“Stooop,” Edith laughed, blushing, giving a little twirl that caused the skirts to fan out around her, “You guys are going to make me cry.”

With the fittings done the seamstress left, thanking them for both their patronage and being her most delightful regulars, then between the three of them they did their hair and makeup, with Edith doing most of the latter since no one would contest that she was the best at it. Once that and their accessorising was finished they took the elevator down to the parking level, where Happy waited by a limo to drive them to the venue Tony had booked for the party. They chatted idly along the way, then Pepper and Edith posed for the photographers that had predictably amassed outside the building; Natasha had mysteriously vanished, though they ran into her again as soon as they were done.

Inside was full of guests, though Tony was hard to miss, standing on a stage greeting everyone in his usual fashion of telling everyone to have fun and get very drunk. Steve was close to the doors, going over to greet them and telling them where he’d last seen the others; Pepper went over to get Tony off the stage before he said something regrettable, Natasha went looking for Bruce, figuring he might not be too happy by himself in a crowd, and Edith sought out Loki, wanting to see if Tony had managed to convince him to wear a suit as opposed to his own asgardian formalwear.

He saw her first, coming down from the second floor where he’d been looking over the balcony at the rest of the crowd, though when she spotted him she couldn’t help but to let out a laugh; Tony had indeed managed to get a suit on him, though she should have guessed Loki would never agree unless it involved a long coat. She met him at the bottom of the stairs, giving him her hand to kiss with a soft giggle before leaning up to kiss him, her heels making that significantly easier than usual.

She took one end of the scarf he was wearing and hummed. “You know, I figured you’d go back for this.”

“What can I say? It called to me,” he replied, earning a laugh. He looked her up and down, “You look… would ‘radiant’ be too on the nose?” Edith snorted before laughing out loud, getting a few amused stares. “I am going to hazard a guess that you had a hand in creating this dress?”

“Eh, maybe a little bit,” Edith replied, lifting a hand and holding her thumb and pointer finger about an inch apart, causing him to laugh softly. “You look criminally good in a suit, it must be said.”

“I am glad you approve,” he replied, practically preening at the compliment, then offered his arm, “Shall we find something to eat? As delicious as that cake was, it was entirely too long ago.”

“Too true,” she agreed, taking his arm.

As the night wore on they ate, drank, danced and mingled; Edith and Clint poked fun at Loki for the fans he seemed to have amassed at some point that he seemed more bemused than anything at and Steve had to intervene with a very drunk guest that attempted to get hands-y with Natasha before she murdered the man, but otherwise there were no incidents of note.

It wasn’t until about twenty minutes to midnight that that changed; Edith had been talking to Pepper and the CEO of a corporation aiming to do business with Stark Industries when there was a scream quickly followed by a gunshot and then more screams, and she whipped her head in their direction to see two masked gunmen carrying more SHIELD tech coming in, with more covering the other doors. They began shouting at the quickly panicking guests to get down on the floor, and Edith bent to grab a pair of knives from the thigh holsters she was wearing before urging Pepper and the businessman to find cover.

Slipping her heels off, Edith crept as stealthily as she could towards the nearest gunman before coming up behind him and jabbing one of her knives into the gap between the vest he was wearing and his underarm, causing him to cry out in pain and alerting the rest of them to her presence. As they turned to her, though, several darts rained down on the nearest from Clint up on the second floor balcony.

Natasha came up behind another gunman, jamming her ‘bracelets’ – which were actually her Widow’s Bite – into his neck and knocking him out, while Steve grabbed a serving tray and threw it at another, knocking the gun out of his hand, before moving to tackle another. Loki threw a shield up over the crowd as another gunman tried firing on them, swiftly closing on him and disarming him before knocking him out with an elbow to the face; he looked over to where he’d last seen Bruce, but the man had wisely removed himself from the situation as soon as the first shot had been fired, instead helping herd people towards the back of the building away from the potential crossfire.

Tony had, of course, brought one of his suits, and though he couldn’t risk firing his repulsors with the civilians there he could still fight the gunmen hand to hand. His main priority was to distract them until the guests were out of the way, coordinating with Loki, who was using illusions to disorient the enemy further. With their combined efforts the gunmen were subdued, and Natasha was calling in SHIELD when they heard a sharp gasp; looking over, one last enemy had grabbed hold of Pepper and was holding a gun to her head.

“One move, and she dies!” he threatened, only to cry out in pain as she drove her heel into his foot. Not a second later, Clint threw a small throwing knife he’d gotten from Loki earlier, hitting the gunman right between the eyes.

“You okay, Pep?” Tony asked as he shed his Iron Man suit and went over to her.

“Fine,” she replied, straightening her dress out with only a hint of a tremor, “Impeccable aim as always, Clint, thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

“This all of them?” Edith asked nobody in particular.

“Looks like.”

“Bruce? Where’s Bruce?”

“Here,” Bruce replied as he walked back over, “I’m good. The guests are shaken, but I don’t think anyone’s hurt.”

“Good work,” Steve said, patting his arm as he passed him.

Once SHIELD took away the gunmen and the guests were seen to, the team returned to the tower and cracked open a couple bottles of champagne, determined to celebrate regardless of interruptions.

“To an uninterrupted New Year’s,” Edith toasted, “It’s gotta happen sometime.”

“Wait; this happens every year?” Bruce asked incredulously as the rest cheered.

“Pretty much; apparently the bad guys think we’ll be too busy partying to be prepared for attacks?”

“Huh.”

“I want to know how they keep getting SHIELD weapons,” Steve commented.

“No,” Tony said firmly, interrupting the beginning of Natasha’s reply, “That’s morning problems; right now we’re celebrating.”

Steve conceded, raising his hands in surrender, and Natasha rolled her eyes but let the matter drop.

#Loki #Lover #God of Mischief #Others #Submitted fic #submission #malicemanaged #wedded bliss #chapter 40

49 notes · View notes

lexinthelibraryofdreams · 6 years ago

Text

Recovering From An Injury

Imagine: Recovering from a wound/injury/near death experience

Pairing: John Wick x Reader

Words: 1738

A/N: Was supposed to be week two, day seven of the Leather and Lace + You Keep Me Warm Romance Event. But then life joined the chat and I got sick, so... that’s cool, I guess. Also, I really appreciate all the new followers, just be warned that this is more my posting “schedule”. I tried to post once a week but that went well, so I stopped. Sorry to disappoint :’D If anyone wants to request a character, feel free to do so :)

Warnings: none, I believe. If you want me to add anything, feel free to tell me :)

You sat on your couch, browsing through Netflix, when you heard a noise coming from the back door. The rain tapped against your windows, so you didn’t bother with looking at first, crediting the sound to the weather outside. At least until it sounded again. Now you were getting suspicious. There were hardly any raccoons or foxes in the area you lived, so you got up, taking a knife out of the block on the kitchen counter. Slowly, you approached the back door of your apartment, years of instincts kicking in instantly. Reaching for the doorknob, you gripped the knife tighter, ready to instantly attack whoever is behind that door. You tear it open and stumble back in surprise when a very familiar person almost collapsed inside. He clutches his side and barely holds onto the wall to keep himself upright.

“John?” you asked, still unsure if you saw it correctly. He forced himself to look up at you and you realized that you had to act quickly. As carefully as possible, you put his arm around your shoulder to support some of his weight and help him inside. It took everything for you not to crumble under his dead weight, your leg burning in angry protest. Only now you saw the pit bull that sat behind him and you whistled lightly, allowing it inside. Once you crossed the threshold, you kicked the door shut and heaved him into the living room, where you both almost collapsed on the couch.

Quickly you started to organize yourself, turning the light on and the TV off and helping him adjust his position in the piece of furniture. “I’ll get my first aid kid. Stay down,” you ordered, hurrying into the bathroom to retrieve it. It was better stocked than regular ones, one of the few things left of your old life. You also got some towels and a washcloth, leaving it on the coffee table to get a bowl of warm water. Then, you helped him roll over to place the towels underneath him and removed his jacket and dress shirt. You didn’t know where to start. There were more bruises and scratches than you could count, a barely healed gunshot wound on his abdomen and some rather fresh stab wounds, one located dangerously between two lower ribs.

Without a word you got to work, cleaning the deeper wounds before you stitched them up and trying to disinfect as many as possible. He barely moved, exhaustion radiating from his body. There were only some occasional grunts and hisses of pain. Once you were done, you peeled of your gloves and threw the pliers and needle on the coffee table. “Get some sleep. You’ll be safe here. We’ll talk tomorrow,” you said while squeezing his hand. You got him a blanket before you grabbed your car keys and drove to your local supermarket. It fortunately was open late, so you quickly got in, getting some groceries and dog food.

On your drive back to your apartment, you thought about the two of you. You had started out around the same time, quickly becoming friends and someday even more. The contact got lost when you left but you had no other choice. After a devastating accident, you weren’t physically capable to resume your old life and retired. Back then, it broke your heart to leave him but he had made his decision, picking his life over you and you had understood to some degree. Still, it had been almost twenty years since you last saw him and there had to be a very good reason behind him trying to break into your house.

Once you got back, you fed the dog and folded a blanket as a makeshift bed for him before retreating to your bedroom.

When you came into the living room the next morning, he was still out cold, or at least good at pretending to be. The dog perked up, wagging his tail and you petted him before settling to make breakfast.

A groan caught your attention and you turned to find John trying to stand up. “You know, when I said you should rest, I meant it. You look like you haven’t properly slept in weeks and your body needs a break,” you said and he looked at you. You quickly gathered tray and brought it over. “At least stay seated,” you added and set it on the coffee table. “I think with your condition you should start with some light food. I made you tea and something to eat. Let’s hope you can keep it down because you sure as hell don’t look like you do.”

“Why are you helping me?” he asked suddenly and you blinked at him. “Well, you kinda tried to break into my house and collapsed onto me yesterday. It’s not like I could’ve left you there.” He shrugged and immediately regretted it, judging from his face. “Most would have. Or would have finished it.”

You watched him for a moment, the grabbed your own cup of tea from the tray. “Well, why don’t you tell me what happened over breakfast.”

Excommunicated. They had excommunicated John freaking Wick, the bloody boogeyman. “I’m sure they’re in for a treat once you’re back on your feet again,” you said dryly. “At least I assume you don’t intend on hiding for the rest of your life?” He shook his head, looking into his cup. “No, not really. I don’t really know what I’ll do, if I’m honest. I haven’t thought this far.” You nodded thoughtfully, tracing the rim of you cup with your index finger. “You know, you can stay as long as you need. No pressure or anything, just tell me what you need and I’ll get it.”

He looked at you with an unreadable expression, then nodded. “Oh, by your way, does your dog have a name?” you asked and scratched him behind the ears. “No,” he gave back and you had to smile. That sounded like John. “Fair enough,” you said before you gathered everything and brought it back into the kitchen.

He moved from the couch into your guest bedroom after that. You continued to walk and train the dog to occupy yourself if you weren’t at work. One evening you sat alone at the dinner table, shoving your food across the plate while scrolling through your phone. Footsteps caught your attention but didn’t alert you. By now, you already recognized his walking pattern. “Want some leftovers?” you asked, forcing in a piece and only now looking up at him. He only nodded and you gestured over towards the fridge. “Feel free to take whatever you want.”

He joined you at the table shortly after and started to eat in silence for a moment, before pausing and looking at you. “Are you alright? You look... lost in thought.” You huffed out a breath and put your fork down. “Yeah, because I’ve been thinking.” He gave you a look that you knew all too well, even after all those years. “C’mon, John, don’t look at me like that. Am I not allowed to think?”

He only shook his head and you almost missed the hint of a smile on his face. A rare occasion. “Of course you are allowed to think, I’m just curious about what.” You sighed and ate another bite before answering. “You. Me. Back then. I mean, we both changed. A lot. But still, some part of me wonders how things would look now if I hadn’t left,” you said and shrugged. He looked at you for a moment, then down onto his plate. “I got married,” he suddenly said, startling you slightly. “I left to be with her. Or at least I tried. When she died... everything came crashing down on me.” There was guilt in his voice and you reached forward to put your hand on his. He was clenching around the fork but his fingers started to relax when you squeezed them softly.

Of course you had to admit that it hurt a little, knowing you hadn’t been worth leaving but someone else had been but again, a lot had changed in these past years. “I’m sure it’s not your fault. It will get better with time, I promise.” Even if you had never really loved someone else, you had lost your fair share of close friends. “I mean, you will still miss her but it will hurt less and you can allow yourself to smile at the memories. Just don’t give yourself up.”

He watched your face for a moment then gave you a tight nod before you let go of his hand again.

You watched the fireworks through the big glass windows in your living room, the dog curled up beside you. He wasn’t happy with the sounds but you seemed to give him enough safety to stay as calm as possible. Slowly, you ran your fingers across his neck when John joined you, sitting down on the ground next to you, leaving the dog between you.

He had been with you for some time now, fully healed and back to full strength but hadn’t made any move to leave. You didn’t want to force him out either, you enjoyed his company. It was easier to talk to him than to talk to your colleagues at work, since he knew you in ways they would never find out about. “I remember the first New Years in the Continental,” he said and you chuckled. The two of you had snuck onto the roof to watch the fireworks, almost like teenagers but you still didn’t regret that. You hummed, also remembering your first kiss on said evening. Still, after that one conversation some time back, you hadn’t really talked about relationships and love anymore. You wanted to give him time to heal, not only physically, so you waited until he would open up on that part. If he ever would.

You stayed in silence for a few moments more, before you saw him shuffle from the corner of your eye, then you felt his hand slip into yours. Now words were spoken, no looks exchanged but you knew him well enough to see the meaning behind it. When he allowed you to, you intertwined your fingers and smiled up at the sky.

It wasn’t much but for now, it was more than enough.

#romancemonth #john wick imagine #john wick x reader #john wick

160 notes · View notes