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lightofthemoonglow · 1 year ago

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chapter six - with the dark, tenderness.

Summary: : Things start to heat up, but with that, comes things that are annoying. For now.

This is the sixth chapter of ‘Howl: The Director’s Cut’, a fic about how the massacre turns a pair of roommates into a pair of feral idiots in an intensely intimate and kinda kinky relationship.

series masterlist

This chapter contains some scalpel play, vague mentions of past racism, mentions of trauma and surgical procedures

With one last huff, Herbert collapses on top of Jess, allowing a few moments of what he considered weakness. His body is limp against hers, his face tucked in the crook of her neck. He can smell her, that now familiar scent of sweat and Old Spice. Harsh breaths wash over her skin as he releases the iron grip on her hips, but he stays where he is. One of her hands idly comes up and strokes his hair.

Rather than pull away, Herbert lets her. The two of them rarely have these moments. Or at least they try to. It’s a gamble whether or not the tenderness will be accepted, it’s just how things are. Which is fine, neither of them are looking for anything more. And yet, when it’s accepted, both of them choose to quietly savor it.

After a while, Herbert gets up to clean himself with the wipes in Jess’ dresser and get dressed. His clothes are all over the floor, his tie is nowhere to be seen. The sheets are mussed, half pooling onto the floor. The scent in the room is heady, it stinks of sex, their scents mingling in the air, but especially near her bed. Jess sits up, grabbing a can of air freshener to remove the smell of them. It’s a precaution, just in case they’re at the risk of being found out.

“Alright?” she asks when she sees him standing in the middle of the room, clad in only his trousers. Scratches, gouges, future bruises are littered all over him and she can’t help but feel a faint glimmer of pride. He will have to cover them up and maybe he will be uncomfortable. He won’t be able to sit without thinking about her and he won’t tell a soul. It’s just the way she likes it.

“Of course I am,” Herbert sharply replies as he pulls on his undershirt, looking at her over his shoulder. “Don’t-.”

“Whatever you’re thinking, that is not it,” Jess retorts, sitting up fully and inspecting her own damage. Some finger marks on her hips and faint claw marks on her thighs, but those will fade, the former might not even bruise. “Just wanted to say that if you want me to hold back, I can.” She knows that she can, or else school and work would have even more complications.

“There is no need to treat me like one of your gentlemen callers. I’m not some inept milquetoast that you picked up somewhere. We’re not sweethearts.” He practically spits out the last word and Jess rolls her eyes.

They had discussed the rules, the limits of what they did together. Things were a lot more clear than they would seem on the surface. He knew what she liked. She knew what he liked. They had vaguely discussed fantasies and if the time came to explore his desire to run a blade along her body or hers to tie him up, they would make those into reality.

“Trust me, I know that. You’re barely my friend, much less my boyfriend.”

And yet, when their eyes meet, the two of them are reminded of how they are undoubtedly bonded, had been since that night. The night when they had seen each other at your lowest points, unable to turn to anyone else. They had seen each other battered, bruised, covered in blood, barely able to stand, but somehow making it out of there alive. They had seen each other naked, vulnerable, needing help when they hadn’t before. She had asked him to stay, to get into her bed and he had broken down in her arms, almost as if in return.

“I’m glad we’re in agreement,” Herbert says stiffly, buttoning up his shirt before turning away.

But he still lingers in the doorway, watching Jess get out of bed on shaky legs, quietly looking through her things while pretending to not want to look at him.

The subject of residency applications comes up on a Tuesday. The three roommates are at a cafeteria table with some of their classmates and the subject had gradually shifted to what they all knew to be inevitable. They would have to start sending out applications very soon. Interviews would start in a few months.

“Where are you applying, Danny?” someone asks and the man in question pauses before he answers, trying to figure out a way to answer.

“Here, actually. My advisor says I have a good shot. It’s practically a lock. And maybe to Johns Hopkins and George Washington University, if I’m feeling daring.” Dan flashes that charming smile, trying to play it off as trying not to humble brag. His eyes flick over to Jess’ and she offers a half smile in response, trying to reassure him it was going to be alright. Part of their bargain with the university was guaranteed spots in their residency program. It was one of the best in the entire country. It would be foolish to pass it up.

And yet, Jess had been looking into other options, even before their return. She knew that it would be easy to take the spot she had here. It wasn’t like it would be meaningless. After all, getting into Miskatonic on merit-based scholarships meant something. It wasn’t like this was some second-rate state school in the boondocks. Jess was very proud of having been able to get in, even after everything.

“What about you, Jess? You going to stick with Cain?”

“Maybe. I…” she trails off, not wanting to speak of it out loud. But it was already partially out there and she might as well go for it at this point. “Actually, I might apply to Seattle Grace’s program. My advisor invited me to dinner with the residency program director on Thursday. And if it goes well, I could have a decent shot at getting in.”

At the far end of the table, having been in his own little world until Jess had dropped the bomb, Herbert frowns.

The idea makes his stomach twist, and he just stares at the top of the table, lost in thought. And he tries to put it out of his mind, he really does.

But Jess brings it up while they’re catching up on charts, because despite his best efforts, she can see right through him.

“You’re not pissed that you didn’t get invited, are you?” she asks once they’re alone in the room, just the two of them pouring over files, pens in hand.

“I am not a fan of Seattle’s weather, so no.”

“Then why have you been acting weird? It’s not like it was everyone but you. It’s only me and a few others, I’m not even sure who is going to show up.”

“I have not been acting weird. But I am curious as to why you didn’t tell me about it.”

“Because it’s not a big deal. And I didn’t know I had to run my career aspirations by you.” Jess is on the defensive; she can feel heat prickling at her cheeks, and she grips her pen a little tighter than she needs to. Those are some of the early signs, she knows them well at this point. She’s familiar with having to defend even the smallest things about herself.

Being invited to the dinner had been a big deal, bigger than it had been. Jess just stares at Herbert and she wants to tell him. She wants to crack her chest open and admit how she’s needed to fight tooth and nail for everything that got her here. She’s always needed to be better, because the world would dismiss her otherwise. And even her best hasn’t been good enough sometimes because people would just look at her and dismiss her before she could speak.

Just because she’s been dealing with her for her entire life, that doesn’t mean she has to just take it.

“This is a big opportunity, West,” she finds herself saying. “Even though I don’t really want to move to Seattle, I should at least try. I don’t expect you to understand-“

Herbert cuts her off, unable to stop himself. “I understand, Woods. You think that I’m jealous that I wasn’t invited even though I am at the top of the class.”

“Shut up. This isn’t about you. That’s not what I was trying to say.” Jess glares at him and for a moment he’s more terrified of her than he’s ever been of anyone else because he thinks she’s going to say it. That she knows he doesn’t want her to leave.

But instead of getting angry, Jess becomes somber, at least for her. “I was once asked why I was in the library while I was in undergrad. Because girls that look like me apparently aren’t supposed to be doctors. Or in libraries.” She just looks at him and he knows what she means. Because he can read her almost as well as she can read him. “And I know that getting this opportunity is just as much luck as it is earned. So spare me whatever you have to say. Just…don’t say anything if you’re going to be petty.”

She refuses to back down from this. If need be, this is the hill she will die on. And if he brings it back up again, she will disembowel him with her bare hands. She probably could and he knows it.

“I am sure you will do fine. You’re leagues above most of our peers. Did you think I would have fixed the hands of someone who didn’t deserve it?”

The words just tumble out of his mouth, and she stares at him as if he’s grown an extra head. A part of him wants the words to work, to make her reconsider the idea of leaving. He would take dealing with her vulnerability over his own. It's somewhat more terrifying but he would rather handle it than face what a part of him wants him to stare directly into the eyes of.

But instead, there’s just a quiet ‘thank you’ and later that night, her hands linger when she’s passing him the dishes to dry as they stand over the kitchen sink together.

iii

After the dinner, some of the other students had gathered with their peers that had not been invited and had headed to the bar. And like she had many times before; Jess went home instead. It had been a long night of awkward smiling, conversation and just so much trying that it had made her head hurt. She couldn’t do another several hours of masking, it was too much. At least the dinner had gone well and that was a good thing. Even though she didn’t want to move to Seattle. It was about being the best, it was about winning.

Oddly enough, the only person who would understand her was sitting in the kitchen when she got home, sipping tea. The bag is still in the mug. It’s one of her mugs, a random souvenir she had picked up on a trip to New Orleans a few years ago. His grip on the handle tightens as his eyes fall on her. Jess is still in her dinner clothes, which she had dug out of a box shoved in the very back of her closet. A black skirt and blazer with a white blouse, high stockings and low heels. The sort of clothes she saved for those crucial occasions. She’s even wearing makeup to try and cover up the scars, her hair in a tight braid and her lips are painted red.

“It went well. I could actually get in.”

The words hang in the air. Herbert just stares at Jess as she turns around and heads upstairs. The impulse seizes him, and he follows her, unable to stop himself.

When he finds her, Jess is seated on the edge of the tub, about to take off one of her shoes, the other is on the floor already. The sight of Herbert makes her stop and stare at him, an eyebrow slightly cocked

Won’t you come in?

And he does.

This is far from the first time Herbert has undressed her. Removing Jess' clothing is an act almost as familiar as removing his own, but it’s different this time. He’s used to fumbling with the buttons of her pants before he pulls them down her thighs. They’re always loose fitting, she hates anything tight around her thighs. The skirt she’s wearing has a zipper, but it hugs her body, so he needs to tug it off her. In his frenzy to get her stockings off, he tears one, but neither of them notices.

A hand closes around her left calf, he can feel the muscle, the fat, and a part of him wistfully thinks he can feel the bone. Herbert’s lips find themselves brushing against her skin, right below the knee. They stay there for a few moments, his eyes flicking upwards to meet Jess’. Her gaze is dark, her lips are parted. Herbert finds himself unsettled by the near perfect smoothness of her face, the makeup hiding the scars almost entirely. She shifts her head, and the movement reveals the texture of the scars that are still raised, bringing an odd sense of relief that he does not want to analyze.

Steady fingers undo every button of her blouse and Herbert even pushes it off her shoulders. Jess removes her bra herself, going to the medicine cabinet as Herbert undresses.

She’s wiping off the makeup with a baby wipe as Herbert undresses when she finally speaks. “I have been thinking about what we discussed last week. And I would like to carry that out after we shower.” Showering together was a ritual for them at this point, even months after both of them had recovered. Now that they were back in the States, it was rare. The two of them had no real excuse to be in there together and Dan was usually around, two things that made it impossible. But right now, it doesn’t matter that Herbert showered when he got home from class or that Dan could come home at any minute.

Right now, what matters is that the water is perfectly warm and that she’s right in front of him, wet and pressing her chest against his. That his fingers are massaging conditioner into her scalp, that she’s running a bar of soap over his chest.

Herbert doesn’t know how to feel about the satisfaction that comes with the thought of Jess being with him instead of anywhere else she could have gone tonight.

–

It had been about letting go. Of finally being free from whatever had been holding her down since that night. Jess is sure that her housemates know about her dreams because when she wakes up from them, she’s screaming, thrashing, gasping for air and trying to fight something that isn’t there. She needs to find some way to have control while letting go, but that would require someone that not only is willing to fulfill her needs, but also someone who just understands what she went through that night. Someone she can trust to hold the net during her freefall.

Enter Herbert, of course. Because who else would it be?

Maybe she should analyze this a little deeper, this need for the man that she should blame for what had happened to her. If he hadn’t decided to play God with Hill’s corpse, that night would have gone differently. Sometimes, she runs her tongue along the scar that cuts through her mouth, feeling that new texture of her lips and imagines it going the way she had wanted. The two of them cutting up the body (it’s easier to think of Hill as the body, it helps her feel better about the whole thing) into pieces small enough to fit into plastic bags. They would have scattered most of him, let him be eaten by animals in several different forests, maybe dissolved the head and hands in lye. There would have been nothing left. Meg would still be alive. They never would have gone to war. All that had been needed for that to be their present was for Herbert to leave the body alone.

But she can’t hate him for it, no matter how much she tries. Hill had been the one who decided to create a little army and they had been why things had ended the way they did.

“Are you alright?” His question breaks through her inner monologue, distracting Jess from deeper thoughts.

“I thought we didn’t ask that question.” Her tone is light, the opposite of the noise in her head that only shuts up when she sees the instrument tray on the nightstand. Herbert keeps his nightstand very neat, usually there’s only his glasses case and an alarm clock that seems pointless because of the hours he keeps.

“I needed to be sure before we began.” Herbert’s voice is as blank as ever, his gaze clinical as he looks down at her. She’s naked, legs spread wide enough that he can settle between them. Her arms are unbound, she’s not ready for that yet. And it’s a fun element to add to their game, her trying to keep her limbs still.

Jess thinks about the purpose of what they’re doing as the blade draws closer. She needs to replace the memories. Out with the bad, in with the new. The blade presses against her flesh and she whimpers, everything in her tensing. “Keep going,” she whispers, her words almost slurring together and she can feel her body relaxing just as he presses the blade on the underside of her breast, mere inches from the scarred flesh.

“You’re doing so well.” The praise is whispered and she feels warmth in her chest despite her desire to not take this personally. Despite herself, she reaches for him, grabbing his free hand just as a voice breaks through their peaceful silence.

“You guys home?” Dan calls out, which makes them recoil from each other. Jess pulls up the blanket and Herbert flees to the other end of the room just before Dan stumbles into the room. “Oh good. You guys are up.” He joins them on the bed, not noticing that something was happening.

“You alright, Dan?” Jess asks, trying to make conversation that would also get him the hell out of the room as fast as possible.

“Yeah, just thinking about stuff.” Dan ambles over and sits on the end of the bed. “Come sit with us, champ.” That statement is directed at Herbert, who is still standing right next to the bed, frozen. “There’s some stuff we gotta talk about.” Dan smells like booze, which explains why it is suddenly time for a family chat. And why he doesn’t seem to notice his roommates are up to something. Herbert makes a face and walks over, sitting as far from Jess as possible.

“What kind of stuff?” Herbert looks like he wants to murder someone, and Dan is oblivious.

“Just stuff. You guys…” Dan’s words make both of them freeze and stare at each other, certain that he’s figured it out. “I worry about you two. It’s not good that you’re always here, all alone. Both of you should be out there, meeting people. Making connections.”

“I doubt that the connections you want us to make are-.” Herbert is cut off by Jess purposefully coughing and kicking him in the back.

“What I think he’s trying to say is that we’re doing okay here. And hey, we’re not alone. We’ve got each other. He’s always home, so it’s not like I’m rattling around this creepy old house all by myself” Not exactly what he means, but Jess just wants him to go. It is not the time for a deep talk about whether or not humans had an innate need for connection.

“That’s not what I mean, old sport,” Dan sighs. Jess furrows her brow at the nickname but chooses to let that one go. “It’s about being lonely, not being alone. I just want you guys to be happy. And it doesn’t even have to be together. Which I kind of thought was going to happen.”

“And why would you think that?” Herbert asks.

Dan looks at him like Herbert is an idiot. “The two of you sleeping in the same bed. Showering together. You’re always looking at each other when the other one isn’t looking.”

Before he can continue pulling out more damning evidence, Jess cuts him off. “Okay, okay. But getting back to your original point, we’re fine. Really.”

“If you say so.” Dan lets out another dramatic huff. He wobbles as he stands and Herbert takes it as a chance to leave, grabbing the taller man’s arm to guide him out of the room, leaving Jess alone in his bed.

They don’t have sex or anything else that night.

The ER is chaotic, as per usual. But there’s something different in the air, there’s an edge to the franticness that Herbert hasn’t noticed before. He’s just clocked out and he’s been looking for the other two, trying to see if either of them can give him a ride home, since Dan had given him a ride to school.

Instead, he finds a group of his peers, and some others clustered near one end of the ER, watching something that he can’t quite see. Curious, Herbert pushes his way to the front of the small crowd and someone sees him, informing him what’s going on mere seconds before he realizes it.

“Your girlfriend is going to drill a Burr hole by herself.” Lambert makes it sound scandalous and Herbert can’t even bother to say anything denying that Jess is anything more than a roommate and valued associate to him.

“Where is the attending? Or a resident?”

“Jessie said they told her to just do it.” A familiar voice rings out from behind him and Herbert looks down to see a mass of red curls. Jess’ friend, Amber, is right behind him and he wonders why she’s even here. This is not her domain, and he sees her enough at the house. As time has passed, the people that had once invaded his former residence in the name of friendship have started to trickle back in. Jess’ little group is smaller than before, but they are every bit as irritating.

Herbert can only watch as Jess prepares the patient, her face a mask of concentration. Her lips move, but he can’t hear her. A curl escapes from her braid, trailing down her back as she moves, reassuring the patient one last time before the drill goes in.

The sound consumes his hearing and she consumes his sight. Herbert is enraptured by the sight of her drilling into the patient’s skull. A mere med student is preforming a procedure that no one else will have the chance to do for over a year. Herbert blocks out the rest of the world, eyes darkening as the procedure is executed flawlessly.

All he can think is how magnificent Jess is. How she moves so fluidly, her hands are steady as she completes the procedure. Herbert’s hands are the ones that are shaking by the end, which is when the resident in charge finally comes into the room and takes over, as if they had done it themselves. Jess’s scrubs are splattered with various fluids, she looks exhausted but triumphant and she’s the most…

Herbert needs to close his lab coat tightly, to hide his mild excitement over the sight.

Meanwhile, Amber just smirks, filing away the reaction for later. Jess has insisted it’s platonic, whatever is going on with the two of them, but Herbert looking like a love struck idiot just now is all the proof she needs to confirm that on his end, it’s far from that.

#herbert west x oc #my writing

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mysecretlittlelibrary · 2 years ago

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To Love Who Wears The Crown Pt. 2

Pairing: Modern Royals: King!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none

Genre: Fluff

Summary: You meet the king of Andia by chance when he hosts a ball and he's immediately taken with you, enough to invite you to spend your summer at the palace with him while he formally courts you. Although he's everything you could dream of from the moment you arrive, nothing is ever straightforward in the world of powerful people. Who would have thought that when you tripped over his feet at a dance you'd eventually have to find out what it means to love a king.

***

"Hey, are you out of those pretzel things I had last week?" Monica asks going through your pantry.

"You know, you're here so often Monica maybe you should just buy your own snacks for my pantry at this point." You joke as you sweep your kitchen.

"Okay but I like your snacks." She says. Before you can respond to her a loud knock surprises you so much that you almost drop your broom. "Are you expecting someone?" She frowns.

"No, but I wasn't expecting you either." You joke as you make your way to your front door and open it to see men in uniforms on the other side.

"Oh- hello gentlemen. Can I help you with something?" Your eyebrows knit together as you look at them. A woman walks between them dressed sharply in all black.

"Sorry to bother you miss, I'm Miss Romanova, we're here looking for a Y/n Y/l/n." The woman says. Monica joins you by the door with a curious look on her face.

"Can I ask what for?" You frown.

"The King has invited her to stay at the palace."

"Why?" You blink incredulously.

"It appears you made quite the impression on the king at the ball." She muses.

"Wait what?! How did you make an impression on the king?!" Monica looks at you.

"They met at the ball." The woman says.

"You met the king?! How did I miss that?" Monica gasps.

"I tripped over the king's foot and then he asked me to dance." You elaborate quietly.

"You danced with the king and didn't think to tell me?!"

"You were excited to talk about what you did at the party and I was too tired to give you a play-by-play that I know you'd ask for."

"And what about between then and now?! That was like a week ago!" Monica places her hands on her hips and you sigh.

"I forgot about it." You shrug.

"I cannot believe you!"

"Monica- time and place." You shake your head.

"No time like the present, I mean truthfully you should've told me before now but-"

"Girl- I mean arguing with me about this. Something tells me that with palace guards at my front door it is not the time, not the place." You grit out.

"Oh- yeah."

"Anyway! Miss. Romanova, the king is inviting me to the palace?"

"He'd like to court you, yes."

"How long would I be there?"

"Well- it's hard to say." She says.

"Hard to say?" You frown.

"I mean, you're free to leave whenever you'd like should either of you decide not to move forward with a relationship but I'm sure he ideally plans to marry you in which case you'd most likely move into the palace permanently."

"Marry me?!"

"One day. That obviously wouldn't happen in the immediate future but ultimately it'd be the end goal I think." She nods.

"I assume I'd be expected to leave like- right away?"

"You would, yes."

"Alright. Give me some time to pack." You say.

"Of course." She nods again.

"Would you like to come in?" You ask.

"We'll wait out here." One of the guards says.

"Alright. Monica, come with me please." You say. Monica follows you into your room.

"Oh my gosh, you're going to stay in the palace!" She squeals as you grab one of your suitcases and a trunk you keep under your bed.

"This is unreal." You shake your head.

"So what was the king like? Since you've apparently been holding out on me I deserve some information before you go."

"He was- more charming than I expected. He's very strong too, and a good dancer."

"You're literally about to start living a fairytale."

"Monica let's not get our hopes up. We'll do the courting thing and if it goes well, it goes well." You tell her. "What do I even pack?"

"Pack like you would for a vacation! You don't live that far you can always pick up more clothes. Or go shopping." Monica says. You pull a few weeks' worth of clothes out of your closet and pack them away along with other personal items you'd like to have with you. "You'll call me won't you?" Monica asks.

"Of course, and I'm sure you can visit me. Once I figure out how all this works I'll let you know." You tell her, closing your suitcase. You walk back out to the front where Miss Romanova waits with the guards.

"All set?" She asks you.

"Yes, I just need some help grabbing a trunk of mine from the bedroom." You say. She nods at the guards who follow you to your room and grab the trunk. You pull your suitcase in tow and allow them to load your things into the car they came in.

"Have fun! I can't wait to hear all about it." Monica winks at you.

"I'll be in touch. Look after my garden please." You tell her giving her a hug.

"Of course." She says with a smile. You lock your front door and follow Miss Romanova to the car. Your ride to the palace is silent as you watch somewhat anxiously as the vehicle drives further into the city. When you arrive at the palace, your things are unloaded by servants before you're even out of the car.

"They're taking your things to where you'll be staying." Miss Romanova says to you as you walk with her.

"Oh- should I follow them then?" You frown, your pace is much slower than the servants and you'll lose them if you continue walking at the speed she is.

"No worries, you'll be shown your room. They're supposed to take your things there before you get there." She shrugs.

"Oh okay." You muse and she chuckles.

"Y/n!" You hear once you're inside the palace. Your head snaps towards the voice to see the king striding towards you.

"Hello your majesty." Miss Romanova says with a nod.

"Hello Nat, thank you so much." He says to her before turning to you. "Y/n, it's a pleasure to see you again." He grabs your hand and leans down to kiss the back of it.

"It's- a surprise to see you again, your majesty." You say with a small smile.

"I'll walk you to your room, and you can tell me why." He gestures for you to walk with him.

"Well, I tripped over you and then we danced for a few minutes. To be invited to the palace a week later, I wouldn't have expected it." You chuckle.

"Was it too forward? To invite you here? I'm not very familiar with the norms of courting if I'm honest. Being king- you don't get much normalcy. I just thought it would be easier for us if you were closer."

"The norms of courting." You muse.

"Yes, Nat did tell you that's why you're here didn't she?"

"Nat- that's Miss Romanova?"

"Yeah, her name's Natasha."

"She told me why I'm here- it's just, this is a bit surreal I'll be honest. To be courted by the king." You muse. James laughs at that.

"Yes well, even kings hope to find love." He shrugs.

"Of course." You nod.

"This is you. I'll let you settle in, will you join me for dinner tonight? You don't have to of course, but I'd really like you to if you're up to it." He asks.

"Sure. I'll join you." You say.

"Perfect, I'll have someone fetch you when dinner is ready." James nods and turns back down the hall you came down. You push open the large doors to your room and sigh when you walk into it.

"Hello!" A cheery voice makes you gasp.

"Hi- this is my room, right?" You frown in confusion at the girl who is smiling at you.

"Yes!"

"Alright, in that case, not to be rude but, what are you doing in here?"

"My name is Izzy and I'm your personal staff." She offers.

"Personal- staff?"

"The king doesn't like to use the word servants, he thinks it's degrading and archaic and outdated since historically servants weren't always there voluntarily. We all applied to work here and we're paid well, it's a job like most others so- he changed the job title to personal staff." Izzy explains.

"Oh- okay."

"I'm here to help you with any and everything while you're staying here. Think of me as like a personal assistant."

"I didn't realize I'd- need one of those." You frown.

"You're a personal guest of the king. Of course, you would."

"Alright, well I was just going to unpack- what does one wear to have dinner with the king? Is a t-shirt and jeans too casual?" You ask glancing down at your clothes.

"It's not a formal event. You should be fine wearing that. Tomorrow, I'd like to take your measurements though."

"What for?"

"So that we can make you gowns and things in case you need an outfit for anything the king invites you to."

"You're going to make me clothes?"

"Well I'll mostly be doing the designing and other staff will help me with the sewing part."

"That's- so fascinating and not at all necessary you know."

"I'm sure you don't feel like it's necessary but I assure you, it'll only be to your benefit."

"Alright, you work here, I'll take your word for it." You chuckle.

"Great, any questions?" She asks.

"Not that I can think of at the moment, if you'd like to go, for now, you can. I'm just going to unpack until someone collects me for dinner." You shrug.

"Would you like help?"

"No thanks, I got it." You smile.

"Then- I'll check in a little later." She says, slipping out of your room. You play some music from your phone and open your suitcase to unpack. You hum to yourself as you put away your clothes and find places for the few trinkets and photos you brought, mostly on the vanity. Eventually, a knock on your door makes you stop the music before going to open it.

"Hello Lady y/n. I've come to escort you to dinner." A man, who you assume is a guard says once you open the door.

"Oh- hi. Well lead the way then." You smile. He nods and you follow him down several hallways until you end up at a large dining room.

"Y/n, thank you for joining me." James stands and pulls out a chair for you on one side of his.

"Of course your highness." You sit down and allow him to push your seat in before he sits at the head of the table.

"Are you settling in alright?" He asks as food is brought out.

"I am. I did some unpacking. Oh I met Izzy, she seems nice."

"Oh good, I wasn't sure who you'd get on well with since I still have much to learn about you." He scratches the back of his neck.

"I can't imagine anyone who works here would be hard to get along with." You say, carefully putting a forkful of food into your mouth.

"You would think- but I've had guests that don't get along with my employees." James muses.

"I'm sure that's not easy." You mutter.

"Not particularly. How's your food?"

"It's good, thank you for asking." You smile.

"Do you have any allergies or anything I should tell the kitchen about for the future?"

"No." You shake your head.

"Alright. I'd like to go riding with you tomorrow if you're interested and up for it." He tells you.

"Okay." You nod.

"Is that a yes?"

"Oh, do I have a choice in the matter?"

"What? Of course you do. You always have a choice. They did tell you my invitation was declinable right? I made it clear to them that you were only to come here of your own volition. I don't want you to feel obligated to do anything." A deep frown of concern scrunches his brows.

"They made it clear that I was allowed to decline your invite, your majesty. It's just that- I'm not sure what is and isn't considered out of line as far as accepting or declining your invitations while I'm here. You are the king after all." You explain.

"Only in official settings."

"What?"

"I'm not sure entirely how possible it is for you to separate King James the reigning monarch from James Barnes the man hoping to sweep you off your feet but- well I don't want you to see any of my invites as mandatory. I understand there's an inherent power imbalance between us but I want you to know that you are always permitted to say no to anything I suggest, I won't hold it against you or try to force you into anything. Try your best to treat me as you would any other suitor."

"Really?"

"Of course, where's the fun of falling in love if you only spend time with me out of obligation? When you agree to do things with me I want it to be because you want to be around me as much as I want to be around you."

"Do they teach you how to be this charming before you become king or is this just a trait of James Barnes?" You chuckle.

"A little of both." He winks at you and you turn your attention to your plate to hide your reaction.

"Well- you're very good at it." You say quietly. Your dinner with him continues that way. He's charming and curious and you try to reciprocate the energy. When you're finished eating he walks you back to your room, inviting you to breakfast in the morning. Overall you'd call it a lovely introductory day to what will probably be an interesting summer.

***

Part 2/???

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky #marvel #marvel fanfiction #To Love Who Wears The Crown #bucky barnes

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ravagedarkness · 2 years ago

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Spider-Man: Home Rebuilt, Chapter 24: Punch

With everyone gathered, I made my way to the front of the crowd before I kneeled down and readied my camera. MJ stood to my right. I didn’t know where the others were, but I figured they were in the crowd somewhere. There were also cameramen and reporters from other local news organizations. I figured that The Daily Bugle was going to use some of their footage.

After a few minutes, Martin Li stepped up to the podium. He was sharply dressed, wearing a black formal suit and dress shoes that I just knew cost more than my rent. His hair was neatly combed and trimmed, and he was clean shaven.

I read up on Martin Li a long time ago when Aunt May started volunteering for F.E.A.S.T. I liked the guy a lot. The man emigrated from China with his parents decades ago and ended up living in foster care after he lost his parents in an explosion. He went back to China at the age of 18 and became a billionaire from the shipping industry. He came back to New York and started F.E.A.S.T., with this very building being the first F.E.A.S.T. shelter. And honestly, how can you not respect that? Then again, I always held a bit of respect for those with power and influence that use said power and influence to help make the world a better place.

So, I smiled as I started to take pictures. Before he started, he looked straight into my lens and gave me a small yet friendly smile. He then looked out towards the crowd and spoke.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “For those who may not know me, I’m Martin Li, founder and head of Food, Emergency, Aid, Shelter & Training – or FEAST, if you will. For about twenty years, FEAST has been providing for the less fortunate, not only by giving the needed assistance, but also with job training so they can get back on their feet. The old saying goes ‘If you give a person a fish, they’ll eat for a day, but if you teach a person how to fish, they’ll eat for a lifetime’. While I do believe in that saying, I believe in feeding that person fish until they properly learn how to fish for themselves.” He was about to continue, but he was interrupted by a round of applause. He allowed himself to smile briefly as he waited for the applause to die down. Once it did, he continued. “While I have put my own money towards this mission, we at FEAST have been blessed with the generosity of many people from across the economic spectrum, from those with in the working class to the likes of multibillion dollar corporations such as Stark Industries.

“And this Gala – which, I’ll admit, has been put on rather short notice, which I deeply apologize for – is happening because we’re celebrating another corporation supporting us.”

It was at this point my senses went off. And they went off hard. The buzzing in my head was almost like a siren. The chill up my spine made me want to shiver. Frantically, I started to look around. I tried look for any sign of danger, but I couldn’t find one. I tried to ignore the feeling, but I couldn’t.

“Said organization has reached out to us rather recently and pledged their monetary support. As a matter of fact, two of their own are here tonight. So, without further ado, I’d like to welcome Justin Hammer and Scorpion on behalf of our new corporate sponsor, Hammer Industries!”

Most of everyone around me applauded. I looked up at MJ, who looked down at me. Both of us had a look of worry on our faces. We then looked back at the podium as Justin Hammer emerged from the backdoor. A few seconds later, Scorpion walked in, carefully ducking down through the doorway. I clutched my camera, just barely remembering not to break it with my own hands.

Internally, I was trying my very best not to go nuts. It was already bad enough that both Justin Hammer and Scorpion were within feet of me. But them being here in this particular place made my blood boil. I then remembered I had a job to do. So, I took a deep breath and started taking pictures.

Martin took a moment to shake hands with both Justin and Scorpion before he walked away, leaving the floor for Justin. After that, Justin stepped up to the podium and spoke.

“Good evening, everyone,” he said with a smile. “I know I’m usually one for long speeches, but with the food and drinks about to be served, I’ll keep it as short as I can.” He chuckled a bit before he continued, and that alone made me want dropkick him in the chest. “Ever since I was reinstated as head of Hammer Industries, I’ve been on a path of redemption.” He beckoned towards Scorpion, who stood a bit behind him with his arms crossed. “Scorpion is a part of that path of redemption as we work to rid New York of rampant vigilantism and encourage those who want to be heroes to do so as properly licensed operatives of the U.S. Government for the sake of oversight and accountability. But while that is extremely important, I also understand that there are other ways to help the people of New York – a way that Mr. Li has shown me.

“So, from this point forward, Hammer Industries will be sponsoring FEAST. Not only will we be providing financial support for FEAST, Scorpion here will be a part of many FEAST functions to come.” At this part, Justin sighed dejectedly. At that moment, I knew he was going to say something that was going to make me want to gnash my teeth. “I understand that, before, it was Spider-Man who would often appear during these kinds of functions. As I said before, I don’t doubt his heart and his intentions. But FEAST needs an actual hero – one who is legitimately law abiding. So know that whenever you see Scorpion, you’ll see a friend and supporter of FEAST. Thank you.”

Once that speech was over with, most of everyone in the crowd gave a round of applause. I internally went over my shot list. Realizing I had everything, I stood up and turned towards MJ.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said. I didn’t want to be here anymore. At that moment, I’d much rather be at a house party hosted by Flash, with him getting everyone there to call me Penis Parker.

Michelle nodded. “Cool, we’ll just get the others and…” she trailed off as she looked over to her right. My senses went off again. I turned my head to the left, seeing Justin Hammer walk up to us with Scorpion in tow.

“I’m happy to see that my friends at The Daily Bugle sent someone to take pictures,” he said with a smile. He then stuck his hand out towards me. “You already know this, but, I’m Justin Hammer.”

Putting on my best fake smile, I took his hand and gave it a shake, reminding myself not to rip his arm off and beat him unconscious with it. “I’m Peter Parker,” I replied. “And this is my girlfriend Michelle.”

“An honor,” MJ added with that “I’m trying very hard to hold back my disgust” tone of hers.

Justin nodded. “Quite the grip you got there, son. I like that.” I nodded as I let go of his hand. “So, how long have you been working for Jonah?”

“Just a few weeks.” My stomach churned. I didn’t want to be around this guy. I didn’t want to be around Scorpion. Speaking of Scorpion, I took a glance at him, doing everything I can not to drop everything and fight him right there and then. I knew it would be stupid for me to do so – people would get hurt, my identity as Spider-Man would be exposed, and it’d be the Beck situation all over again. But I really want the two of them out of here. Them being in the same place that Aunt May devoted a lot of energy to just felt wrong… offensive, even. “Quite the guy you have here.” I looked back at Justin. Justin looked back at Scorpion and nodded approvingly.

“Isn’t he?” Justin agreed with a tone befitting of a father proud of their child, which made me want to punch him in the throat. He looked back at me. “Much like myself, he’s on a road to redemption. So partnering up was only natural for us, I’d say.” He then made a tsk sound as he shook his head. “It’s such a shame that Spider-Man and his new friends are making it so hard for themselves. Though, I’m sure there is still a chance that things can be resolved peacefully.”

“Hopefully… for your sake,” MJ quipped, once again using that signature tone of hers. During this, she slipped her hand into mines, and thank God she did, because the more I was around Justin and Scorpion, the more I wanted to toss the former through a window and slam the latter into the ground. Fortunately, Justin didn’t seem to understand the meaning behind her tone as he nodded.

“Indeed. Well, it’s great chatting with you two.” He looked at me. “Say hi to Jonah for me. He and I will have to do lunch soon.” With that, he walked away with Scorpion in tow. With him gone, I was able to take a deep breath and center myself. It was during this time that the others walked up to me.

“…I don’t want to be here anymore,” I said.

“Yeah, neither do I,” Craig replied. He took one last glance towards Scorpion before he looked back at us. “Let’s get out of here before I heat up and do something stupid.”

So, we left.

We walked out and piled into Craig’s vehicle – a black Toyota Highlander Hybrid. MJ and I took the back row. I was quiet and had my head bowed. Come to think of it, everyone was quiet as the SUV drove off. Not even the car radio was on. Maybe it was for the best. But the silence wasn’t going to last too long as Ned spoke up.

“So… are we going to talk about tonight?” he asked.

“Ned, I don’t think anyone wants to talk about tonight,” MJ replied. I balled my fists against my lap. My knuckles cracked. From my peripheral, I saw MJ look at me.

“Well maybe we should,” Craig suggested. “Because I don’t think he’s supporting F.E.A.S.T. out of the goodness of his heart.”

“Of course he isn’t,” Kitty replied. “There’s an ulterior motive to this.”

“That much is obvious,” Betty chimed in. “But what is his reason? I understand that F.E.A.S.T. is not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, but… why is Hammer Industries supporting that organization all of sudden? What’s the reason?”

“…To punch us,” I said slowly. I raised my head and looked forward. “To punch the X-Men.”

Ned looked over his shoulder at me. “Wait, what?”

“He’s playing chess with us, Ned,” Kitty explained. “Just last night, we just saved a whole bunch of people from a burning building. That got us a lot of goodwill. We’re the super team looking out for the little guys now. So now, Hammer slides in and not only financially supports F.E.A.S.T., but pretty much installs Scorpion to be their Superhuman Face like Spider-Man was.”

“Is there anything we can do about that?” Betty asked. “Like, honestly, we should do our own thing for F.E.A.S.T. and…”

“No,” I said a bit more loudly than I wanted to. Almost everyone turned to look at me. Craig was the lone exception, being the responsible driver that he was. But I was pretty sure I had his attention. “We’re not using F.E.A.S.T. as a battleground or a chess piece. It wouldn’t be right.” I sighed. “It wouldn’t be what Aunt May would want.”

And that was the most frustrating thing about it. Ulterior motives aside, F.E.A.S.T. could definitely use the financial backing, and I knew Aunt May wouldn’t speak up against it, even if she would have found Hammer to be very shady. Also, using F.E.A.S.T. as a chess piece in our conflict with Scorpion and Justin Hammer was wrong. And even if we had no scruples about doing so, going down that route had potential to backfire and make us look worse in the public eye and destroy any goodwill we built up recently.

“Looks like we’re taking an L on this one,” Craig grunted out. I could feel the disdain radiating from him.

“Yup,” Kitty agreed, sounding just as depressed.

The car ride went quiet again. I wished someone would say something because I was now in my head, thinking about how we took a loss. I gritted my teeth and balled my fists up even more because, quite frankly…

“…I really want to smash something,” I stated. Honestly, breaking something really sounded good. MJ leaned over and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. I turned towards her and placed my hand on top of her hers. I was about to thank her when Ned turned in his seat and smirked as he looked back and forth between MJ and I.

“Well… you know… MJ is right there… and her parents are out until tomorrow afternoon, so, if you want to smash…”

It took me a full five seconds to realize what he was jokingly saying. Then my face became extremely hot. Betty looked at Ned with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. Kitty was looking back from the front passenger seat, mouthing a “Wow”. Craig stayed silent, but his shoulders were quivering as he held back a laugh. Ned laughed out loud, looking extremely pleased with himself.

He wasn’t going to be laughing for long.

MJ took a deep breath as she closed her eyes. She then opened them and looked towards Craig. The look on her face was enough to make me lean away from her.

“Craig,” MJ said.

“Yes, MJ?” Craig responded.

“Pull over for me please.”

Ned stopped laughing as his eyes went wide. “Wait!” Craig pulled off to the side of the street and put the SUV in park. “I was just kidding!” As soon as the car stopped, MJ unbuckled her seatbelt. “Betty, help!” Betty quickly opened her door and stepped out. There was no helping him. In one quick motion, MJ leaned forward and into her right, reached for a handle and pulled before she pushed the back of Betty’s former seat, folding it. Ned looked at me. “Peter! Please, help me!”

“No, I like my life,” I said.

Wisely, Ned unbuckled his seatbelt and tried to get out. But it was too late. At this point, MJ dove onto Ned and started wailing on his shoulder. The rest of us looked on laughing as Ned screamed out for help. Kitty recorded the whole thing on her phone. After a good thirty seconds, I decided Ned had enough. So, I pulled MJ off of him. She tried to break out of my grasp, but she couldn’t. So, when I sat her down on her seat, she glared at me. I smiled sheepishly at her.

“Ned had enough,” I said. I then looked towards Ned, who was still favoring his shoulder as Betty readjusted her seat back into its original position before she stepped back into the SUV.

“So, Ned, was that worth it?” Betty asked.

Ned smirked. “Maybe.” MJ leaned forward as she raised her eyebrows as if she wanted to know if Ned wanted another round. Ned’s smile faded as he quickly shook his head. “No, no it wasn’t.”

Betty gave Ned a glare. “Sweetie, perhaps we shouldn’t goad the person that even the strongest person in the vehicle is afraid of.”

“And don’t you forget it,” MJ said with a devious smile.

I laughed. It was funny to me because it was quite true. I then looked at Ned. “…Thanks Ned,” I said sincerely. “I really needed that.” I really did. For better or for worse, I missed the shenanigans between MJ, Ned, and I. It was our thing.

“You owe me a Coke,” Ned grumbled halfheartedly.

I chuckled and nodded. “I got you.”

“You can square that up tonight,” Craig chimed in. “I don’t know what your curfew is like, but right now, I’m starving, and I’m craving Haitian food. Y’all with it?”

“As long as they more than just griot as a meat option on the menu,” Kitty stated as she nodded. I tilted my head.

“What’s wrong with griot?” I asked, not knowing what it was.

“Nothing, really – I just can’t have pork.”

“Oh… right.”

“I can eat,” MJ said.

“I don’t think I really had anything decent since lunch, come to think of it,” Betty mused.

“I’m starving myself,” Ned added.

“I guess we’re eating,” I stated as we nodded.

At that, Craig chuckled. “Yeah, we are. We rollin’!”

As Craig continued to drive, MJ pulled out her phone from her satchel and started to type away at it. I didn’t think anything of it until I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw I got a text from MJ. I glanced at her curiously before I opened up the text and read it.

“You’re sleeping in my room tonight. This isn’t up for debate.”

My mouth went ajar and my face went flush. Before I could do anything else, MJ leaned against me and rested her head on my shoulder. She glanced up at me and shot me a look, almost as if she was daring me to say something. I smiled and wrapped my arm around her. She rolled her eyes, but smiled back.

Maybe this week won’t turn out too bad.

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fairyoftbz · 3 years ago

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a rewritten faith | l. juyeon

🪕 pairing: bartender! reader x cow-boy! juyeon 🪕 word count: 4k 🪕 genre: western! au, 1920s!au kinda?, angst to fluff 🪕 tw: mentions of violence, guns, fights, close death experience, deceased father, false accusations, swear words, the reader has some trauma 🪕 synopsis: you are the owner of the local saloon and something usual will happen, but it will take an unexpected turn. 🪕 a/n: i had this idea while watching a western film with my dad and i hope it's not gonna be too bad... 🪕 requested: no

╰☆☆☆☆╮

Your head turned to look at the entrance as the swing doors of the saloon burst open, two sergeants dragging another man inside, his face and body littered in bruises and cuts. He winced in pain as they shoved him against the counter not far from you, both giving him a hard slap at the back of the skull. With an attentive eye, you kept on polishing your whiskey glass with your used piece of cloth, watching everybody’s attention drawn towards the three men.

“You bloody bastard! Did you really think that you would get away with that? Raising your voice at Sir Landfield and seducing his daughter to use her for your own needs? Who did you think you were, the sheriff?” the entire pub erupted into a coarse laugh, some men hitting their pistol against the wooden tables to express their mockery. You, along with the waitresses, were the only ones to remain silent, your eyes darkening as you kept on drying your glasses. “I never touched Sir Landfield’s dau-” “Enough, bastard!” one of them yelled and punched him in the face, blood now oozing from the young man’s nose as his head swung to the side at the violence of the blow. He stumbled on the right, his wounded hand quickly grabbing the counter to prevent him from falling.

The church bells rang as it announced another hour of the day, the wind shifting some dirt and sand off the ground. Quickly glancing outside, you noticed a convoy drawn by horses walking down the main street, their whinnying getting louder as the man guiding them whipped their back and sides sharply.

“Gentlemen. What did your good-for-nothing do to our town? And what brings y’all in my father’s saloon?” you asked, the attention shifting from the culprit to you. You arched a brow as you slid the whisky glass you’ve just finished cleaning and another one across the counter, walking over the liquors to fill it for the men with their habitual orders.

“Ah,” one of them grunted. “This bastard thought he was the best in town and started arguing with Lord Landfield over some laws. He threatened him and even tried to get into his daughter’s panties!” one of them shouted as you poured alcohol into their glasses, noticing an arrogant smile plastered on his face. You didn’t like where this was going.

The culprit raised his eyes at you from his stool and observed you working, your orbs boring into his for a quick second before looking away to grab another bottle of liquor.

“Well, I’m pretty sure he had some good reasons to speak his mind to the mayor. Does he have a name?” you smirked as you placed a glass of herbal liquor in front of the soon-to-be-dead gentleman. He thanked you by a brief nod, and his face contorted into a grimace as he rose his glass to his lips, downing the drink in one go.

“He deserves to be hung by the balls, he’s from the Lees! Lee Juyeon! No one touches the mayor’s daughter like that except her husband!” the man on the left banged his fist onto the wooden counter, making everyone applaud and raise their glass at the idea.

Of course, you disagreed with their horrendous methods, but who were you to counter. Since you didn’t want to be the next in line, hung and burnt alive, you preferred to keep your mouth shut and observe.

“I never touched her!” exclaimed the-said Lee Juyeon but was quick to get shut up. “You don’t get to speak up, you piece of shit! If I said that you touched her, you did, end of the story!” Another man threw his fist right into the apparent lawbreaker’s nose, who immediately wiped his blood-spattered face on the side of his dirty shirt and spat on the floor.

You could tell that Juyeon was surprised by everyone’s agreement, trying his best to hide the fear in his eyes by clutching his jaw. One of the stablemen left the pub for a quick second before coming back, holding a long, white rope with a dirty smile on his face. Faces lit up in delight when he skilfully threw it in the air and swirled it around one of the massive wooden joists before tying a slipknot on the other end. The young man’s hand clutched around his glass, and he stared at you, noticing a hint of despair behind his two dark brown orbits.

You’ve seen many men and women in his state, but for once, you spotted something different. Sincerity, pain, and hopelessness could be observed in this man’s behaviour. He looked like he couldn’t hurt a fly, but you also knew that men were good at lying and being pitied when it was needed. However this time, for some reasons, you felt your heart pinch at the visible fear daunting the cowboy.

The men of law sat down at a table near the swinging doors and lit up their cigars thanks to the waitress’ matches, only to slap her butt as a thank-you. She giggled like a teen girl, which made you even more sickened by the situation than you already were, many people emptying the saloon in fear of witnessing death.

“Oi bastard, are you thinking of a way to shag the bartender before your sentence? She’s pretty cute, right?” one of the officers yelled as the delinquent’s eyes lingered on your working figure. You sent them a death glare, and they elbowed each other with a dirty grin, the idea of shooting them between the eyes titillated your mind for a quick second. “Try not to get us thrown out, she can be pretty rough, just like her father,” you heard them snicker, and you turned around to sigh and roll your eyes, trying not to get arrested either by ‘disrespecting’ them, even if it looked really tempting.

Abruptly, the oldest officer pushed a chair with his foot towards the young man, puffing some smoke out of his mouth, the action leaving a greyish trail lingering above their bald, dirty-minded heads. The stableman grabbed the man from the counter and forced him to get on the chair before shoving his head inside the slipknot and tightened it.

Exhaling sharply as it already happened too many times since your father passed away and bequeathed the saloon to you, you closed your eyes and looked away, mentally cursing the sheriff for choosing your tavern for doing such horrible acts of what they called ‘justice’.

“So, Lee, any last words before we shoot you in the head?” one of the officers insolently said as he expertly swirled his pistol in his hand, his other holding the cigar close to his mouth. From where you were, you could see the culprit gritting his teeth, trying to remain neutral.

“No, I don’t. Because I have done anything wrong, except expressing my honest opinion to the sheriff. And, as much as you want me to, I never laid a finger on his daughter,” the man spat confidently, only to have the two officers and some other men around the saloon unpleasantly shaking their heads.

“I can’t believe it. Even at the edge of death, he’s still willing to lie,” locking the cylinder before lowering the hammer of his revolver, the officer pointed his weapon towards the young man, who stayed as still as possible.

Everyone stared at the scene with intensity, some drinking their liquors or taking puffs of cigars like they were watching and enjoying some entertainment. The culprit was staring intensely at the officers, making them understand that he wasn’t scared of the gun nor facing death. You, on the other hand, were exhausted of those illegal actions and atrocious scenes that already happened when your father was still from this world. Luckily, he always made sure to give you to the tailor next door when such things happened, but it wasn’t really helpful since you became responsible for the aftermath at a very age.

They weren’t the ones that got rid of the dead bodies they shot inside your establishment, they weren’t the ones crazily rubbing the dirt and dried blood off the wooden counter or ventilating the building to get rid of the gory, metallic smell lingering around, nor were they the ones getting scared and sick of working in such sordid conditions. Some graphic execution scenes were still lingering in your mind even years later and shocking you to the point of getting sick and wobbly for a few days, getting flashbacks of the gun firing off. No matter how many people you saw dying in the saloon or while walking around town after witnessing some settling of scores, you would never get used to this sleazy, corrupted method of getting rid of people.

And this case was the last straw. You could not handle another bloody situation, where people would be cheering and happily exiting the saloon as if nothing happened, leaving you mortified and scarred for the nth time behind.

As the sergeant was about to pull the trigger, you were swift to get out your dad’s revolver from the small compartment under the counter and shoot the wooden beam in two precise bullets. The waitresses shrieked and the rest of the souls populating the saloon flinched, hands going to protect their head and ears. You shot the wood three other times to make some dust and pieces fall to confuse everyone, hiding some bullets in your corset before going around the counter and grab the man by the sleeve. Among all the panicked people trying to rush out of the saloon, you dragged the man out through the back door, letting one of the waitresses take the control of the saloon.

“Come on, we don’t have a lot of time!” you said out of breath, the muddy ground staining the pans of your dress with a dark brown colour. The man looked still shocked to have narrowly dodged death, catching his breath as your hands were fumbling with the knot keeping your horse close to the wall. Seizing the reins with a soft yet skilled hold, you were quick to slide your foot in the stirrup and swing your leg over the beast, extending your hand for the man to take it.

He messily placed his foot on the wooden fence and jumped behind you, his hand still in yours as the fence collapsed under his weight. You felt his jerky breaths fanning your neck as you commanded the horse to race off.

“Ya! Ya!” you angrily yelled, repeatedly squeezing your legs around the horse for it to go faster as you heard some gravelly voices lingering around the saloon. Your horse neighed and picked up the pace, its hooves hammering the dried ground of the main street as you bolted out of the town. “Lower your head, we need to go faster!” you yelled and the man obeyed, your heart pulsating in your temples as you heard some screams and people opening fire towards you, bullets going through a few wooden wains from the neighbouring houses.

“Sorry about the fence,” the man whispered and you shook your head, eyes still focused on the dusty road. “That’s the least of my worries right now. Hold onto me instead so we can lose them faster,” you spat and whipped the reins on the horse’s neck, the man’s large hands landing onto your waist. “What’s your name, by the way?” he yelled so his voice wouldn’t be covered by the horse’s noises, and you slightly turned your head to the side. “Y/N,” You simply answered, trying to ignore his hands on you as he was accused of inappropriately touching the mayor’s daughter and pushed your feet down the stirrups as you went up a hill.

The town was quick to disappear behind you as you hurried into the taiga, following the winding trail as fast as possible. The lawbreaker was still holding onto your waist, his hold strengthening as you didn’t seem to be ready to slow down anytime soon. The concentrated look on your face didn’t subside at all, sometimes looking back to make sure that you weren’t being followed.

Your heart skipped a beat as your horse jumped over the railway line, his hooves toughly landing on the floor as the way started going downhill again, the man behind you hitting his chin against your shoulder due to the force of the impact. He mumbled a quick apology, but you didn’t even hear it, the wind blowing in your ears preventing any sound to reach you.

You finally ordered the horse to slow down as you reached another dense forest, the air feeling chiller as the sun was struggling to get through the infinite branches of sharpened pine needles. You and Juyeon kept your head low, the latter pushing his hat further onto his head to protect his already severely injured face from the spiky needles. He let out a small hum of surprise when you reached a small cottage with a wide range of greenery surrounding it, not expecting someone to live here. The air was so pure and fresh that it almost hurt your lungs, with no sign of tobacco smoke or dust from the road to poison your inner organs.

Getting off the horse, you drew the gun out of your corset and removed the bullets, tossing the revolver on a lonely stump. The man recoiled at the sight of the weapon, but instantly relaxed as you went behind the cottage. He grunted in pain as he got off the horse, giving it a gentle tap and rub its muzzle. It snorted quickly and turned around, walking further into the greenery to relax from the intensive workout you went through.

When you came back, the cottage key in hand, your gaze fell on the man leaning against a trunk, dried blood and cuts still covering his face. His bottom lip was split open, and his cheekbones were bruised, eyes bloodied by the dust and the several hits he received from the men of law. You sighed as you stared at him, hand sliding in the key and unlock the door.

“Come in,” you said as you pushed the door open, walking across the room to draw the curtains out.

Juyeon slowly limped inside, eyes travelling around the small living room, falling straight on a chair after placing your dad’s revolver on the table, the wood creaking under the collision. He groaned in pain and closed his eyes tightly, his jaw twitching as he suffered in silence.

You gave him some privacy and walked to the kitchen, getting some wood planks and a bunch of herbs and weeds from one of the cabinets. Just like your dad had taught you, you lit up a fire in the chimney and hung a small cauldron to the chain. You stood back up, the room getting filled with a heavy silence, not really sure of how to act with a possible criminal in your secret home. He sighed and groaned in pain many times as you prepared a brew and some lukewarm water to freshen up.

His worried eyes met yours as you heavily placed a wooden basin with steaming water on the table next to him, your hands sinking a piece of cloth in the warm water and twisting it.

“Take off your shirt, I need to clean and check your wounds,” you monotonously said, and the man’s hands hovered above his top, hesitantly undoing the first few buttons while looking outside.

He gulped as he exposed his torso to you, your eyes widening in shock for a quick second at the state of it. He got beaten up severely, red, and purple areas already littering his entire thorax. The bruises looked excruciating and probably caused some inner injuries, hence his unnatural movements.

You quickly pulled his shirt away from his body and ditched it on the table, eyes now wandering around his arms. He was pretty muscular – you couldn't neglect the steel-craved abs embellishing his torso – but the cuts and wounds were critical enough to damage the view.

Starting by cleaning his wounds and body with the piece of cloth, Juyeon tried his best to remain still, but it got intolerable at some point. He started hissing and cursing – not at you, he was grateful that you were willing to put yourself in danger to save and take care of him – but more in pain, his eyes flooding with anger as he recalled the sergeants’ faces and their accusations.

“You know,” the man started through gritted teeth before groaning as the piece of cloth grazed against a sensitive laceration on his collarbone, “I didn’t touch the sheriff’s daughter. I'd never touch a woman like that despite what they want everyone to believe,” you quickly looked at him in the eyes and chuckled, your hand delicately grasping his wrist to lift his arm to clean the residues of the cut on the side of the torso.

“I think it’s impossible for you to do so,” your voice trailed as you focused on your task, the man questioningly looking at you. “How so?” “She’s on the other side of the world, probably a thousand miles away from us. Serena is a successful woman, she’s sacred to her father. You probably saw her mother strutting around town like she’s the next queen, which is something quite ridiculous but funny at the same time. Serena is the pride of the family because she got married to an Australian businessman and is now living like a good middle-class person, you know?” his eyes widened as you explained everything to him, his tongue clicking in frustration.

“Lies? I became the scapegoat of those assholes for lies?” you defeatedly sighed and shrugged as the man was furrowing his brows, getting upset. “Welcome to our town, I guess. It is how we, no they, make the peace reign there. We all know that nobody shouldn’t mess with the mayor, but I guess that you are not from here, so you miserably fell into his trap,” you offered him a compassionate smile and carried on with cleaning him, wiping your damp hands on your dress as you got back to the fireplace.

You came back with the cauldron, hands enveloped in the wet piece of cloth as you gently plunged it in the water, Juyeon flinching at the steam surfacing from the warm-cold impact. Your eyes focused on the plant-based mixture you had prepared to heal and sanitise his injuries, following your grandma’s textbook to the letter.

Juyeon groaned again at the warm solution being applied on his body, feeling his skin itch and burn as you kept rubbing the product in. He looked up as you focused on your task, now rubbing his arm while holding his limb with a certain grace. On your face, he could discern some sadness and exhaustion hidden in your features, his mind wandering to what possibly happened to you to be in this situation.

“And you?” he started with a more hesitant voice as if he was scared to frighten a deer, “what made you the bartender of this saloon?” your hand quickly stopped working but resumed almost instantly, but Juyeon noticed.

“Owner,” you corrected, and his eyes widened, an impressed look painted on his face, “I am the only survivor in my family, they all died from sickness or old age. I became the owner of the saloon as soon as my father passed away. He was in this horrible business, letting the authorities do their dirty work inside the bar, away from prying, curious eyes. Of course, since I am a woman and is only good at taking care of children and clean, they keep coming here no matter how many times I refused. I, fortunately, didn’t have to witness every single execution when I was young, but it still sends me into anxiety fits when it happens. I’ve seen a lot of people going through what you’ve just escaped from and it’s almost impossible to get rid of the flashbacks,” you briefly explained, feeling the tears well up in your throat at the mention of your deceased father and harrowing trauma, but you swallowed thickly and repressed your emotions, keeping a neutral face.

“S-Sorry, I didn’t mean it,” he mumbled, and you shook your head, wetting your hands in the basin to quickly get rid of any remaining substance. “It’s fine,” you emotionlessly said, hurrying back in the kitchen to get some time alone.

Juyeon didn’t mean to hurt you by stirring some hurtful memories, but of course, curiosity killed the cat. Thanks to you, he had escaped his humiliating death sentence, and all he did was unintentionally pressing the wrong buttons. Agonisingly, he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes as he got up, the room slightly spinning as he limped towards the kitchen to come to you. Your shoulders were heaving up and down as you attempted to muffle your cries and silence your emotions, not wanting to break down in a room with a man other than your father. It was one rule that you forced yourself to follow, not wanting to appear weak to anyone's eyes.

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention to hurt you like that,” his cavernous voice resonated against the walls of the empty kitchen, making you wince and quickly wipe your face with trembling hands before turning around. “How could you know?” you said with puffy eyes, the sight squeezing Juyeon’s heart as you tried to give him what was supposed to be a reassuring smile. He slowly walked to you and took a gentle hold of your trembling wrists, his chocolate orbs boring into your own. The gaze that you had found quite intimidating a few minutes ago when he was angry against his attackers currently held something completely different. It wasn’t pity as you were used to when you brought up your past, but something more like compassion and tenderness.

“Y/N. I know I'm a complete stranger and a criminal in your eyes, but I wanna help you the way you did for me,” he started, and you stared at the ground, trying to get off his grip. “I don’t need help,” you mumbled, but he didn’t let you go, the grasp around your forearms tightening but still felt consoling.

“Yes, yes you do. Withdrawing yourself into silence won't solve anything, it will only give prominence to your sadness and scars and prevent you from moving on. You don't have anyone to talk to about it anymore, you keep everything to yourself and stay stuck in this state of distress. You helped me avoid death and run away, so let me assist you in breaking away from your past. At least allow me to try,” he whispered those words to you as if he was afraid someone else would hear.

Tears blurred your vision, something that didn't ordinarily happen when the discussion topic was your father. You always managed to hold back your tears, but for reasons that were still unknown to you, with Juyeon, it was like your brain allowed him to see your raw, true side for some reason, despite knowing him for less than an hour. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t from your town and wouldn’t be telling your secrets to anyone else to cause you harm or humiliation.

“One trauma at a time. You need to get some rest first,” you countered his argument by guiding him out of the kitchen, and Juyeon let out a chuckle, frustrated that you cared more about his well-being than yours. “Very well then, but promise me you'll let me help,” he asked as you walked him into the rocking seat where your grandfather used to take his nap when he was still in your life.

"We'll see," you whispered, helping him to sit down before giving him a small smile. He let go of one of your wrists and lifted your hand to his face, placing a kiss on the back of your hand while never breaking eye contact, the action of chivalry making your heart skip a beat.

"Thank you for everything you have done for me," He mumbled before kissing your hand again, his damaged lips curving into a smile as you let your hand linger in his, against his mouth.

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soullessmocha · 4 years ago

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i think; therefore i am || part one

{ fem! witch reader x poly!the lost boys }

|| part two ||

part rating: teen

word count: 20716 (i am so sorry)

part summary: a nomadic witch running from her dark past (reader) finds her place after travelling the states on the shores of santa carla. in a way to make money she sets up a booth on the bustling boardwalk where she gives a few readings to a couple interesting characters for some loose change. this night she discovers she isn’t the only supernatural being.

warnings: mature language, mind manipulation, violence, use of tobacco, a cute familiar, nightmares, allusions to being burned alive, witch trials, hints to major character death, visions, and the lost boys being violent (mainly david.), this has not been proof read it has merely been skimmed.

“I promise I will be good. Please mother!” You yell towards the cloaked woman who looked at you with a disdained look on features. Features you once found comforting and like home turned on you in an instant. Those soft features are now rigid and gaunt from stress and aging, but the worse link to all the features was the cobalt blue eyes. Eyes that reflected the moon so sharply that it was almost mirrored. Eyes so sharp and focused as your mother shook her in disappointment, “No, you won’t,” her words were forthright showing no emotion behind it. How did someone who you called your mother betray you and not even take a second glance? “No, no! Wait! No, I promise!” You start to trash against the rope that is wrapped around your body, confining you to a large wooden pole. Stretching your body to its breaking point as the only color you could see was red. Then it was hot, burning, seething your skin away as one of your sisters lowers a torch at your feet. Your eyes connect to the moon as your throat lashes a blood-curdling scream into the starry clear night.

Gasping for the air you shoot up from your makeshift bed, sweating coating your skin in a glossy layer. Your lungs rapidly gasp for air as they burn from your fears that have your heart racing so much it punches your ribs. A shift in the bed causes your attention to shift. Your cat, a scruffy black devon rex steals his way up the side of your bed. His head tilting before making his own way into your lap a loud purr radiating off of your pet in his best attempts to calm you. You lift a shaky hand to plop it down on the cat’s back who tenses for a quick second before stretching his paws to your chest, reminding you to breathe. A slight smile comes to your lips, “I’m fine, Finn. Really,” you sigh and rub away the hair sticking on your face from the layer of sweat on your skin. “It’s always the same nightmare.” You admit to your furry friend who makes his way to the tail end of your bed. He stretched and tipped his nose upwards as his spine curled sniffing the air as if he was trying to investigate the surrounding area. With your heart rate slowed just the slightest you pull yourself from your bed and shuffle through the hallway that leads from your bedroom to your living space in the trailer you parked on the cliff overlooking the beach. The sun was setting, casting an orange hue in your trailer, the light catchers reflecting rainbows as they twirl mindlessly from the free breeze coming through the cracked window. Peace. That was a safe haven. However, with the sun setting you realize you have taken a nap when least expected. You must’ve needed it after the first night of working on the boardwalk. Who knew reading tarot, runes, and palms to tourists would take so much energy out of you.

A sigh escapes your lips as you attempt to step around Finn to get to your closet where you pick a black outfit with an ornate shawl to help you stand out.

“Be good and protect the home,” you kneel down to scratch Finn under his chin after you have gathered your last-minute things and open the trailer door to have it close behind you. A quiet meow echoes from behind the door and your smirk at the small goodbye from your pet. It didn’t take you long to start up your old truck with a few hits and a couple pumps for the clutch to make your way down to the boardwalk parking lot.

The night was the same as before but this time a couple of well rounded security guards started to come up to the booth later on into the evening. The wind was a bit harsher and the waves crashed in rhythm of the music that was being played on the tiny radio next to your ankle. The boardwalk was filled with all strains of life. There were well rounded individuals taking their picture perfect families for a night out to teens dressed in all black with every inch of their face covered in piercing and colored hair. You preferred that crowd. Then again it didn’t help to get money from those picture perfect families who you only give half ass readings for. When the heavy boots of the literal rounded security officers approached your booth were you snapped from your thoughts. Looking them up and down you can instantly get a feel of their energy, they were hostile and annoyed by the night already. Yet the night was still so young.

“Excuse me, do you have a permit to be setting up your booth here?” The officer with the mustache questions shifting his weight onto one leg jutting out his hip.

“Yeah, you need a vendor permit to even set up here on the boardwalk,” the skinnier one of the couple started before picking at the cloth of your booth, studying it with a devious smirk. “You tell fortunes? Tell me how we are going to kick you off the boardwalk.” The two chuckle at the joke yet in a calm manner you stand with your hands on the ornate cloth.

“I do tell fortunes, but not those who tend hurt others because they have a flimsy gold badge on their breast,” you start and give a rather deceiving smile as you tilt your head. “I do not have a vendor’s permit to be out here. However, I am sure you know how hard it is to make a living during these times. Surely you can give me a pass.” You suggest and the fatter one with the mustache snickered at your suggestion. The two looked at one another but as they looked back at you they were met with purple hazed eyes and fingers that were pointed at them which radiated purple energy. “Now, I hope you will listen to me,” you begin this time your voice was an octave deeper as you displayed your abilities to them. It wasn’t hard to sink into their minds and be able to control such a feeble psyche, the purple illuminating from their eyes indicated you were in. You didn’t even need to chant a hex to even get them to repeat after you, “I will not approach this vendor anymore.” They repeat and a smirk quivers on the corner of your lips, “I will not terrorize anyone who I deem… different. I will walk away now and forget I ever saw this vendor.” Once they repeat you flick your wrist the two men turn on their heels and quite literally march away to whatever other duties they have. You grumble to yourself as you sit back down pushing the skirt under you so you can sit properly on the chair.

As you adjust your trinkets and cards on the table you can hear from afar an excited young boy's voice, “Mike! Look! It’s a fortune teller. We have to do this!”

“No Sammy, we said we would go to the concert and meet mom back at the entrance. I am not stopping for some phoney fortune teller who just reads some useless cards to tell me literally nothing.” the older voice replies back with an annoyed tone and quite ready to walk in the opposite direction. You don’t look up to give the hint you are listening, in fact you lean back in your chair starting to shuffle your tarot deck because indeed you know the two will end up before you.

“Well too bad. I came here to have fun and you’re ruining it. Live a little Mike. You’ve been grumpy all day,” pouts the young blonde, “plus I didn’t say you needed to get a reading done. i got my own money.”

“How did you get money?”

“I stole it from your wallet!” The younger one laughs and charges his way over to the booth and you make eye contact with him, his grin was wide and full of innocence. Blue eyes that were striking amongst the moonlight, they glimmered with hope and curiosity. “Dammit Sam!” the older one whom you assumed to be the brother charges behind. “Hi, how can I help you today?” You asks in your kindest customer service voice. The young boy holds out the ten dollar bill, “I would like a reading if I could have one please. Mom always told us about her tarot card readings, but I would like one for myself.” He grins to the side as he looks over his shoulder to his older brother, a brunette with a strong build who seems to already be annoyed just standing next to this booth and his brother. “Why of course, thank you! Take a seat please.” You request and glance over to the older brother, “If you’d like a seat by all means sit.” He didn’t respond, only took a glance at you before looking away. He was skeptical and nervous. Of course he was. “Normally I don’t do readings for such young gentlemen like you, but I like you already, so I will do a general reading. Now before I get started, may I have your name?”

“Sam,”

“Nice to meet you Sam, I am Y/N. Thank you once again,” you grant a thanks and start to shuffle your cards. Normally with normal individuals the cards don’t have this much energy. You give a breathy chuckle and shuffle fiercely before a card flies from the deck. You plant it face down before looking young Sam in the eyes giving him a playful smirk at his eagerness. “You two have a lot of energy for you, that’s a good thing.” You compliment but the older brother just snickers and crosses his arm before another card flies out. It didn’t take long for the third to fly out. You align the cards, “Alright let’s see here, this card represents you. The page of cups,” You smile gingerly at the card before flipping it to show the boy. “You are filled with wonder, you love your family and have a curious nature to you.” You can see the boy is looking at the card with curious eyes. Take in the fancy man holding a golden chalice balance on one foot and his heel. He is dressed in quite jarring clothes like the boy sitting in front of you. “You also love to express yourself in ways that are creative, like your fashion, or music.” You not before hovering your hand over the next card. “This card represents the path you are on," you flip over the card to see the emperor standing sitting on his throne high and mighty, “the emperor. Now this card is quite powerful, one of my favorites. You are on the path of seeking how to defend yourself and those you love. How to become more powerful in the sense of trying to find structure and to grow in your sense of logic and practicality.” At this point you didn’t even notice the older brother has now sat down. Full attention on you and the cards. You give him a wink before turning your attention back to his younger brother, “It seems like you’re trying to find a father figure role within yourself or by others.” The boys' features soften from a grin to a saddened look, that must’ve struck a bit too close for home. “Let’s continue, shall we?” You ask and he slowly nods glancing over at his brother. You carefully flip over the last card, “This card represents your potential,” your eyes glance down at the justice card. The figure holds a sword and a scale in each hand, sitting on a chair with authority as a scarlet drape is behind them. “Justice. You know what it’s like to be wronged, treated unfairly, you will have to face the truth soon. Whatever that truth is, you have to see everything from each point of view. Going back to the Emperor, you need to be logical and work on that skill in order to find your Justice. You will generate peace and harmony to those who surround you.”

“Wow, thank you, that’s- that’s awesome,” Sam thanks you leaning back in the folded chair carefully eyeing his brother who was staring diligently at the card, studying them and seeming astounded. You lean forward and tap the table under his nose. “I can do a reading for you as well, free of charge. I like your little brother. However, I would like your name.”

The blue eyed brunette looked up at you with wide eyes, filled with wonder and trying to read your own eyes. “Michael. My name is Michael,” you smile at his name and gather the cards back into your pile. You shuffle in the bustling white noise of the busy boardwalk. A card flies out and lands face down on the table. You shuffle until two more fall from the pile. “Alright Michael, let’s see who the cards say you are.” Your black painted fingers flip over the first card to be greeted by the figure of archangel Michael blowing on his trumpet as the words read ‘judgement’. “You are going through a new journey, a new beginning. You are starting anew. You also find comfort in sharing your struggles with others who relate and you want freedom from your own troubles. Then we have,” You start flipping over the second card, “the ten of swords.” You whisper and you glance up to see his worried eyes look at the pictured body stabbed by ten swords pinned to the ground. “Don’t overthink it.” You whisper ducking your head to make eye contact with him, trying your nest to make him feel safe. “You're going to be betrayed by someone you begin to trust. The pain inflicted runs deep not because what they have done is hurtful, but because you know deep down that this marks the end of your relationship as you know it with them. You will grieve the loss of the relationship. This card is about letting go and accepting your circumstances.” There was silence between the two, you could hear a pin drop if one was to.

“It’s a warning,” you say and clear your throat to ease the tension a bit. You flip over the last card to show the lovers card. “The lovers,” you smile longingly at the card, “you will be ready to establish your own beliefs and follow your heart in the end. You will find love for yourself but love will also find you. In every choice you make on your path, there is an equal amount of advantage and disadvantage, opportunity and challenge, positive and negative. I am excited for you to find your other half.” A warm smile comes to your lips but there was wary to the middle card, that card showed the journey he was going to begin was going to something dark. The clapping of a hand on someone’s back causes you to jump out of your trance. “Well gentlemen, I hope you got the answers you two were looking for. Thank you for stopping by, if you have any more questions or any more services, I will be here.”

The two respond with weary smiles and slowly get up from their chairs with soft thanks as they continue to make their way down the boardwalk. A twinkle of a smile was left on your lips as you watched them walk away.

Hours later you find yourself with a tip jar that is half full and a bag that contained crumpled bills that were stale and some damp. A sigh leaves your lips as you clean up the station, cleaning up the scrying orb in its case and the tip jar in the bag full of bills. Just before you started to take down your sign you saw four shadows cascade from behind you. A low hum left your lips and you turned on your heel to see four men standing in front of you. Quite young looking, dressed in all black, a couple more than the others. A small smile peaked your lips. “How can I help you gentlemen?” You ask the stoic figures as they stare down at you, purely interested and emitting a strange energy. They’re energy was really strange but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

“Well we were seeing if it wasn’t too late to get a couple of readings,” the one with the spiked platinum blonde hair responds. His head tilts as he looks into your eyes. For a second you had to look away from the piercing blue eyes because you felt your head go dizzy.

“Of course, what are you looking for? I do tarot, palms, and even runes.” You inform as your make your way to your side of the booth. Your folding chair creaking as you sit on it, your posture upright and alert.

“Well, Marko? Which one do you want? You begged to come over here before they closed.” The platinum spoke up again, you tried to get a read on him, by his upright body language he seemed to be the leader of the little posse. Though you were new to the boardwalk you never really saw them around. How did you miss them? Granted you were new to town, but only by a few weeks.

“I’ll go with a palm reading if it means the cutie gets to hold my hand.” The one name Marko pipes with a chuckle from his peers. You can only roll your eyes playfully to play along, “Well sit down, palm readings start at $10 for that comment.” You tease the curly haired man who skipped to your hair and held out his hands with a snicker following. The fingerless gloves covered most of his palm so you nod your head towards his hands, “May I?” You ask before he responds with a nod and cheesy grin. As you started to slip off his hands your eyes peered over his head to watch his friends behind him. You take in their appearances. The platinum blonde was starting to light a cigarette. The other wild haired blonde was walking forward to admire the trinkets on your booth. While the tall brunette was giving you a cold stare as he watched you take off his friends gloves. Each of them donned a single earring and a jacket that was different to their individuality. You clear your throat and look at Marko, “It is nice to meet you Marko. I hope you find this reading useful and beneficial to you for the future.” You start as you take his cool hand into yours. Overlapping his hand with yours you didn’t mind the cold hands, or think much about it, the night was quite chilly.

You roll your shoulders back and roll your neck to relax. As you did a shock was sent through your nerves and you gasped sharply. As did Marko who received the same energy suddenly, causing a pained groan to leave his throat. The energy surges up to your neck causing you to close your eyes tightly. A vision. Pain. Darkness. Betrayal. You can see through Marko’s eyes. He was in pain and bleeding everywhere. There were inhuman screeches all around him; his friends jolted around in him in disturbance and rage. Then you realized they were hanging upside down. Their faces looked like nothing that they did now. Features were contorted, eyes were bloodshot and yellow, and teeth sharp. Just as your vision ended you felt a stabbing in your chest just like the object in Marko’s chest. A pained yell left your throat. There was an echo of Marko yelling out in pain and incoherent yells of the boys behind him.

You shot Marko away from you with shadows of purple energy following him. The chair shot about six feet from under him and Marko rolled to a stop with the wild blonde following after him in concern.

“What the hell was that?!” The leader booms rushing to your table, his hands grasping the table with a crushing grip. You could hear it crack as you try to catch your breath. The pain was unbearable. “What the hell are you?!” He interrogates again with a sharp tone. This time he threw the table to the side effortlessly. You gasp and stand in response. Your hands fly up in a contorted shape with purple shadows lingers around your fingers. The leader was stuck in his palace, grunting and struggling against your will. Pants leave your parted lips, brows furrowed and pained as you hold back the leader. Exposing your power.

The three other men kneel around their curly haired friend. Your eyes flicker to them, “There is one thing I can’t stand about vampires,” you croak, holding the leader in his place bringing him as you walk closer to the boys. The look on their faces when you announce your knowledge of their supernatural being, now that look was priceless. “They don’t know how to control their temper.” You choke out as purple energy hazed over your eyes. Their eyes widened at the energy around their leader and the shine from your eyes. All of them scramble to their feet.

The brunette was first to act and you were faster to stop him mid run. He was now frozen under your spell. Energy outlining his shape as he looked around frantically. You wipe your hand causing him to fly straight through the railing and far out into the ocean with a purple orb pushing straight into his chest. Then with another flick of your wrist the leader went flying right after the brunette with another orb following to make him go further. Your purple eyes scanned towards the two blondes who looked hostile yet intimidated. Before they could even take a step you waved your arms and contorted hands in front of you, to each of their bodies, with a cross of your arms the two slam into one another with a crushing thud. You push the energy out with your arms and hands and the two blondes went flying far out into the ocean following their peers with purple orbs pushing into their chests.

You were left there on the dark boardwalk, cascaded under orange street lamps, panting with purple shadows flowing around your eyes and glowing in your eyes. Your adrenaline pumping through your veins caused your breathing to become ragged. It took a beat for your breathing to return to normal. You slid your stance back to normal to show your calming nature. Your hands return to your sides no longer casting purple energy and your eyes are their normal color but still widened in fear. Behind you was your booth table broken in half, your items thrown all about wildly from the wind, and your scrying orb shattered near your feet. Dollar bills flying wildly wherever the ocean breeze takes them.

Taking one last deep breath you tilt your head out towards the crashing onyx waves. The humid breeze thrashing your clothing all about. You press a clammy palm to your forehead as you curse quietly to yourself, “Shit.”

a/n: this is the first part of a series that i have been writing on and off for the past month. i’ve always wanted to incorporate a witch into the lost boys because it would be so interesting! this will be sort of slow burn poly!the lost boys kind of vibe. please let me know if you’d like more of this series. thank you so much for reading!! 🖤🖤🖤

#soulless writes #i think; therefore i am #the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #tlb #tlb 1987 #tlb fanfiction #the lost boys fanfiction #poly!the lost boys #poly!the lost boys x reader #david the lost boys #marko the lost boys #paul the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys

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teawaffles · 4 years ago

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Forbidden Games: Chapter 4

Alan led the way as the two men proceeded down the corridor to another room. While he walked alone in front, the pair noticed the footsteps of several people following them from behind.

They seemed to be travelling to the back of the building, and apart from the people who were currently moving, there was no sign of life. Apparently, ‘normal’ participants could only play in that large hall from before.

“It’s gotten quite chilly, hasn’t it? As I recall, Mr Holmes, you’re not fond of the cold. Are you alright?” William murmured, his shoulders shaking slightly.

Sherlock himself wasn’t particularly sensitive to the cold, but he kept his expression static as he pondered the intention behind that statement.

In the next moment, William twitched the corner of his mouth upwards in a gesture that only Sherlock would understand. Recognising this, Sherlock understood everything, and promptly played along.

“That’s right. It does seem chilly. ——Liam, could you lend me your coat?”

“No problem, here you go.”

“Thanks.”

William held out the coat he had been carrying under his arm. Sherlock took it and immediately put it on. Then, he straightened the coat as he carefully checked how it felt on him.

“If you’re feeling cold, may I suggest we have a warm drink in one of these rooms before proceeding?”

Alan posed the question with a seemingly concerned tone. It appeared that he had taken William’s words at face value.

“No worries. Anyway, I’m also excited to see what kind of game you have for us. It’s almost like the shivers before a battle.”

At Sherlock’s words, Alan nodded happily.

“Is that the case? As the one introducing you to it, I’m pleased to hear that.”

At last, they reached their destination. Alan quietly opened the door and bid the duo enter. The two men shared a look, and went in silently.

The room was dimly lit, and roughly a quarter the size of the hall they were previously in. In the centre was a finely crafted round table, and surrounding it was a group of gentlemen standing in silence, staring at the new entrants.

It was an ominous sight, as if it were a secret ritual. The men’s expressions were unanimously mild, but there was also a keen sense of malice hidden underneath. Even so, having witnessed countless bloody battles and come out standing, William and Sherlock remained unperturbed amidst the disquieting atmosphere.

Sherlock looked at a corner of the room, and flashed a big grin.

“Yo, fancy meeting you here.”

Standing there was the noble’s son whom Sherlock had been tasked to find. Just like the other gentlemen, he was dressed sharply. Yet he lacked a trace of the dignity befitting a noble, instead glancing around his surroundings in sheer terror.

Having observed the young man’s appearance, William murmured a question to Sherlock.

“Is he the young man you were searching for?”

“Yep. It looks like he’s alive for now, but judging from his behaviour, it’s not hard to imagine how he was treated by these guys.”

After deducing the situation, they heard the click of a lock behind them.

Turning around, they saw Alan standing with his back to the door, a smile plastered on his face.

“As expected, you’re quick on the uptake. I sincerely admire your excellent deductive abilities.”

Sherlock snorted at his feigned courtesy.

“What’re you talking about? You’re the one who brought us here.”

“I thought it’d be pointless to keep this place a secret once you’d sniffed it out. Anyway, I reckoned I’d make sure to give him a proper welcome too.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Still, what reason could you possibly have for locking up some noble brat? Are all these guys your accomplices too?”

Alan made a show of being astonished.

“We don’t do such perverse things as locking people up. All we pursue is the pure delight of a game, and the comrades gathered here today share in this goal. It is only when pleasure is kept secret that it ascends to a higher realm.”

“——So just like what you did to us earlier, you invited this man here, coerced him into playing some ‘thrilling game’ which he lost, then locked him in this room until he pays off his debt. Is that right?”

“…………”

William’s harsh words stripped away the veneer of Alan’s so-called lofty pleasures, revealing them to be but deceitful tricks. The man raised no retort, and Sherlock clicked his tongue.

“So, are you holding this noble’s son hostage for ransom? Or are you thinking of threatening him so that he’ll make arrangements for you when he inherits his estate? In any case, deceiving and threatening kids makes you no different from a stingy crook.”

Having been bluntly maligned, Alan finally shook his head in sadness.

“It’s utterly regrettable to be misunderstood in such a way. This man consented to play the game of his own free will. However, because he refused to pay up despite his defeat, I’ve had to keep persuading him ardently like this.”

“Persuasion…… so you say,” William retorted.

Having taught students of the same age, he did not hide his displeasure.

Then Sherlock pressed on, openly revealing his irritation.

“Well? Our goal here’s to bring him home safely, but as for you, you’re not going to let things go that easily, are you?”

Alan held out both arms, as if to express his admiration.

“Both of you have been a big help advancing the conversation so smoothly. But there’s no need to be afraid. We have no intention of committing barbaric acts. As I conveyed from the start, all I want to do is play a game with you, with all my heart and soul.”

“Damn you, if this was really just a game then there’d be no need to bet.”

“Doesn’t the risk of defeat just add to the excitement?”

“……Only your ability to make sophisms is first-class, huh.”

They seemed to be getting nowhere trading arguments with this man. Sherlock sighed, as if rendered speechless.

Taking over from the exhausted detective, William spoke up.

“In that case, would you release this man if we win your game?”

Alan nodded in enthusiasm.

“Precisely, since our motto is that all’s fair and square when it comes to games.”

However, Sherlock nudged William with his elbow.

“Liam, you don’t have to go out of your way to play along with them. If you leave it to me, I’ll beat these wimps to a pulp in seconds.”

Hearing Sherlock’s statement, Alan took a step back.

“Ooh, how frightening. In that case……”

He raised his hand. Taking that as a signal, one of Alan’s accomplices brandished a knife and held it to the young noble’s throat. Unable to even make a sound, the young man went white with shock.

“We have no choice but to respond appropriately.”

Alan’s friendly smile had morphed into a brutal one. Having seen the gentleman reveal his true nature, William finally looked at him with disgust.

“In other words, no matter how much we struggle to avoid it, we’ll be drawn into a game…… and although it wouldn’t be outright impossible, it would be difficult to call it ‘fair and square’.”

“This is all simply because we love games,” Alan said brazenly, with no regard for the hostility directed at him.

At that instant, the pair decided to crush this man.

“——Excellent.”

Sherlock spoke up. Even though it wasn’t said particularly loudly, his statement rang out across the room.

William continued in an exceedingly polite tone.

“The extent to which you wish to play games, that I have understood completely. Therefore, regardless of the outcome, I hope you will not regret your decision.”

“……Ooh.”

The pressure exerted by the pair’s fighting spirit had started to make Alan’s entire body tense up.

“I’m glad to hear that you’re in the mood now. By the way, what would you both like to wager on this match?”

At his question, the pair looked at each other.

“We demand that this man be set free. As for the price of our defeat…… Well, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Anything I want?” Alan doubted.

Immediately, William chimed in.

“Then it would be the same for me. In the event that we lose, be it money, my position as a noble, or the fruits of my academic research, please feel free to lay claim to any of them.”

Alan’s eye twitched at their careless manner of speaking.

“……I don’t suppose you both take me for a fool?” he uttered, in a deeply uncomfortable tone.

“That would be outrageous. It’s simply because I have conviction.”

“When Liam and I team up, no one can stand up to us.”

They were outnumbered in the enemy’s hideout. On top of that, the enemy had taken a hostage.

But even though it would seem to anyone that they were at a disadvantage, the duo’s voices were filled with confidence. Any listener would soon realise that it was not an act of bravado. The two of them had complete trust that their intellectual capacity and force of will far exceeded that of these petty villains.

“…………”

Having been struck head-on by William and Sherlock’s unshakeable conviction, an intense, hot hatred welled up in the pit of Alan’s stomach.

——In the past, Alan had been an influential noble with a vast plot of land in the vicinity of Durham. However, he had fallen into economic ruin with the Industrial Revolution and the current of the times. Simply put, he had begun to walk the path of his downfall.

He’d blindly believed his days of prosperity would continue for all eternity. Watching them fade away, Alan had sunk into the depths of despair, and desperately sought a way to assuage this sense of defeat.

To that end, he became absorbed in games. Whenever he and his opponent had agreed upon the rules and engaged in an earnest match, with him coming out the victor, Alan found that those indescribable highs were finally able to satisfy him.

Having grown aware of his appetite, upon finding out that there was a club established with the purpose of playing ‘games’, Alan immediately sought out his old friends in the nobility to gain admission. He then gathered like-minded people from within the club. Among the club members, he then would pick a target, covertly invite them to a game, and use brute force to achieve victory after victory.

Day after day they would rob nobles of their rights, with demands for payment which were unmistakably threats. His accomplices appeared to be satisfied by the profits, but Alan was different. He wanted to look down upon his opponent and use any means necessary to make them surrender.

Therefore, even now, as he held a noble’s son as a hostage, Alan refused to negotiate. He only desired to win the game. No matter what absurd sequence of events was taking place.

However, these young men were different. Even in the midst of danger, they were calm and composed, with no expectation at all that they would be defeated.

Faced with a type of person he had never met up till now, Alan not only remembered what it felt like to be irritated, but also chuckled inwardly to himself: it would surely be a pleasant experience to tear them down.

Once again, he put on a boastful smirk.

“If that’s the case, then I’ll be the one to decide the price of your defeat.”

“Fine by me. Well then, what game shall we play?”

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #forbidden games

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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years ago

Text

Explosive

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort Characters: Gordon, Scott

The erupting volcano was almost sedate compared to the fraying tempers in the danger zone.

For @whumptober-archive’s day 5 “I’ve got red in my ledger” using the prompt broken nose. Today was tough - I actually started poking at alt. prompts for a while, but they didn’t want to flow, either. Still, we got somewhere in the end!

The sound of a breaking nose was distinctive. Cartilage crumpled, bone shattered, and it all combined into a unique symphony that once heard once, was never forgotten again.

Gordon had known that Scott was having trouble with some rescuees; it was hard not to, when their loud and explosive protests had been broadcasting clearly through Scott’s open comm. That was the whole reason he’d left the other part of the danger zone – a small town directly in the path of a leisurely yet unrelenting volcanic eruption – to Virgil and Alan in order to back their big brother up. Sure, Virgil probably could corral their reluctant rescuees with a combination of his seemingly-eternal patience and sheer bulk, but if Scott’s Commander persona wasn’t getting through, then Gordon wasn’t a fan of throwing Virgil into the mix. Alan wasn’t even a consideration.

He’d recommended himself, John had agreed, and Scott hadn’t even given any indication that he’d heard him over the increasingly-aggressive sounding rescuee, so he went.

Unfortunately, it sounded very much like he hadn’t got there in time. There was, of course, a chance that Scott had snapped and been the first to lash out, but Gordon was doubtful that that was the case, even if he’d personally prefer it over Scott being the victim. Scott was good at keeping his temper under control on rescues, provided none of his family were threatened – and as he was alone in his sector of the danger zone, there was no way they were successfully threatening the rest of them. Ergo, the one with the freshly broken nose was Scott, and Gordon was incredibly displeased at that.

They were still shouting, none of their voices tinged with the tell-tale thickness of a broken nose, and the sound of more contact echoed across the comm.

Gordon accelerated a little more, breaking into a risky jog as he closed in on Scott’s location. Ungrateful and difficult rescuees were the worst, especially when they got violent towards his brothers. Scott could, in theory, handle it – although it was sounding rather like this time he couldn’t – but Kayo was the only other one of his siblings whose self-defence skills were greater than simply passable so Gordon often ended up as some form of defence.

That didn’t mean he liked doing it. They were there to help people, not fight them.

He slowed his pace again on the final approach, wanting to get a visual on the situation before actually getting involved. Blue and yellow wasn’t the best for stealth, but if no-one was actively looking for someone else nearby, he could disguise his presence reasonably well.

There were three of them, all yelling loudly. Smart businessmen in suits, but one was built a lot like Virgil and his face was a similar colour to Thunderbird Three as he roared at Scott. Gordon’s brother was backed up against a crumbling building that looked like it had been victimised by the warning quakes – another concern to keep an eye on – with one hand cupping his face in a way that made it perfectly clear that he was the one with the broken nose and the other balled into a fist of frustration.

His restraint was admirable; Gordon could tell that his temper was seething, and that the temptation was there to lash out in retaliation, but so far he hadn’t stooped to their level.

Gordon’s job was to make sure he didn’t.

“What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?” he inquired, stepping over some other quake-caused rubble as he made his presence known – still far enough away that they couldn’t just take a swing at him. “You know, this area is in the path of a whole load of lava and leaving would be a really good idea.”

“We’re not leaving!” the red-faced hulk snarled. To Gordon’s relief, he turned away from Scott to face him instead. “Get your fancy machines over here and protect my property.”

One of those, was he? Gordon wished he was surprised, but the arrogant, sharply dressed businessmen almost always cared more for their property than their lives. It made them incredibly tiring to deal with.

“Sir, that’s a wall of lava bearing down on us,” he pointed out, taking another step closer. “We can’t stop it, just get everyone out of its path before they end up like the residents of Pompeii.”

And Herculaneum, John’s voice snarked in the back of his head, although John himself was too busy directing Virgil and Alan while keeping an eye on the volcano itself to contribute to the conversation.

Red turned to a rather impressive shade of purple instead. “I demand that you protect my property,” the man exploded, rather like the erupting volcano itself. “It’s worth more than you could possibly imagine.”

Considering the Tracys ranked somewhere particularly impressive in the list of richest families in the world, Gordon probably could. The attending Thunderbirds alone were likely worth more than whatever it was he was trying to protect. He knew better than to mention that, though.

“That volcano really doesn’t care,” he said instead, which probably wasn’t much better. Movement behind the men facing him indicated that Scott was doing the smart thing and getting out of his cornered situation, although Gordon wasn’t naïve enough to think that he was being smart enough to leave the confrontation entirely.

“I don’t care what the volcano thinks,” purple-face yelled, lunging forwards. Gordon had been wondering when he’d snap again.

Already on guard, and not hemmed in against a building with nowhere to go, it was a piece of cake to duck down beneath the flailing arm, watch him overbalance, then grab his wrist and yank him into a submission hold.

“Hey!” The other men reacted, but Gordon glared at them and they halted in their tracks.

“Look,” he told the struggling man. “Our job is people, not properties, and we’re not leaving you to die so either you come with us peacefully, or I’ll force you.” He tightened his grip. “And we do not appreciate being attacked for trying to save your sorry asses.”

“Gordon!” Scott scolded, although his name came out all mangled thanks to the broken nose. Gordon elected to ignore him.

“There’s nothing International Rescue can do to stop the volcano destroying whatever it wants to destroy,” he continued. Purple-face gaped breathlessly, while the other two watched. “So are you going to go to the evac zone willingly, or do I have to force you?”

Scott’s hand clamped down on his own shoulder, but Gordon continued to ignore him in favour of waiting for the answer.

It didn’t take long.

“I’ll go, I’ll go! Let me go and I’ll go right now!”

Like many of their more aggressive encounters, it was all bravado shielding a delicate ego. Gordon released him and quickly stepped backwards, out of range of any other potential attacks – pushing Scott out of the way as he did – but it seemed that this one actually knew when he was beaten.

A dark look, an under-the-breath grumble that was probably some version of the cliché I’ll get you for this, and the man scarpered. The other two, who were almost certainly just lackeys, followed hot on his heels, and Gordon watched them go with narrowed eyes.

“Gordon,” Scott repeated again, all nasally and disapproving. He rolled his eyes – it wasn’t like Scott wouldn’t have done the same or worse had their situations been reversed – before turning to face his big brother.

“How did you let that guy get a hit on you?” he asked, mostly as a distraction and not because he was interested in the answer. Scott huffed, then winced.

Gordon closed the gap between them and reached for his cheek, carefully prying the concealing hand out of the way so he could see the damage properly.

“Gordon-”

“There’s no-one else left in this sector, Virgil and Alan have the rest of it under control, and that lava’s taking its sweet time approaching,” he reminded him coolly. “There is plenty of time for me to check you over." He lay his hand gently on Scott’s cheek, pushing himself up on tip-toe to be closer to eye level.

His nose was going to need re-setting; Gordon could do it right there, but it’d be without painkillers, whereas if they waited until they were back to Thunderbird Two they’d have the full medical compliment, including Virgil. Blood dripped sluggishly down, crossing Scott’s upper lip and dripping periodically onto his lower, and the classic twin black eyes were already beginning to blossom.

Scott suffered the inspection impatiently, switching his weight from foot to foot and glancing around the danger zone with an angsty air. Gordon was too used to his big brother’s quirks to be bothered by any of that.

“You’re getting some beautiful shiners,” he declared, swiping away the next dribble of blood with his thumb before releasing Scott’s head. The look Scott gave him could only be interpreted as thank you, Captain Obvious. “No light-headedness, double-vision, or any other signs of concussion?”

“I’m fine,” came the muffled, irritated, response. Gordon suspected he was at least partially annoyed with himself for being jumped in the first place. “We have an evacuation to finish.” It came out more like we hab an ebacuadun do binid.

Gordon eyed him critically, well aware that Scott wouldn’t admit to anything if he thought he could just push through it, but concurred.

He changed his mind approximately four seconds later, when Scott stumbled and swayed slightly.

“No light-headedness?” he repeated pointedly, fingers firmly wrapped around his brother’s bicep and holding him upright.

Scott didn’t acknowledge that with a verbal response, but the way he tugged to keep walking was enough for Gordon.

“Change of plan,” he chirped, taking the lead and guiding a somewhat reluctant Scott straight towards Thunderbird Two. “Virgil and Alan finish off the evac while I give that head of yours a proper scan and we’ll see what’s wrong. Well, more wrong than usual, I mean.” He ducked a half-hearted swipe and tightened his grip when Scott threatened to overbalance again. “John, you get that?”

“F.A.B.,” their perpetually eavesdropping brother agreed, appearing above his wrist. “Virgil and Alan have been updated and the local authorities informed about the dangerous rescuees.”

“Perfect,” Gordon said. “Hear that, Scott? You’ve got nothing to do except let me check you over, and I’ve got nothing to do except check you over, so let’s go do that and make sure you didn’t get a concussion.”

“I’m not concussed,” Scott protested thickly.

“Which is exactly what a concussed Scott Tracy would say,” Gordon pointed out. Scott stumbled again and he graduated from holding his bicep to wrapping his arm around his waist. “It’s just one measly little scan, Scott. It won’t bite.”

The glare he got in response to that was almost enough to convince him that Scott was probably fine. Almost.

Gordon chuckled as they approached the large green Thunderbird. Her module was open, with rescuees milling around concernedly, so he made a beeline straight for the cockpit, Scott in tow. His brother stumbled again, and Gordon firmly pushed him to sit in one of the passenger seats before retrieving a medscanner.

No concussion, but there was a minor head injury – not including the obvious. Gordon supressed a growl that would’ve been aimed at people out of earshot regardless, and dabbed lightly at the blood still sluggishly trickling down with a clean gauze. His brother attempted to take over, or at the least bat him away, but Gordon caught his hand in his and guided it firmly to rest on his lap.

“Let me do it,” he scolded lightly. “I can actually see where it is.”

It was a pretty feeble reason, admittedly – mirrors existed – but Gordon didn’t particularly care because he had no intentions of passing over the ministrations to anyone else anyway. If he did, he might just cave to the roaring instincts to teach the man – men – responsible a detailed lesson on why no-one hurt Gordon’s brothers.

It was much better for everyone involved if he kept himself busy.

#whumptober2021 #no.5 #broken nose #thunderbirds are go #fic #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #gordon tracy #scott tracy #tsari writes fanfiction #thunderwhump

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch 3. You Can Miss Something, But Not Want It Back

Summary: Steve opens up to Peggy about his feelings towards Katie and, after an emotionally charged afternoon, things heat up between the pair. But it all goes horribly wrong.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Language! Angst and a pair of total dumbasses in love…

A/N: A huge thank you to @angrybirdcr for her lovely little edit below. She’s so talented!!!!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 2

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

April 2013

“You know, you need to find someone you can experience all this with.” Peggy looked at her picture frames on her nightstand. “So you can have as many memories as I do.” Her gaze returned to Steve and he wondered if she could possibly know about his feelings towards Katie, those feelings that had been growing stronger and stronger over the past few weeks.

And then when she asked the next question, he knew she did.

“How’s Miss Stark?” Peggy asked, her eyes twinkling and Steve looked at her as a wicked smile crossed her face. He rolled his eyes.

“Peg…”

“I’m just asking a question!” She teased.

“We’re just friends.” he sighed.

“Hmmm” the old lady said thoughtfully “Still a bloody idiot when it comes to women, I see.”

He shook his head, a small laugh escaping him.

“I can tell you like her, the way you talk about her.” she pressed

“I do, I like her a lot, but she’s my best friend. Nothing more.”

“Alright, I’ll take your word for it.” She lay back on the pillow. “Thousands wouldn’t.”

“Just a good I don’t need to convince thousands.” He leaned back in the chair, raising an eyebrow at her.

“No, just yourself.” She shot back and he sighed. “Talk to me Steve.” She pressed again and he took a deep breath.

“I don’t know, maybe…ok not maybe…I do like her you’re right, but it’s just so damn complicated.”

“Why?”

“We’re from different places, times.” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Do you always have to be so dramatic?” She laughed

“You know, I’m getting tired of you calling me that.” He teased and Peggy laughed again.

“Because you are!” She shook her head. “Steve, I get it, you’re old…but, you’re not.” “Well that’s not confusing.” He rolled his eyes.

“What I mean is I have lived through these times, seen the world change, a lot of it for the better. Don’t let your life pass you by because you’ve still got one foot jamming open the door to the past”

“I know.” He popped a shoulder in resignation. “You know, sometimes I think it would be easier if I had my old life back, when times seemed a lot simpler.” “But then she wouldn’t be there.” Peggy raised her eyebrows. “You can miss something and not want it back, Steve. Just tell her how you feel, for goodness sake.”

“I don’t want to make an idiot of myself.” He shook his head. “If she doesn’t feel the same then-“

“Then at least you’ll know, and won’t live the rest of forever adding to that huge, great list of ‘what ifs’” the old woman shook her head “You’ve been given a second chance here Steve, don’t waste it. Barnes would be so mad at you right now.”

Steve had to fight a smile as he knew exactly what Buck would be saying if he were there.

“If you don’t ask her out, punk then I’m gonna…”

Suddenly a memory flashed in front of his eyes. The evening Peggy had walked into a pokey London boozer in that red dress, the one that had Bucky practically drooling and Steve’s crotch twitching slightly.

“I’m invisible…” Bucky moaned, turning back to the bar as she left, having just basically asked Steve to go dancing when the fighting was over.“I’m turning into you…”

“Never mind pal, maybe she has a friend…”

“You know, I’d like to see her again one day?” Peggy spoke, jerking him out of his thoughts “Katie, I mean.”

“Really?” he asked. Peggy had mentioned she had met Katie several times years ago, when she was a very small girl. Peggy and Howard had remained close until his death.

She nodded. “Especially if she’s as like Howard as you say.” “Alright, I’ll bring her in one day.” He said, before his phone beeped.

“When?” the old woman pressed.

“Were you always this impatient?” Steve quipped an eyebrow at her as he opened the message. It was a call in. He sighed “Soon, I promise.” He stood up. “Sorry Peg, I gotta go. Duty calls…”

*****

The mission was the retrieval of a stolen piece of Chitauri technology that had, according to Romanoff’s intelligence, been auctioned to some Arms traders operating out of Jordan. They were to intercept the piece of technology before turning over the dealers to the authorities. They were up against it time wise, and for that reason, everyone had boarded the jet with no real plan of what they were actually going to do, Steve had been thinking about it and studying the files since the jet took off and now he and Natasha had the bones of a strategy planned out, they just needed to flesh it out with the team.

“We’re at altitude.” Evans called from the cockpit. “Auto pilot engaged. ETA I hour 34.”

Everyone moved from their seats and crowded round the display as Natasha gave them a rundown of what they were up against.

“The main exits are here and here.” she span the blue prints round on the holodisplay. Katie frowned, her mind working fast “Evans and I can position ourselves here…” She pointed to the right of the screen. “That should give us a clear view of most of the grounds but there’s a blackspot here…” She moved her hand to the left, circling the bottom corner.

“Well we’ll just have to keep them away from there.” Steve said, and Katie glanced at him, his eyes flashing with humour. Their eyes remained locked, before Steve swallowed and he looked back round, clearing his throat. “There should be a clear run from where we touch down to the lawns.”

“Sure.” Katie nodded, making a show of looking at the detail, even though she wasn’t. Her mind was spinning. She’d been picking up signals from Steve for a few weeks now, signals that he might feel the same way as she did. The glances he gave her, the smile he would flash her that made her feel like there was no one else in the room. The gentle touches, the way he would lift her legs on movie nights so they were laying across his lap, how he would throw his arm round her when she’d lean into him, moments like the one that had just passed… but then, he made no effort to take things further and she wasn’t about to push him into anything. If there was something there, he had to decide, he had to make the decision he was ready to move forward.

And Katie wasn’t sure he ever would be.

“Rumlow, I want a STRIKE perimeter set up around the site. Cover that blackspot.” Steve looked at Rumlow who nodded. "The weapon is our main priority, but I want a clean sweep so they don’t have chance to do this again. Then I want you and Rollins with me and Romanoff inside to flush them out. Stark, Evans you to take down anyone who looks like they might break the perimeter, non-lethal if you can.”

Katie turned to Evans who nodded at her, the pair of them sharing a fist bump as he winked at her. Evans was a brilliant partner, and a good friend at that too. They worked well together.

The rest of the journey was spent pouring over blue prints, and once they reached the point where they could land safely, everyone was confident they were prepared as much as they could be. Whether that would be enough, was a different question.

Natasha and Steve slinked off into the shadows, heading to the building. There were two armed guards on the door but they had the element of surprise and took them out easily.

“Ok, we’re in…” Steve spoke. “Get ready, as soon as they see us they’ll make a run for it.”

Katie listened from her vantage point, a tall oak tree that overhung the South East side of the property, rifle trained, ready.

“I count six.” Natasha spoke

“At least three are armed.” Rumlow added

“Any sign of the weapon?” Katie asked.

“Negative…”

Katie kept her attention on the spot she was covering, and had to fight the giggle that threatened to erupt in her throat when she heard Steve utter, quite possibly, the cheesiest line he could have come out with when their team burst into the room.

“Auction is over Gentlemen. Where’s the Weapon?”

There was a split second and then all hell broke loose. Gun fire erupted in the ears of everyone listening on the coms along with the familiar sound of vibranium clanging off surfaces and people alike.

“One is making a break for it.” Rumlow yelled and Katie stiffened, raising her rifle slightly “Along with a case, it must be the weapon.”

“In pursuit.” Nat responded.“

He’s armed.” Steve shot back. “Someone cover her.” More gunfire and clanging rang out as Katie watched the door she was covering, not once breaking her line of sight. Suddenly it burst open and the man with the case flew out, shortly followed by a shock of red hair. But as Katie watched, her sharp eyes picked up movement in the shadow and someone barrelled at Natasha taking her down.

“Shit! Romanoff’s got company!”

“I’m handling it.” The red head grunted, jumping up.

Katie paused, before remembering the main operative.

“I’ve got no shot.” Evans spoke in her ear and Katie wheeled round locating the man in her sight. She cocked her gun, exhaled sharply, and pulled the trigger. Seconds later he hit the floor, clutching at his knee.

“Hostile down.” she informed, allowing herself a little smug smile before her attention turned to Natasha, who now had her target in a choke hold. He went limp and then she released him, dropping him.

“Well handled Widow.” Katie quipped.

“You do know that I can kill a man in twenty different ways, using just my hands, right?” Natasha replied, making her way over to the man with a bullet in his knee cap.

“Twenty?” Katie muttered, “I can think of, what, like eight, max?”

“Clearly you lack imagination, Nova.”

Once Steve was happy that the inside was clear and everyone was rounded up and secured, he made his way outside and headed over to where Natasha was kneeling over the briefcase. She opened it and grinned up at Steve, the black, silver and purple metal shining back up at them.

“The package is secure.” Steve smiled at Natasha, “Alright, Good job team. Rumlow, tell the Authorities they can move in, clear this lot up.”

“Sure Cap.”

“She’s good.” Natasha watched Katie join Evans where he was crossing the lawn, the two exchanging a hi-five before they made their way back to the jet.

“Yeah she is.” Steve nodded, allowing his eyes to follow Katie for a moment a she walked across the grounds.

“When you gonna ask her on a date?” Nat asked, turning to him as he picked up the case and they made their way back to join their team, the local police now swarming the place meant they were no longer needed.

“Seriously?” Steve looked at the red head rolling his eyes. “We’re in the middle of an op and you ask me that?”

“Well first off the op is over and second off I’m just trying to help. I see the way you look at her, like there’s no one else in the room.”

Steve floundered for a response. Was he really that obvious, or was Natasha simply that observant? He settled for a shake of the head, and an exasperated sigh. “You were trying to fix me up with someone from accounts not long ago.”

“Yeah that was before I decided Stark is a better match “ She shrugged, walking up the ramp to the jet.

Thankfully, Steve was spared responding as the jet was loud with cheering, the team all crowding Katie, taking turns to slap her back and congratulate her on a shot well taken.

Katie couldn’t help but grin as she removed her utility vest, before holding her hands up “Thanks but it was a team effort.” She felt a hand drop on her shoulder and she turned to Steve.

“If you hadn’t taken that shot he would have got away.” He looked at her. “All in a day work Cap.” she smiled.

“I mean it. You’re the best shooter I’ve seen since Buck.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze before instructing Evans to get them back to base.

As they flew back, Rumlow was engaging Katie in a conversation about a date he had had the previous weekend. Steve wasn’t really listening, but as Katie threw her head back in a genuine laugh at something Rumlow had said, gently nudging the man in the arm, it felt like someone was digging knives into his chest as the waves of jealousy crashed over him.

He glanced over at Romanoff who raised an eyebrow at him having seen the exchange and mouthed the word “just fucking ask her” and he looked away, irritated.

Steve wasn’t a chauvinist by any means, but he’d had enough that day of women telling him what to do.

*****

May 2013

The start of May brought with it a week of nothing but rain. And it was during this week that Fury dropped a bombshell on Steve. The Smithsonian wanted to curate an exhibit about him, and SHIELD along with the Government thought it would be a good idea. Steve wasn’t entirely sure how he felt to be honest. He knew the world was fascinated with Captain America, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about them knowing about him, about Steve Rogers.

So this was how he’d ended up taking a trip down memory lane in an office at the Triskellion, surrounded by boxes of his belongings that had all been in storage, things he had long forgotten he had. He’d found his mother’s old ring, the one his father had bought her when they left Ireland, a St Christopher’s pendant that had belonged to his father, a few books which Katie told him were first editions and probably worth a fortune, a couple of old records, a stash of Photos which Katie was currently digging through and something that made his breath catch when his hand closed around it. His compass, the one containing Peggy’s photo.

“Steve.” Katie spoke and he looked at her. She gestured him over and he obliged as she held out the photo for him. He glanced down, a small smile crossing his face as he looked down at the photo of him and Bucky, both in their uniforms, laughing. “Can you remember what you were laughing at?” she asked him.

“They had us doing this info documentary type thing, for the people back home.” He cleared his throat, taking the photo. “We were laughing at how utterly ridiculous and staged the whole thing was, like we would ever let press near our actual ops.”

Katie reached for the next photo and this one made her heart stop completely. Steve was on the left, looking at something that the man to his right was showing him on a screen. And that man needed no introduction.

“Dad…” she breathed out as Steve peered over her shoulder.

“He was a good man your father” Steve smiled as he thought of Howard “If a little… wild.”

“Wild? Dad?” She raised her eyebrow

“Yeah, he errr, liked to fondue…” Steve said, as he thought back to that conversation when he had thought fondue was some kind of innuendo for what Stark and Peggy got up to on their private time

“It’s just bread and cheese my friend…” Howard had said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Really? But I thought…“

"Well that’s your first mistake pal. The minute you think you know what’s going on a woman’s mind is the moment your goose is well and truly cooked…”

“Wow, melted cheese…what a rebel” Katie snorted sarcastically.

“Well I thought it was…never mind,” he shrugged, absentmindedly turning over the compass in his hand and he opened it, glancing down at the photo inside for the first time in almost seventy years.

“Peggy?” Katie asked, looking down at the compass

“Yeah” he snapped it shut and then looked at her, deciding that the time was right. He wanted to take her to see Peggy. Not just because Peggy had asked him to, but because he wanted to. “Would you like to meet her?”

“Me?” Katie asked, surprise in her voice.

“Well yeah, you’re a big part of my life now and I know she’d love to see you again”

“I’d be honoured.” Katie replied, and she meant it. Peggy had been important to her father, and she was curious to meet the woman that had held her best friend’s heart. Steve beamed back at her, thrilled by her answer and as their eyes locked, he felt that warm feeling as the butterflies in his stomach woke up.

******

They sorted his belongings into three separate categories- things for the museum, some more stuff to take back to his apartment, and the remainder to go back to storage, before they headed over town to see Peggy. Giving Katie assurances he wouldn’t be long, Steve entered the room first, leaving Katie, who was feeling quite nervous, waiting outside.

She didn’t know where the nerves were coming from, after all she had met Peggy when she was a young child, but that was before she knew who she was. Back then she’d simply been a lady that worked with her daddy, and now she knew the truth.

Inside the room Steve quickly told Peggy where he had been and she smiled when he told her about the museum and the photos, quipping that she would quite like to see that when it was all open.

“That is if they ever let me out of this place. I swear breaking out of Alcatraz would be easier.”

He chuckled at her joke. “Well, today I brought someone to you so you don’t have to plan an escape just yet.”

The old woman instantly brightened up and beamed up at him. "Katie?”

Steve smiled at her excitement and nodded “Yeah.”

“Well don’t leave me waiting, again!” Peggy shooed him to the door and he stood up, opening it. Katie spun to face him, her hands wringing each other and he gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

“Come on.” He held the door open. Katie took a deep breath, quelling her nerves and stepped into the room, Steve’s hand gently falling to her back as he guided her over to a seat by the bed.

It was easy for Katie to see that Peggy Carter had been a good looking, powerful woman in her day. Her eyes were bright, hair set in bouncy curls and she had a sort of regal quality emanating from her. She shrewdly eyed the brunette, before she chuckled and looked at Steve.

“Good grief!” Peggy smiled, looking back at Katie “Forgive me my dear, but you really do have that Stark look about you, but an awful lot of your mother too.”

Katie relaxed instantly and smiled back. “So I’ve been told. It’s an honour to meet you ma’am, again. I’ve heard so much about you.” “Please, call me Peggy” she smiled reaching for her hand “And I’m so pleased to see you again, it’s been a long time.”

Katie smiled, taking Peggy’s hand as the old woman continued.

“Steve talks about you a lot.” Peggy smiled and Katie glanced up at Steve, raising an eyebrow as he inwardly groaned, taking a deep breath.

“Peggy…” he warned, somewhat exasperatedly.

“What?” she asked innocently “I’m just saying…” she turned to look at Katie “Steve says you’ve been a good friend to him since he came out of the ice. I’m glad he’s had someone.” “He’s a good friend to me.” Katie replied, smiling “Keeps me on the straight and narrow.”

“You mean I try to.” Steve teased, and he saw Peggy smile as he was sure Katie was rolling her eyes “She’s a law unto herself this one Peg, not unlike you were!”

“He’s very sensible.” Peggy loudly whispered to Katie, before the old woman levelled Steve with a look, her eyes flashing mischievously. “But I want to know, Steven, why on earth haven’t you taken this gorgeous young lady dancing yet?”

Steve groaned and looked at Katie, feeling the heat rush up his neck and into his cheeks as he could do nothing but mouth the word sorry. Katie’s cheeks also flushed a shade of pink and he looked away as he replied, dodging the question.

“I can’t dance…you know that.”

“Everyone can dance, they just need the right partner.” Peggy looked at him, eyes locking onto his meaningfully. He swallowed again and Katie instantly picked up on his discomfort, she wasn’t stupid, the dancing thing clearly meant something and unless she was mistaken Peggy was implying something to do with her. Katie took pity on him and decided to save him his embarrassment so she spoke, breaking the moment.

“Well I won’t be much of a teacher, I’ve got two left feet.” she said, casually causing Steve to smile slightly shooting her a side glance.

*****

Steve would be lying if he said he hadn’t been slightly worried about introducing the woman who had been his first love to the girl he was harbouring feelings for now, but he needn’t have worried. Katie had laughed and joked with the old woman, often at his expense but he hadn’t minded. In fact, he had enjoyed it.

But that’s what Katie did. She made people feel better, at ease, knew what to say and when to say it.

And he’d decided there and then, buoyed by how well the meeting had actually gone, he was going to ask her out on a date. Today had brought everything into focus for him. Peggy was right, he couldn’t move forward and take the second chance life had given him if he had one foot in the past, one eye over his shoulder, and one part of his brain constantly wondering about what could have been.

Katie, meanwhile was locked in her own thoughts. The meeting with Peggy had put her slightly on edge. Not because of the old woman, in fact it had been amazing to meet her, but something about Steve changed as they left the Nursing Home. It was almost as if he was putting up a guard. She told herself it was normal, he was bound to feel confused after visiting his old flame and the whole thing with the museum, but part of her couldn’t shake off the feeling he was hiding something, and she didn’t like it.

She wasn’t an idiot. Steve and her had grown closer over the last few months and she knew to many it would be considered more than what you would dub a normal platonic relationship. She also knew, however, that he had ghosts in his past unlike any she’d ever dealt with before, which was what was making this entire situation ridiculously complicated.

She was pleased to see, however, that as they neared his apartment he relaxed and suggested that watch a film. They were still discussing which one as they climbed the three flights to his apartment.

“No.” He immediately deadpanned when she suggested watching the remaining Saw ones before he rolled his eyes when he clocked her grin. He hated those films, and she knew it. “Why don’t we start Star Wars? We never did get round to it…”

“Providing you don’t start the debate about which episode we begin with because if so I’m not sure I can be bothered trying to explain it again…” “I just don’t understand why you don’t start with one.” he took the opportunity to tease her as he slid the key into his lock.

“Because you don’t.” She said exasperatedly and he smirked at how easy it was to rile her when it came to films. ”It ruins the surprise and plot lines. You go Episode Four, Five and Six, then we hit One, Two and Three….”

They both turned as his neighbour, Kate walked onto the landing, bag over her shoulder, clutching a pile of mail.

“Hi Steve.” She smiled, unlocking her door.

“Hi Kate.” He greeted her back before he turned to Katie, who he realised had never met the woman before “This is my neighbour. Kate this is,”

“Katie.” she extended her hand, smiling politely.

“Katie Stark, I recognised you…sorry.”

“It’s fine” she said, still smiling. There was a pause and the faint sound of a phone could be heard.

“Sorry… I gotta’ get that.” Kate said quickly making her way into her apartment. “Goodnight Steve.”

“Night Kate.” He said in response. When he turned back around Katie was waiting, smirking at him.

“You’re as bad as Natasha.” He rolled his eyes, closing the door behind them as she stood front of him, kicking off her shoes.

“What you mean?” She asked walking through the small cloak area and into the hall way, heading straight for the kitchen.

“She keeps trying to set me up on dates” he sighed watching as Katie pulled two beers from his fridge.

“Who with?” Katie asked, frowning slightly, and she felt her neck and ears growing warm as the green eyed monster stirred.

“Pretty much anyone she can.” He snorted as they walked back into the living area.

“And none of them are…” She pressed, and he sighed.

“No.”

“Can I ask you something?” Katie sat next to him.

“If I say no are you gonna ask me anyway?” He looked at her. “Yeah.” She said after a pause. He snorted and gestured for her to go ahead.

“Peggy and you…how far did you actually get…I mean…”

Oh Jesus…

He contemplated brushing this one off, but then he realised he couldn’t lie to her, and he didn’t want to.

“We were supposed to go dancing.” He said gently, turning to face her, his right hand curling over the back of the sofa and she immediately understood then what that moment in the Nursing Home had been about. “Like on a date. I’d never been before, never found me the right person. And then I ended up in the ice before we got the chance.” He paused shook his head, “I know it’s dumb but…”

“It’s not Steve.” Katie replied, and at that she felt the tears prick her eyes. The emotion of the day completely overwhelming her. This man, this wonderful man had been denied the opportunity to live his life how he should. Robbed of his best friend, his love and all because he’d done what he could to keep people safe, serve his country.

“Hey.” He frowed as he noticed she was getting upset. “What is it? What’s wrong, Doll?”

“I hate that all that happened to you.” she shook her head softly. “That you never got chance to do all those things, that you never got your dance or your happily ever after. You deserve more.”

“Katie.” he sighed, gently wiping away a tear that fell down her face with his thumb. “Taking that plane down was my choice. Don’t cry over it, please. I hate seeing you upset.”

And he did. Her face was made for smiles, her eyes should be happy and shining, not full of tears. “Sorry.” She dipped her head, and then, before he could stop himself, Steve reached out gently and his finger tilted her face back up to look at him.

Ocean blue met emerald green, and Steve felt his insides coil tightly like a spring as Katie’s eyes bounced across both of his, the distance between them growing shorter, and shorter…

And then there was a knock on the door. Steve closed his eyes, let out a sigh and unfolded himself off the couch. Cursing internally all the way to the door, Steve wrenched it open a little harshly and took a deep breath at the blonde at the other side.

“Sorry to interrupt…” Kate said, handing him a letter “But this was in the pile of mail I got before.”

“Oh, thanks…”

“Enjoy your film.” Kate smiled and Steve nodded. “Have a good evening.”

The door clicked shut and Steve turned and headed past the doorway to the lounge and into kitchen, dropping the bill on the side. He rest his hands, palms flat on the cool surface of the kitchen counter, hanging his head slightly and taking a deep breath. He was in deep.

“I’m gonna head home.” Katie spoke and he turned to look at her, his face falling. He didn’t want her to go. But instead of telling her that he merely nodded.

“Okay.”

Without another word she turned and left, leaving Steve stood alone in his flat, rooted to the spot, disappointment an anger lancing through his body like red hot pokers.

Outside the rain had started again, so Katie didn’t waste any time in getting to her car. She’d wanted nothing more than for Steve to ask her to stay, to prove to her that he wasn’t merely swept up in the emotion of the day, but he hadn’t. Which was all the answer to her unasked question she needed. They both had baggage, she knew that, but Steve Rogers came with an entire fucking suitcase.

She managed to start the engine before she felt the tears spring forth. Slamming her head against the head rest in frustration she wiped at her face.

She was in deep, and she had no idea what she was doing to do about it.

***** Chapter 4

**Original Posting**

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #katie stark #chris evans #chris evans characters

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imnotwolverine · 3 years ago

Text

The Wolves Return - Part 3

< Part 2 | Part 4 >

Summary: Who’s more annoying: the goat or the girl?

Word count: 2.131 (7,5 minutes)

Disclaimer: 16+ - Mentions of injury, Geralt being sour old sock

‘There’s my girl! My sweet little girl!’

Eskel’s voice sounded at the other side of the dormitory, where Geralt lay tucked into one of the beds. With a soft grumble the bed-ridden Witcher cracked open an eye. What had happened? Why was he here? Swiping a tired hand over his face he watched the closed door from which some footsteps were heard. What was Eskel on about?

‘Ha! You are silly, you know that. Much like your father.’ Eskel chimed.

Geralt frowned. Who was he talking to?

‘Do not tell me she’s still here..’ Geralt whispered with a low growl, as he pushed his aching body away from the mattress. He felt like he had been thrown in a mangler and it took all his willpower to not let out a cry.

Back in the day he would have recuperated easily from his wounds. But age at last, though not quite visible, seemed to have caught up with him. And the less visible scars - those deep within, were there to always remind him that his young years were long gone now.

Eskel had gone quiet and a moment later the door opened. With powerful strides he came in, looking dangerous with his facial scars and gigantuous physique. Eskel was however tender as a butterfly, and it showed in the way he kept his favourite goat safely in his arms. Gertie. The black-and-white flecked cause of plenty of mayhem when her adoring human ‘father’ wasn’t around.

‘And she’s right!’ Eskel laughed, kissing Gertie atop her bony head. The goat blankly stared at Geralt.

Geralt silently rolled his eyes. ‘Eskel.’

‘Hi there old man.’ Eskel grinned. His weight made the floorboards of the dormitory crunch. And the light, hmm.. It must not be late in the day. Morning probably.

‘No older than I am.’ Geralt complained as he pushed his legs over the edge of the mattress. His legs were bandaged. Properly this time. Another good note was the lack of buzzing of his head. He did not know what kind of potion the woman had given him, but it had been a bad one. Even now he could feel a faint tingle in the far ends of his fingertips.

‘Couldn’t quit the hunt, huh?’ Eskel plopped down on the bed beside Geralt, who warily watched the goat. Gertie already air-chewed in that testy little way only she could unnerve him. After some minor incidents, Geralt had locked most of the rooms in the keep, so he wouldn’t have to chase down this darn goat as she’d sneak around eating everything and anything.

‘She’s a little on the thin side.’ Eskel said, scratching the goat beneath her chin. The goat continued to stare at Geralt.

Geralt shot an unamused look back at Eskel. ‘Gertie? Well..It’s her own fault. She escaped again.’

‘Ah, well they all come back in the end, don’t they?’ Eskel winked at Geralt, who grunted softly. Why was Eskel always so upbeat?

‘Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that --’

‘HI!’ Another pair of feet entered the dormitory. The woman. Geralt’s face fell into an ever deeper grimace.

‘Ah f--’

‘I thought I’d bring some food!’ She said, raising a small plate with some dried meats and fruits. Eskel whooped.

‘A woman to my heart!’

The woman smiled and walked towards the men.

‘Interesting taste in women you have.’ Geralt whispered beneath his breath.

‘Well I--’ Eskel looked up as the woman stepped in before the two Witchers. ‘Hi.’ He smiled and looked at the plate of food in her hands. ‘Great! Shall I eh…’ He eyed Geralt who looked at him with widening eyes. ‘Leave you two..?’

Geralt started shaking his head.

‘No?’

The woman giggled. ‘Don’t worry Geralt. I don’t bite as hard as Gertie does.’

Before Geralt could utter a complaint Eskel and Gertie had left and Geralt was left alone with the woman. Bouncing from one foot to the other she looked around the dormitory. She was wearing some old clothes Ciri had left behind, and though the clothes didn’t look too bad, it was clear they weren’t fitting quite as they should. A little too tight in some places, a little too loose in others.

‘Oh and the food.’ She quickly placed the plate of food next to Geralt. With long lashes she looked away as he pulled away the last of the sheets from his body. He was wearing no more but some knee length breeches and it was clear from the hot blush on her cheeks that she was very aware of how close to nudity he was.

‘Never seen a man before?’ Geralt quirked an eyebrow. With a swift move he landed a cut of dried sausage in his mouth. Sausage. The woman’s cornflower blue eyes looked at him with slight puzzlement.

‘You have no idea who I am, huh?’ She said, shoulders drooping.

Geralt blinked, chewing on the sausage. ‘I’ve recovered from my amnesia well enough to..remember..’ He frowned. Thoughts bubbled faster and faster up from the dusty corners of his mind. After years of close to no adventures, it felt truly like a lifetime ago last he traveled The Trail. Corn..flower..blue.

I’m going to be a father, Geralt.

‘Jaskier.’ Geralt whispered, ‘Son of a..’

‘His daughter Isabella, yes.’ The woman interrupted, offering a hand in greeting.

Geralt looked up at her hand and hesitated. Shake? Kiss on knuckles? Swat away? He studied the deep blue of her eyes that he could have recognised anywhere. She definitely had her father’s eyes. Hopefully, for her good, that was were the resemblance ended. She smiled.

‘Goat got your tongue, Witcher?’

Nope. She definitely inherited more.

‘Look I don’t know why you are here, but--’

‘Oh please!’ She sat down and plopped a dried piece of apple in her mouth. ‘If I wanted to hear stories about my father I’d just go to the local whorehouse. Sure enough the two of you left plenty a --’

‘Isabella.’ Her name tasted strange in his mouth. It sounded too regal for a woman who sat here dressed in something close to rags.

‘Yes.. Geralt of Rivia?’

Geralt contemplated his question for a moment. With a guarded gaze he watched her look around the dusty room.

‘Why ARE you here?’

‘Oh that.’ She looked back at him and smiled. ‘I eh.. Guess I need a Witcher?’

‘I don’t go out on The Trail any longer. Ask Eskel.’

‘Yea yea I know. And I also learned you gentlemen don’t work during the winter, so there’s that for timing. Besides, the weather truly has gone atrocious in moments. I do not know who else you expect to arrive, but they’ll surely freeze over before --’

Too much talking. Geralt growled softly and turned his head away, eyes squinting closed. ‘Woman!’ He inhaled sharply. ‘I mean..I-Isa-bella.’

She bit her lip. ‘Sorry.’

Geralt grunted and swiped a tired hand over his face. Why couldn’t all women be like Roach? ‘No, no I’m sorry. Argh.’

Isabella watched Geralt as he started chewing on a piece of cheese. His square jaw was dusted with a speckle of grey that would soon grow out in a beard. It’d probably look good on him.

‘Are you mad at me?’

Geralt’s chest rumbled softly, but he did shake his head no. ‘Let’s just say you take after your father.’ He looked up and shook his head in bemusement.

Isabella smiled. ‘Horny old bastard he was.’

‘I didn’t mean that you --’

‘OH!’ She gasped in shock at her own words. ‘Apologies! I didn’t mean.. I mean.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I am..neither a bastard nor am I..’ Her gaze involuntarily flew over Geralts chest. ‘horny.’

Geralt knew women well enough that he best keep quiet to prevent any further embarrassment on her end. She sure as hell took after her father with that mouth of hers.

With a slightly uncomfortable tug he pulled the sheets back over his abdomen.

‘Alright. We’ll eh..talk later.’ Isabella said, before hurrying off with a long string of near silent curse words on her lips -- something that unfortunately for her, Geralt’s Witcher senses picked up quite perfectly.

Kaer Morhen smelled differently. It was not only because of the stew that was cooking, or Gertie who had been bound to a ring to keep away from the furniture she had started eating earlier this afternoon. No. There was something strangely familiar about the scent of a woman.

As Geralt sat perched on a comfortable chair near the hearth, his fingers absentmindedly carved away on a piece of soft wood. It was a new pass-time of his and he had gotten quite skilled at it by now. Without so much as looking he could carve out small horses, goats, swords.. and if he felt adventurous: women.

Right now the little piece of wood in his hand was only becoming slimmer. No shape there to be defined. Geralt had a difficulty to keep his mind keen now his nose continued to drift off towards the herbal sweet smell of this strange new guest in his keep.

On the other far end of the keep’s main room sat Eskel, who was reading. Though brutish in appearance, Eskel had always been one of the more refined of the School of the Wolf. Much to Vesemir’s amusement, the late keep-holder of Kaer Morhen. Yes, those darn books. Geralt had despised them. And so father, so daughter: Ciri had taken on any chance to go out and train come rain and come shine in the courtyard.

‘What are you up to?’ Geralt finally said, focussing his eyes on the woman that sat huddled over a table with an avalanche of books folded open.

‘Reading.’

‘Hmm.’ Geralt sighed and turned a little more towards the woman. In the far back he could see Eskel look up in mild curiosity.

Scratching her arm, the woman kept her focus on the sheets of paper before her. She seemed not just curious. She seemed nervous. That is, what Geralt had been smelling. Her sweat. A thin aromatic layer of sweat that basked this whole room in her presence.

‘Is it exciting?’ Geralt pushed himself up with a teeth-gritted grunt and walked over.The potion the woman had given him had thankfully worn off, so he was back to the same old aches he had to live with in cold and humid weather.

Making his way to the table, he noted she was not really reading-reading. Before her lay maps. Charts. Prints of the surrounding grounds of the keep.

‘Planning for an escape already?’

Isabella finally looked up. ‘Gotta keep my options open, no?’

Geralt looked down at the map. Her finger was resting dangerously close to one of the secret paths. Paths that he thought not even Jaskier had known about.

Isabella continued. ‘I think I came this way. The local hunter a few villages north told me far too good a tale for it to be all lies, so I set out and--’

‘What tale?’

Isabella looked up. ‘About a dangerous troll, who lives up here.’ She sniffled as she saw Geralt’s face sour.

‘You know we can’t let you live if you know the path to and from the keep.’ He sat down with a pained grunt. ‘For hundreds of years only a select group of Witchers and friends have known these tracks, and we very well like to keep it so.’ With a quick swipe he retrieved the maps and started to fold them away.

Isabella sat back and sighed. ‘Shouldn’t have shown my dad then.’

Geralt looked up. ‘He told you?’

Isabella sniffed. ‘Have you met my father? If there’s one thing he was truly blessed at, it was talking.’ She looked at Eskel who quickly reverted his eyes to his book.

‘I remember that unfortunately too vividly.’ Geralt stacked the papers together and eyed Eskel. The other Witcher made a statement of not returning his gaze. Urgh, he needed Eskel in this right now. What did he have to do with this woman?!

‘Geralt I --’ Isabella started when she noted with a gasp that something had gone terribly wrong at the other side of the room. Geralt turned his attention to that corner of the room as well, only to note what it was; Gertie. Gertie was gone.

Before he could say it, Eskel had already jumped up from his seat and the three of them set out to look behind the crates, open doors and where not.

She couldn’t have gone far, right?

Geralt slowly hopped on behind Isabella. Again, like when he met her, he felt a strange feeling come over him. And his medallion.. He reached up and noted that Isabella started turning around with a sheetpale face.

‘Geralt..?’

His medallion started humming.

Part 4 >

General Tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @tumblnewby @magdelen69 @thereisa8ella @mary-ann84 @darkbooksarwin @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @hell1129-blog @agniavateira @tillthelandslide @elinesama @maddyreads14 @aletheladyinred @moonlacebeam @kebabgirl67

#geralt of rivia #multichapter #eskel #henry cavill fanfiction #fanfiction #kaer morhen #old geralt

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years ago

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Karen.”

Sorry guys. I have to post this really quick, sorry for spelling errors. Don’t worry about the Drev translations, they arent important

The civilian transport was very lucky.

In fact it was very lucky for a couple of reasons, the first being that it was only their secondary engine which had malfunctioned, not the warp core, second because at least their life support still worked, and three that they were close enough to an outpost , that their S.O.S was received in under a day by a very bored Tesraki, and an overly-talkative Rundi.

Their last stroke of luck might have been that there just so happened to be a UNSC ship passing by, on their way to the same original destination.

In fact, the civilian transport, piloted by some kind of space cruise company, offering interstellar tours, was attached to the harbinger in under an hour opening the doors and flooding the civilians with fresh cool air.

Krill was waiting with doctor Katie on the loading ramp just in case the civilians were in need of some sort of medical attention. He didn’t exactly have much experience with civilians. The harbinger was crewed, in large part, by military personnel and the occasional government contractor, so most of them were relatively professional, and most, if not all of them , were required to go through extensive training and physical testing before leaving their planet.

As the civilian humans disembarked, Krill got a sudden taste of human tourism.

Some very, very large humans, wearing widely unmatching clothing and strangely patterned shirts toddling through the doors with so much excess weight, he wondered how the human skeleton was capable of supporting such an egregious amount without simply imploding and turning to dust. The health implications were absolutely horrendous, and made him cringe to think about.

And if they weren’t big and colorfully dressed, they were rail thin, with plastic faces and puffy lips, the mark of cosmetic surgery done poorly. And with them they brought a hoard of screaming children, and moody teenagers their heads down glowering at their implanted communication devices, though Krill could hardly blame them from their moodiness.

A few more normal humans were there of course, averaging between the two extremes, and dressed conservatively for travel looking absolutely done with the entire thing and relieved when they stepped onto the cargo deck.

“Well it is about time!”

Krill and Dr. Katie turned their heads just in time to see the last human disembark shoving past the other guests and onto the floor, dragging with her two teenagers, one young child and her apologetic looking husband “It sure did take you long enough. And I swear once I have time I am going to be complaining to customer service. I will be complaining to the travel agency, and to the transport agency and.” She turned to glower at Dr. Katie and Dr. Krill,” And I will be complaining to you, whoever you people are for taking so long to show up.”

Krill glanced up at the woman who was only growing closer and closer, ominously looming over them. From this distance Krill got a better look of her badly maintained A line haircut, and her patchy blonde dye job with layers. She had a look on her face that were to suggest she perpetually had something sour in her mouth

Dr. Katie sighed, “Sorry ma’am. I can’t help you, I am a civilian medical contractor, not a member of the UNSC. I am just here to deal with any medical issues that you may have experienced during the malfunction.”

“Of course you’re UNSC, you work on the ship don’t you?”

Katie tried to remain patient, “Yes, I work on the ship, but like I said before I am a civilian contractor and have no ability to help you with your complaints. Is there any medical issue that I can help you with.”

“I demand a refund at once.”

Dr. katie Sighed, “I am a Dr. and I do not work for your touring company either. I am a private civilian medical contractor.”

“And that was not a medical issue.” Krill added already annoyed.

By this time, the woman hadn’t even semed to notice him, but as soon as he spoke, she turned her eyes down towards him and screamed. She made a big show of falling backwards hand over her heart as if she had been shocked, “What is that!” Dr. Katie frowned, “This is Dr. krill, our OTHER civilian medical contractor.”

“Get it out of here, Immediately! I demand it be removed.” She backed away towards her family, “How dare you do something like this, my daughter has arachnophobia. I demand he be removed immediately”

Dr. Katie was frowning openly now, “I am not going to remove him from the deck. He is our chief medical officer, and not an arachnid. That is very rude, you may not know but it is considered a very offensive slur to call Vrul by those terms.”

“I don’t care, can’t you see what it is doing to my daughter!”

Dr. Katie and Dr. Krill turned to look at the teenage daughter, who, at that very moment looked like she wished to melt through the floor. It seemed that having all blood boiled out her ears in the vacuum of space would be way more preferable to this. Her husband was hiding his face, though no one said anything.

Behind her, the other tourists were looking wildly uncomfortable.

One of the large, colorful gentlemen stepped forward, “Why don’t we all just calm down, they are only trying to do their jobs.”

“Yeah, didn’t you hear them. They are civilian contractors.”

“You mind your own business.” She snapped turning back to the two of them. Behind her, her youngest son had gotten bored of the conversation and had wandered off. As they watched he busied himself with terrorizing the cargo crew darting in front of cargo carriers and screaming at the top of his lungs once he realized he could make his voice echo back to him.

“Ma’am, could you please get your son.” Dr Katie began, but was cut off.

“He can do what he wants. Don’t your bring my baby into this.”

“Mom-” The teenager began.

“Quiet Terrance.”

The boy shut his mouth joining his sister in wanting to melt through the floor.

She jabbed a finger at Krill, “Get that bug out of here NOW before I am forced to call someone.”

Krill watched in detached awe as Dr. katie grew very still. Her lips were drawn into a thing line, and the eyes behind her glasses narrowed sharply brows plunging, “I will not.” He was worried for a moment that Katie was going to flat out deck this woman, but she kept her cool, though her hands were balled into fists.

“I demand to speak with the manager!” The woman began screaming stomping her foot like a toddler.”

“Fine.” Doctor katie growled through clenched teeth, turning to look down at her implant before sending a text.

The woman looked very smug sitting back with her arms crossed as Dr. katie and Krill were finally allowed to begin their work, going around to the other civilians and asking if they were feeling alright. The big colorful man, with the surprisingly pleasant voice whispered an apology to them, “She's been a nightmare the whole trip. My wife and I were just coming out to gamble in some of those Tesraki casinos, you know try the exotic food, but she insisted that her son can’t eat any of that and that it shouldn’t be served on the ship or else he'd have some horrible allergic reaction. Honestly it's probably a load of bullshit.”

His wife placed a hand on his arm, “Herold.” She scolded quietly

“Sorry, dear. Anyway, you two are doing a great job.” Before looking down at Krill, “Watch out, there are some real xenophobes around these parts, and she might just be one of them.”

In the background her kid was still making a mess bringing everything in the hold to a complete standstill.

Krill was appalled and almost impressed at how horrible this all was

There was a clattering towards the end of the room, and the group of them turned to see commander Vir, Sunny and a group of other drev walk into the space..

“Zha dah nee to chatahach nehkasi.”

“Zha janaik.”

“Tsa dee.”

“Geesee zha dee.”

“Nin tsa kasish, Chalan.”

“Zha nehrekazi. Zha lad nee gengi kasat.”

The group of them stopped in their tracks cutting their conversation mid go as the kid ran past them screaming, nearly knocking a pallet of crates off balance as he went.

Commander Vir frowned, “Hey! Knock it off!” The kid paused in his tracks a defiant expression in his eyes, and looked about ready to do something stupid. However a group of three Hulking Drev, and one eyeless human was enough to send him scurrying to his mother, who was not happy.

She marched forward, “how dare you speak to my son like that. Who exactly do you think you are.”

“And who are you?” The commander asked.

“A paying customer.”

The commander looked confused, “Paying for what?”

“Don’t play coy with me. You now what.”

“I can honestly tell you that I don’t know.” He turned his head back to the Drev “Nijeesh”, and motioned them off knowing this was going to take a while

She screeched, “Stop speaking to them in that language, this is a human ship! Speak human!” Krill an the other Drev looked on in confusion, considering that there were a couple of human languages to choose form, making her argument extra stupid.

“I paid for this tour, and now I demand to speak with your manager.”

The commander folded his arms, “We aren’t part of the tour company, we are part of the UNSC.”

“I don’t care.”

“Ma’am I cannot help you with the tour company. THe UNSC has nothing to do with civilian tours.”

She held up a hand in front of his face, “No, I won’t be talking to you anymore, not until is see a manager.” She snapped her fingers.

A small spark of fire lit in the man’s eyes, “I AM the manager.”

She laughed, barking like a condescending seal, “Don’t lie to me boy, you are too young. Now let me talk to an adult. The REAL manager.”

Commander Vir stared at her mouth open completely nonplussed, “I’m 25.”

“Exactly, clearly not old enough.”

He just held out his hands lost for words for a long moment before, a subtle change appeared in his expression. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, “My apologies, ma’am, we don’t technically have a manager aboard the ship, but this just so happens to be the UNSC Harbinger, so maybe I can get Commander Vir to speak with you.”

Her eyes lit up hungrily at that. And Krill stared on in wonder and fascination.

“yes , I will speak with the commander.”

Her two teenagers looked up from their shame, and Krill could tell by the wide eyed expressions on their faces, they knew exactly who their mother was talking to. Both of their faces went beat red.

Commander Vir turned walked a few steps turned around and walked back standing up straighter, ‘Hello ma’am I am Fleet Commander Vir of the UNSC Harbinger, how may I be of assistance.”

The woman looked livid, “This isn’t funny! Now get me the real commander now!”

“mom/” One of her kids hissed.

She held out a finger.

“Mom!”

She turned to glare angrily at her child, “Not while the adults are speaking terrance.”

“But mom! He IS the commander!”

She turned to glower at her son, who was brandishing his implant with a picture of Adam in uniform, one of the images used for the movie.

It was time for her husband to speak up, “Dear…. He’s the one from that movie…” he trailed off.

She whirled around to face him face red with embarrassment as he stood there with a shit eating grin, but then, in her embarrassment, doubled down even harder, “Well no wonder this place is so poorly run. You’re too young to have the position you do. Is there someone ELSE more experienced I can speak with.”

Commander Vir just stared at her, “Ma’am I am the highest power you are ever going to talk to. Even if I was god's secretary, you wouldn't get past the door. Now shut up get your crotch goblin, under contorl and keep your xenophobic agest ass quiet. I am not going to bother being polite to someone who has openly thrown speciesest slurs at my crew.” He motioned to the other passengers, “The rest of you are welcome onto the crew deck for the time being.” The rest of her family members visibly wilted, “Your two kids and your husband are allowed as well, but until you can learn a little respect, and treat my crew the way they deserve, you and your youngest can stay on the civilian transport alone.”

From where she stood next to Krill, Dr. Katie giggled, “I love it when he gets all righteous indignation.” Krill had to agree with her.

Watching him turn and leave the woman speechless with fury behind him was extremely satisfying.

#humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are spaceoddities #earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia

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westallenfun · 4 years ago

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WestAllen secret santa gift From: @sophisticatedloserchick For: @candiceverse

Summary: AU. Much to his embarrassment Barry twists his ankle slipping on ice. But then he meets Doctor Iris West and maybe his luck has turned.

Rating: PG

Word Count: 2042

A/N:I hope you enjoy this! I tried to do an uncommon AU trope since you said you’ve read so many Westallen fics :p

Barry had done some pretty embarrassing things in his life. Like the time in fourth grade when he confessed his love for the most popular girl in school Tammy Lawson only for her to turn him down in front of everyone in the cafeteria. Or the time he spent weeks preparing to try out for the school football team only for him to fail at every challenge. There were more but Barry didn’t like dwelling on them if he could help it.

Now years later Barry had more or less grown into a accomplished and capable adult. He got a great job working as a CSI for the CCPD, owned his own apartment and even made meals for himself that didn’t requite a microwave a few times a week. Which is why the events leading up to him ending up in the hospital on Christmas Eve night made him want to crawl into a hole and never come out of it.

“You okay there bro?” Cisco cautiously looked at him.

Barry gave him a withering look before gesturing to himself. Where he currently found himself in a small hospital bed and the unflattering hospital gown he wore, right down to her left ankle the shade of dark purple and swollen three times its normal size.

“Right sorry,” Cisco winced, “Dumb question to ask.”

Barry returned to staring up at the bright florescent lights of the hospital room contemplating his bad life choices.

After several minutes of silence Cisco awkwardly coughed to get his attention and held up his cellphone.

“So your parents said they’ll be here soon,” Cisco said looking like he needed to brace himself.

Which turned out to be the right instinct to have.

“Cisco!” Barry bolted upright in the bed and sucked in a sharp breath of pain from jostling his leg. “Why would you do that? I don’t want them to know about this.”

“Dude come on,” Cisco tried to reason with him. “You don’t think your parents wouldn’t notice the swollen ankle and the limp?”

Barry scowled because as much as he hated to admit it Cisco had a point.

“Did you tell them the whole story?” Barry narrowed his eyes at his best friend.

“No I swear I didn’t,” Cisco held up his hands placatingly. “I only told them you slipped on some ice.”

“Good,” Barry sunk back into the hospital bed. “Getting a swollen ankle on Christmas Eve is bad enough without letting my parents know what an idiot I'am.”

“I promise no one will ever know,” Cisco comfortingly clapped Barry on the shoulder. “Look on the bright side things couldn’t possibly get any worse.”

At those words the dark blue privacy curtain was sharply pulled back to reveal the doctor.

“Hello there,” She smiled pleasantly at the two of them. “I’m Doctor West, I’ll be your doctor this evening.”

Barry felt his jaw literally drop looking at her.

She couldn’t of been much older than him which meant she must of been smart as hell. As she smiled at him Barry felt the air go out of his lungs simply looking at her. Her skin a smooth rich brown and her long black hair sensibly clipped back to keep tendrils of hair out of her face. She dressed in the typical light blue scrubs and white lab coat but somehow Barry knew she looked better than most girls dressed in designer clothes. But what Barry found he couldn’t take stop gazing into were her dark brown eyes framed with thick lashes.

“Barry, Barry,” Cisco’s fingers were snapping in front of his face, “Earth to Barry!”

“Huh….what?” Barry blinked out of his stupor then felt his cheeks go red when the doctor looked at him in concern.

“You weren’t responding for a minute,” Doctor West immediately went to his side. “Are you feeling dizzy? Any headaches?”

She suddenly pulled out a pen light and flashed the light in Barry’s eyes checking for a response.

“No, no I’m fine,” Barry reassured her. “Only a little tired maybe.”

Doctor West looked at him thoughtfully before walking to the end of the bed to grab his chart.

“Well looks like you didn’t sustain a head injury with your fall,” She said while scanning the chart, “Would you mind telling me how it happened?”

Cisco and Barry both exchanged panicked looks that had Doctor West narrowing her eyes at both of them.

“Gentlemen I can’t give proper care unless I know the whole story,” She put the chart back and walked back closer to Barry again, “Now please tell me what happened.”

“I…Ummm…Well you see,” Barry fumbled over his words.

He found his brain couldn’t work properly when Doctor West looked at his directly. Something about those dark almond shaped eyes made Barry melt.

“I pushed him!” Cisco said suddenly.

Both Doctor West and Barry turned to look at him shocked.

“I’m sorry you did what?” Doctor West asked in disbelief.

“We were horsing around,” Cisco practically gulped as Doctor West stared him down. “And you know we got too rough and he didn’t see the ice. Boys will be boys right?”

Cisco ended his explanation by awkwardly waving his hands about nervously. Barry buried his face in his hands already knowing the doctor wouldn’t buy one word of this.

Before Doctor West could open her mouth to say anything else Cisco pulled out his cellphone making sure they both saw it.

“Oh look that’s my mom calling,” Cisco said even though the phone didn’t ring once. “I better go take this. So I’ll be going and I probably won’t be back, k bye.”

As Cisco practically fled the room Doctor West turned to give Barry a disbelieving look.

“I hope you know I don’t believe a word of that,” Doctor West folded her arms across her chest. “Care to tell me the truth?”

Barry slunk down in the bed having to accept he wouldn’t be getting out of this. Not only would he be telling this embarrassing story but he would be telling it to a incredibly gorgeous woman that he would normally ask out on a date under the better circumstances.

“So there was this old lady,” Barry began nervously.

“Uh huh,” The doctor’s lips twitched upwards in an almost smile.

“And she was crossing the road, and its all snowy and Icy.” Barry continued already dreading continuing. “I went to go help her. To make sure she didn’t slip and fall. And well…”

Doctor West reached out to squeeze his shoulder and give him an encouraging smile.

“I guess I must of startled her because she hit me over the head with purse.” Barry continued.

Doctor West’s eyes went wide surprised at the turn in his story.

“And she kept hitting me, then I slipped on the ice and hit the ground,” Barry kept going knowing there was no point in stopping now. “She kept hitting me with her purse and screaming that I was trying to rob her.”

Doctor West pressed her hand to her mouth and Barry could tell she had to struggle not to laugh.

“I tried to get away fast but when I got up and tried to cross the street a car hit me and I slid on the ice right into this Christmas tree and then-”

“Okay okay I get it,” Doctor West broke out into laughter. “You’re painting a very vivid picture.”

To Barry’s shock and surprise somehow this night got so much worse.

“Listen I’m sorry,” Doctor West calmed her laughter when she noticed Barry pouting. “Honestly what you did was very sweet and chivalrous.”

“You think so?” Barry looked at her in disbelief.

“Definitely,” Doctor West gave him a soft smile. “Not many guys would go help an old lady cross the street. I can tell you’re a good guy.”

Barry felt a wave of warmth spread through his chest as he rubbed the back of his neck shyly. He still felt embarrassed by the whole incident but getting praised by his beautiful doctor made him feel that much better. As they looked at each other Barry found himself drowning in those dark brown eyes, his chest tightening the longer they gazed at each other.

Doctor West bit down on her full lower lip thoughtfully which made Barry’s stomach do pleasant flips again.

Barry couldn’t help but be compelled to lean in closer to her and to his surprise she didn’t pull away.

But the sudden appearance of his parents put a stop to that.

“Barry sweetheart are you okay?” His mother rushed past the curtain to Barry’s side.

Doctor West quickly pulled back to put a respectable distance between her and Barry. He felt himself caught between answering all of his mother’s many questions and watching Iris shake hands with his dad and them chatting.

Before Barry could divert from his mother’s attentions Doctor West gave a small wave and walked out of the room.

Barry tried to school his features to conceal disappointment at Doctor West leaving so he wouldn’t be too obvious to his parents.

“Good news son,” His dad come over to his bed, “The doctor said after they put your leg in a cast they can discharge you tonight.”

“Yeah that’s great,” Barry smiled weakly but kept thinking about how he wouldn’t have a chance to see Doctor West again.

Two hours later after getting his leg in a cast and filling out piles of paperwork Barry ended up in a wheelchair being pushed by his dad to the parking lot. Barry kept craning his neck and looking at all the doctors as he was being pushed down the hall hoping to spot Doctor West.

As they got closer and closer to the exit Barry had resigned he wouldn’t see her again tonight.

“Wait a minute Mr Allen!”

Barry’s parents stopped pushing wheelchair as all three turned around to see Doctor West speed walking towards them. Barry felt himself blushing again when she beamed with happiness when she caught up to them. If only his parents weren’t here Barry might get the nerve to ask her out on a date.

“Is everything okay doctor?” His mother asked her nervously.

“Yes of course,” Doctor West rushed to reassure them, “I just wanted to give Barry an updated prescription.”

Iris turned to smile at Barry handed him a folded piece of paper. Their fingers briefly brushed and Barry could feel shocks of pleasure go through him at the small touch. More than ever he mentally kicked himself for not getting her number when he could.

“Thanks Doctor,” Barry stumbled over his words, “For everything.”

Barry locked eyes with Doctor West and as ridiculous as it sounded he felt a connection between them.

Iris gave him a final nod before turning around and walking back down the hall.

“What a nice girl,” His mother said as his father started pushing his wheelchair again, “You should ask a girl like that out on a date.”

“Leave him be,” His dad chuckled at his wife’s not so subtle hints. “You can’t expect Barry to ask every girl out on a date.”

As his parents to continued to discuss his dating life, or lack thereof, Barry unfolded the piece of paper to see what she wrote.

‘Dear Barry,

This might be crossing over a line but its not often you come across a cute guy who is also the nicest. So if you’re interested too give me a call’

Barry stared at the phone number with suppressed glee and if he didn’t have a twisted ankle he would be jumping with joy. Already in his mind he planned when he would call her and ask her out on that date, preferably when he could walk without needing assistance. His eyes then went down to where she signed the note at the end.

Iris, Barry thought to himself, what a beautiful name.

Turned out getting your ankle twisted by a old lady on Christmas Eve had its benefits.

#westallen #westallen secret santa #submission

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lightofthemoonglow · 4 years ago

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chapter six - i held it in but now it seems you’ve set it running free

Summary: Things start to heat up, but with that, comes the whole ‘feelings’ issue that has been lurking in the background for months.

This is chapter six of ‘Howl’, a fic about how the massacre leads to an intensely intimate and kinda kinky relationship.

This chapter contains some scalpel play and misuse of a lab table.

series masterlist

Herbert collapses on top of you, allowing himself a few moments of what he would consider weakness. His body is limp against yours as he tucks his head in the crook of your neck, harsh breathing washing over your skin as he relaxes his iron grip on your hips, eventually letting you go. You stare up at the ceiling of your bedroom for a few moments after he finishes before turning your gaze elsewhere. Idly, one of your hands goes to gently stroke his hair.

Rather than pull away, Herbert leans into your touch. These moments of tenderness are rare and few between and it’s a gamble whether or not one of you accepts it when it is offered. But when it is accepted, both of you quietly savor it.

The sheets are mussed and the room smells like sex, that heady scent of the two of you blended together. Herbert gets off you to clean himself up and get dressed. You spray a bit of air freshener to break up the scent, just in case. No one knows and no one needs to know.

“Alright?” you ask as you notice the marks that you had left on his hips, arms and back. Scratches, gouges, future bruises are littered all over him and you can’t help but feel a faint glimmer of pride. He will have to cover them up and maybe he will be uncomfortable. No one will know but you and that’s what you want.

“Of course I am,” Herbert sharply replies as he pulls on his trousers, looking at you over his shoulder. “Don’t-.”

“Whatever you're thinking, that is not it,” you retort, sitting up fully and inspecting your own damage. Some finger marks on your hips and faint claw marks on your thighs, but those will fade, the former might not even bruise. “Just wanted to say that if you want me to hold back, I can.” You know that you can, or else school and work would have even more complications.

“Trust me, I know that. You’re barely my friend, much less my boyfriend.”

And yet, when your eyes meet, the two of you are reminded of how the two of you are undoubtedly bonded, had been since that night. The night when the two of you had seen each other at your lowest points, unable to turn to anyone else. Both of you had seen each other battered, bruised, covered in blood, barely able to stand, but somehow making it out of there alive. You had seen each other naked, vulnerable, needing help when you hadn’t before. You had asked him to stay, to get into your bed and he had broken down in your arms, almost as if in return.

“I’m glad we’re in agreement,” Herbert says stiffly.

(whatever this is, it is and isn’t friendship

not that it matters

both of you are in too deep to get out)

It’s irrational. Asinine. Nonsensical. Your feelings are probably wrong.

But that isn’t stopping you from shoving Herbert against the wall of the morgue, pinning him there as you kiss him so hard it actually hurts a bit.

It had started a few days ago, when some of the med students met with some of the PhD students in one of the campus labs. For once, Herbert had been up to some honest science, hence his use of the school labs. You had been working on your own stuff and had almost not seen it.

But to the surprise of both you and Dan, Herbert had started chatting with one of the PhDs, a woman from Germany named Petra. They had been speaking German, though about what you couldn’t tell.

Of course, just seeing Herbert talk to another woman hadn’t upset you. In fact, by that night, you had completely forgotten about her. But then, Petra had kept coming around, seeking Herbert out. It was starting to become irritating.

As you had watched the two of them the day before, you couldn’t help but compare. Petra was tall, blonde, gorgeous. She dressed well. She didn’t have scars on her face. You wondered if her insides matched her outsides. And then today, seeing Perta run a hand down his arm had made your stomach twist. So when Herbert had snuck down to the morgue after a long shift, rather than wait in the cafeteria like you usually did, you had followed him down there. It was late, no one was around, not even security, so it was fine. Just as safe as a broom closet.

“What-?” Herbert asks when you break the kiss, both of you breathing heavily. He has no idea what had gotten into you, why you had followed him, why any of this was happening, but he is finding it difficult to think very clearly. You’re pressed against him in a very purposeful way, one that he’s become familiar with.

It doesn’t occur to him that you’re jealous. Herbert acknowledges that Petra is an attractive woman with some interesting things to say, but he doesn’t think much of her. He had been irked by her touching his arm, unsure of what she had meant by that. But she had been out of sight, out of mind.

Your mouth is soon on his neck, pressing rough, sloppy kisses along it. Herbert lets out a shuddering moan, rocking his hips in response. It’s a sensitive spot, much to his shame. He’s always managed to hide his reactions during past encounters, or at least only react when other things were happening, so it would be masked. But now, he’s unable to do either, exposing his weakness.

When you realize what your mouth is doing to him, you pull back and grin. Your smile looks almost like a snarl and there is red lipstick smeared around your mouth.

(blood smeared around your mouth)

It makes him throb and he wonders how much of the red is staining his skin. Herbert would loathe this weakness later, but in the moment, he merely moans as you return to him, your mouth once again all over his neck.

Herbert nearly whines as your teeth scrap over his pulse point. You can feel him throbbing even through all of the layers. If only you could just look upwards and see his reactions, but the sounds were just as good.

The sound that he makes when you clamp your teeth on his tender flesh makes you moan wantonly, heat pooling between your thighs. Herbert is gasping, fucking whimpering, even before you do it again. He squirms against you as you practically attack him, alternating between aggressive kisses and fierce bites.

When you pull away and say “Counter. Now.” Herbert has never been more willing to follow orders. The two of you maneuver over to the counter, one of the only surely clean spaces in this whole area. You allow Herbert to push you against the counter and then hoist you up. It sends a little frisson of delight through him. You’re stronger than him, strong enough to manhandle him, but in a way, this is almost a show of submission, you allowing him to literally push you around.

It was times like these that you wished that you wore skirts because they would make things a hell of a lot easier. Your bare ass wouldn’t be touching the morgue counter. But you’re not thinking about that as Herbert spreads your legs and steps between them, not even bothering to tease you before he crudely shoves himself inside of your aching cunt.

The pace starts out frenzied, Herbert pounding you roughly, spreading your legs just a bit too much. You’re hungry for whatever he has to give you, eagerly arching towards him as his cock stretches you, fills you. No one else has ever made you feel this way and for a moment, before his fingers on your clit shut off your brain for a moment, you toy with the idea of claiming him for yourself.

(a bite mark on his neck, the bruised flesh and indents of your teeth saying one thing

back off, i chose this one

he’s mine)

When you come, you bite down on his shoulder and he can feel your teeth through his shirt. It sets Herbert off, his final thrusts nearly painful and then he buries himself deep inside of you, moaning your name and clutching you tightly.

iii

It takes you a while to realize what the smell is.

It has been lingering on your sheets, mostly. Though sometimes you find it on your shirts before you wash them or even simply in the air in the hallway.

When you realize what it is, you nearly burst into laughter on the spot. It’s Herbert. His soap, his deodorant, whatever he uses on himself has rubbed on and into your life. You can smell him when you try to sleep, when you’re awake. He’s everywhere.

Which means you think about him more than you would like to. It happens at random. You could be studying at your desk and go to get a sweatshirt from the floor and then you remember that you had been wearing it the night before, when the two of you had made out on your bed and would have done more if Dan hadn’t come home. And then you would be thinking of Herbert instead of your assignment. Or you would catch a whiff of him in your car and grip the steering wheel so tightly that your hands would hurt.

It’s annoying, honestly. You don’t like these reminders of him when you’re not seeking them out. It makes you want to track him down and have him right there. And that is not how things are done, that’s the whole point of whatever the two of you have.

Not so oddly enough, Herbert is having the same problem.

It didn’t take him long to realize what it is. Your shampoo is all over his pillow. Your perfume sticks to his clothes and sheets long after you’ve parted. You’re everywhere and he hates it.

The first time he noticed, it was one of the rare times Herbert is in his bed to sleep. He gets into his bed and the smell of you is there when he turns his head on the pillow. It’s not quite like you’re right there beside him, but it feels that way. He dreams of you that night and when he wakes up at four a.m, Herbert heads towards the lab, as he normally would. But he pauses by your door for a moment and nearly goes in.

It’s disorientating, in its own way. Herbert is used to being a solitary creature. Unlike you, who is more caught off guard because of how it makes you feel, the situation in and of itself is what gets him, at least at first. While you are used to having the residue of others around you, for various reasons, Herbert is not. It has just been Herbert for most of his life, with the only other regular smell around him being various chemicals used in the lab. It’s jolting, to say the least

It’s as if your lives are commingling, even though it’s been made clear that is not the intent on either of your ends. But this is such a small thing that it isn’t worth mentioning. So you don’t. Both of you just deal with it and deep down, it's something that both of you come to enjoy.

“Are you alright?”

“I thought we didn’t ask that question.”

Herbert shoots you a withering glare as he looks down at you. He’s standing next to the bed, his shirt slightly mussed up, one of the buttons undone and his usual black tie is gone. It’s currently around your wrists and tied to the headboard of his bed, your arms over your head. He’s checked your wrists twice already. Time to get the show on the road.

The tie is the closest thing to clothing that you have on. You’re naked, legs unbound but still spread, exposing you to Herbert’s intense, almost clinical gaze. Most people would think that his expression was one of disinterest, but by now, you know him well enough to see the little signs. This excites him, you can tell with just one look.

“Come on.” You glance over at the nightstand, what lays on top of the plastic tray that sits atop it. When you look back at him, your gaze is softer, allowing him to see behind the curtain. “I’m ready.”

In response, Herbert nods and takes the scalpel off the tray. He doesn’t pause, going right to the bed and straddling you, just as the two of you had discussed.

It had been your idea. You wanted to be able to let go, to free fall out into nothing, but you had become greedy for control ever since That Night. Of course, there was also the issue of being able to trust someone enough to hold that metaphorical net under you because the mere thought of being totally out of control, without that someone, terrified you. And there is only one person, at the end of the day, who you trust with control over you.

So you had watched him produce an unused scalpel that he had gotten from the hospital, watched him sterilize the tray he was going to set it on once it was opened. And then the two of you had gone up to his room. You had undressed and had laid on his bed, arms over your head so he could tie you up.

“Just tell me when you want me to stop,” Herbert requests and then it begins.

The dull side of the scalpel is cool on your heated flesh. You gasp and slightly squirm as Herbert runs it along your side, working his way upwards. He’s watching you, those beautiful eyes dark, intense, as he studies your reactions. When you had proposed this element, he had been surprised, but had soon realized your reasoning. It was sound, so he had agreed to it.

As the blade draws closer to your chest, your gasp is sharper than the last and you can feel and practically hear your heart start to beat faster. But you want this, you’ve thought about it maybe more times than its healthy, and you know that he’s not going to hurt you. It’s not going to be like the last time someone was on top of you with a scalpel.

Herbert leans downward, the blade now pressed against the underside of your breast and you think he’s going to kiss you. But instead, he murmurs “You’re doing so well,” against your mouth.

And rather than feel that flash of anger that precedes you telling him to fuck off, you feel like you want to cry. Instead, you crane your head upwards and kiss him to smother those feelings.

(the same feelings from that night in the hotel room

when he had whispered Mein Herz against your chest

and in that moment, you would have gladly given him anything, even your heart)

The blade is between your breasts when his free hand goes between your legs. Herbert isn’t very surprised to feel how wet you are and he soaks up your little whines and sighs as his fingers eagerly caress you, unable to not indulge. After all, he knows that you can easily free yourself, take the scalpel from him and turn the tables. And yet, you’re under him, kept bound by a simple tie, wiggling and looking up at him with eyes almost black with desire. Even as fear flickers across your face, you still trust him, allowing him to use his weight to keep your lower half pinned.

So of course, he sets the scalpel aside and undoes his pants, breathing heavily even before he entered you. This time, his thrusts are slow, deliberate, he ensures that you feel every fucking thing every fucking second.

And for once, you’re able to let go and just feel everything he gives you.

When Herbert had outfitted a table with restraints for a subject’s limbs, both you and Dan had raised an eyebrow, but for very different reasons. They were not the typical nylon restraints used at the hospital. They were leather, with soft-looking padding. The sort of cuffs that were designed with comfort in mind.

But you hadn’t said anything, figuring that things would develop at his own pace. You were in no rush to get there. Whatever or wherever there was.

It didn’t take long for you to find that out.

One late night in the basement, the two of you begin to argue. It’s a small thing, at least compared to the whole heart incident. But it’s enough to get the both of you in each other’s faces and then you wind up wrestling him onto that special table. It’s not what you had intended, but you had needed to keep him from doing something stupid. Not exactly harmful, just very dumb.

And the next thing you know, you’ve got Herbert pinned against the table by his wrists. The two of you are practically nose to nose, breathing heavily. His eyes flick towards the straps, just for a moment, before he’s looking at you again. When his hips rock against yours, you can feel his growing arousal against your thigh and he quickly licks his lips, wetting that stupid, pink, perfect mouth.

It clicks and you don’t undress him before you strap him down. First his wrists and then his ankles. After you secure every cuff, you look back up at Herbert, making sure that this is still what he wants. And with every look, there is a slight nod.

Seeing him like that, strapped down and waiting for you, it’s intoxicating. So you just stand there for a few moments, taking it in. And when you straddle him, thankful that you’re wearing a skirt for once, you take a few more.

Within seconds, his tie is on the floor. It takes very little effort to rip open his shirt. The buttons scatter all over the floor, making an almost merry little sound. It would be easier to rip off his undershirt, the fabric is much thinner. But your eyes land on a pair of shears that just so happen to be within arm’s reach and you can’t resist the idea that pops into your head.

“Go ahead. Tell me to stop,” you say when you notice his disgruntled expression after you slice open his undershirt and push the halves aside to reveal his chest. There is no answer and you grin, leaning forward to tease him with a bop on the nose. “Thought so.”

You smirk down at him, your perfectly red lips quirking upwards. Herbert is seized with the urge to ruin it, make your mouth a red mess just as he has several times before. He cranes his head towards you, but he can’t quite reach your mouth, only barely grazing your lips.

In response, you grab his cheeks, digging your fingers into his flesh, forcing his mouth open. Though you’re sure that he’s opening up on his own, just a little bit. You glare down at him as you feel him throbbing against you, see how needy his eyes are, how he’s starting to flush and squirm.

Impulsively, you spit into his mouth. “Swallow,” you instruct him, still holding onto his face.

When Herbert does as you ask, you moan and very intentionally grind against him, Herbert letting out soft, garbled noises of his own as he moves with you to the best of his ability. But you quickly put a stop to that, placing your hands on his hips and holding them down until he stilled.

“You’re really no different from the average male,” you say coolly, as if you’re discussing a scientific theory or a patient. Your voice is detached, even though you’re on top of him, wet and wanting. “At least when it comes to your desires. But in some aspects, you’re worse because at least they admit it. However, you pretend to be above it all. You belittle and scoff at people who seek out physical pleasure from others. And yet…”

One of your hands leaves his hip to crudely palm him through his slacks. In response, Herbert tries and fails to repress a groan of pleasure. “Look at you now. Fucking panting for it.” As one hand reaches into his trousers and wraps around his cock, the other goes in a different direction, sliding up his torso and to his throat. But you don’t squeeze.

(though he would have let you

Herbert feels like if he were to fall, you would catch him)

Instead, you linger there for a few moments before your hand drifts upward. Two of your fingers slide into his mouth when he slightly opens it, his tongue gliding over the scars. You lean in and whisper “Say ‘thank you’.” as your thumb rubs the head of his cock.

The response is slightly garbled, but he thanks you, his eyes narrowed and you’re sure that he would have on his typical scowl if it were possible for him to do so.

Smiling, you withdraw your fingers, brush some of his hair back gently and press your lips to the scar on his left pectoral, leaving behind a perfect red lip mark.

It’s your way of reminding him that you were there, you understand and if this is what he needs, then you’re fine with being the one to give it to him.

So, Herbert takes it.

“Oh great, both of you guys are here. And you’re still up.”

Dan stumbles into your room, which is only lit by the bedside lamp. You frantically use your head to gesture to Herbert to throw a blanket over your lap, to cover up the fact that you’re wearing nothing under the oversized t-shirt that’s hiked up around the top of your thighs, nearly exposing you to those in the room. That was something you would have done yourself, but you were rather literally tied up at the moment.

A pair of handcuffs from a store in downtown Arkham that had blacked out windows are on each wrist, securing you to the headboard. Herbert had been ready to do the same to your ankles when Dan had decided to pay you a visit without knocking.

“You alright, Dan?” you ask, trying to make conversation that would also get him the hell out of the room as fast as possible.

“Yeah, just thinking about stuff.” Dan ambles over and sits on the end of your bed. “Come sit with us, champ.” That statement is directed at Herbert, who is still standing right next to the bed, frozen. “There’s some stuff we gotta talk about.” Dan smells like booze, which explains why it is suddenly time for a family chat. And why he doesn’t seem to notice his roommates are up to something.

“What kind of stuff?” You ask, praying that this conversation doesn’t last long because you’re pantless and handcuffed to your bed and you had been looking forward to getting pounded into the mattress tonight.

“Just stuff. You guys…” Dan’s words make both you and Herbert freeze and you stare at each other, certain that he’s figured it out. “I worry about you two. It’s not good that you’re always here, all alone. Both of you should be out there, meeting people. Making connections.”

“I doubt that the connections you want us to make are-.” Herbert is cut off by you purposefully coughing.

“What I think he’s trying to say is that we’re doing okay here. And hey, we’re not alone. We’ve got each other. He’s always home, so it’s not like I’m rattling around this creepy old house all by myself” Not exactly what he means, but you just want him to go. This is not the time for a deep talk about whether or not humans had an innate need for connection.

“That’s not what I mean, old sport,” Dan sighs. You furrow your brow at the nickname, but choose to let that one go. “It’s about being lonely, not being alone. I just want you guys to be happy. And it doesn’t even have to be together. Which I kind of thought was going to happen.”

“And why would you think that?” Herbert asks.

Dan looks at him like Herbert is an idiot. “The two of you sleeping in the same bed. Showering together. You’re always looking at each other when the other one isn’t looking.”

Before he can continue pulling out more damning evidence, you cut him off. “Okay, okay. But getting back to your original point, we’re fine. Really.”

Well, you will be, once you get out of these handcuffs because this has killed any desire to be pounded for at least the next few days.

“If you say so,” Dan shakes his head and finally gets off of your bed and leaves the room. There is a long silence during which neither you or Herbert can even look at each other. His fists are tightly clenched on his lap and he needs to force himself to make his face blank, so he can face you to get those cuffs off of your wrist.

Neither of you want to admit that Dan is wrong because you have each other and ever since this thing started, neither of you are alone anymore.

(not since the two of you had been wrapped around each other

lost souls finding each other

i love you i love you i love you)

vii

“Francesca! It’s so good to see you!”

You embrace her tightly, delight making your face light up. When Dan had told you there was going to be a guest for dinner, you hadn’t expected it to be her. The two of you had kept in touch over the past few months, once you had been able to send her a letter via the magazine she worked for. But it had still been a welcome surprise when you had run into her at the hospital.

Addams is up in your room, playing with some of Ghost’s cat toys. The kitten in question is downstairs, perched on top of the living room chair and observing the scene with an almost human gaze. Angel looks up at Ghost and the two of them seem to exchange looks of understanding.

“Dan got held up at the hospital, but he called a few minutes ago and said he’ll be home soon.” You have plans to make yourself scarce as soon as Dan showed up and had already made yourself dinner, which you had just finished.

Herbert comes up from the basement for a few moments, to get some things from the kitchen. You’re sitting at the kitchen table with Francesca, the two of you chattering away about something he doesn’t care much about. As he rifles around under the sink, the subject changes.

“So, are you seeing anyone?” Francesca asks, which is a question that Herbert is curious to hear how you’ll answer. Even though he knows what you’ll probably say, he can’t help himself.

“No. Still need to find someone worth my time,” you reply and it is exactly what Herbert expected you to say. “I have standards.”

“And what are those standards?”

“Someone who is brilliant and passionate about their field. I think that someone like that would understand how I feel about my work. Preferably their field would be similar to mine, but that’s flexible. They have to be strong, not afraid to voice their opinions or take risks every now and then. But I don’t want to be with someone who is going to be dragging me out on the town all the time. They have to understand certain things about me.” You pause, rubbing one of the scars on your hand. “And the sex has to be great, of course.”

There is a flurry of giggles and Herbert makes his way downstairs. Before he gets back to his work, he thinks of how he fits the description of your ideal partner.

The sounds of Dan and Francesca’s passions spill out into the hallway, though it is a tad muted compared to how Dan had been with Megan. The half-open door is likely the main reason why others in the house can hear it and it is definitely why others can see them in such a private, intimate moment.

Herbert pauses in the hallway and something starts tugging at the back of his mind. He’s irritated at their noises, just as he had been before. But something else is spreading through his body, building on his irritation. It gnaws at him, this simmering feeling that isn’t quite anger, even after he looks away. He doesn’t understand why he feels this way.

It’s not because he’s had a taste of that and wants more.

(it is

he can still remember how you had looked afterwards

trembling, smiling, a warmth in your eyes that he hadn’t seen before or since)

And yet, he finds himself in your room, hardly even remembering opening the door.

You had gone upstairs almost as soon as Dan had come home, not wanting to be a third wheel. It was going to be awkward enough knowing that they were having sex under the same roof. At least you have a working radio now, which helps muffle the sounds. Though you had heard them when you had gone to get something to drink from the kitchen.

This time last year, you would have been making snide comments to yourself or maybe even to Herbert. Now, there is a weight in the pit of your stomach that seems to be growing with every passing moment.

When Herbert shows up in your bedroom, you’re trying to practice your sutures, but you can’t focus. When your eyes meet his, the reasons why you can’t focus, why everything feels different, crash to the front of your mind.

(he looks so soft without his glasses

as he comes down from that shared high, he looks so vulnerable and it is beautiful

the world has narrowed down to just this bed)

“What is it, Herbert?” you ask, setting your suture practice onto the nightstand. “Something wrong.” You get up and walk over to him, noting how his tie is tucked into his shirt and wondering what he had been up tonight.

“Yes.” He sounds nearly distressed and your stomach flips, concern storming to the forefront.

“Is there anything I can do?”

The answer is his mouth on yours, soft and tender. Herbert’s hands tentatively come up to cup your face and you close what little of a gap there had been between your bodies. You kiss him back and it isn’t the sort of rough kiss that could almost tear a man to pieces, which have been the sort of kisses the two of you had been exchanging recently. It’s almost shy, as if this is the first kiss you have given him.

(it’s the sort of kiss you give someone you love)

More of those kisses are exchanged as the two of you awkwardly make your way over to your bed, falling onto it side by side, unable to let go of each other for very long. Nothing else mattered, once again the world has become just the bed and the other person in it.

Tonight, you take your time undressing each other, indulging in every bit revealed to each other, as if you hadn’t seen each other’s bodies dozens of times, in all sorts of contexts. Something is different, at least compared to all of the other times the two of you have found yourselves alone and wanting each other.

“I’ve missed you.” Your voice is barely louder than a whisper as the two of you intertwine skin to skin, one of your hands resting on his face.

Of course, he hasn’t gone anywhere, but that isn’t what you mean. What’s happening now, the sweet, gentle intimacy of being in the arms of someone you care about, feeling safe despite your technical vulnerability, that’s what you’ve missed, even though it only happened once. Herbert nods in understanding, one of his hands going from your hip to your chest, his palm resting over your pounding heart as he slides into you, your bodies coming together as if it is the most natural thing on earth.

“Mein Herz,” he whispers against your kiss swollen mouth and you nod, shuddering at the epithet he’s bestowed upon you, because it cements all of this. It isn’t just in your head, it’s mutual, this powerful, heavy thing that threatens to consume you will consume Herbert as well. And both of you are just fine with that.

“Meus amor,” you reply, only able to call him your love in Latin, which he understands, of course.

“Say it again.” Herbert rolls your bodies so that you’re on top of him, slowly riding him, his hands sweeping all over every inch of you that he can reach.

“Only if you do.” You take his hand, lacing your fingers together instead of pinning him down, which you have been prone to recently.

“Mein Herz.”

“Meus amor.”

Herbert’s free hand goes between your legs and when you come, he’s not far behind. You’re watching each other’s faces and that realization hits you both again.

(oh that’s what this is all about, this is what all the fuss is over.

i love you)

You collapse on top of him, breathing heavily. When you roll off him, Herbert immediately pulls you to his side, your body nestled against him, the two of you fitting together perfectly.

(it feels like you’ve been made for each other)

“Stay,” you request, even though he’s made no moves to leave.

Herbert does. And eventually, the two of you fall asleep.

The much too bright morgue smells of death and fresh blood, thick and metallic. Rotting hands hold Herbert down on the lab table and there is a headless body holding the laser drill to his head.

Hill is going to take his brain and there is nothing he can do.

Trapped by Hill’s creations, Herbert has been reduced to begging to keep his brain, to remain himself. But his pleas fall on deaf ears and there is no one here to help him. He’s alone and that’s how he’s going to die. Even if his body remains, without his brain, he might as well be dead.

Herbert wakes up with a start. He’s gasping, shaking violently as his mind catches up with his body. The darkness of the room he’s in confuses him for a moment and he quickly realizes where he is, who he is with. You’re right there next to him, taking him into your arms and stroking his hair.

You’re murmuring in his ear as he trembles, unable to hide that he’s been emotionally affected by the nightmare, that he had actually been scared. Herbert has been able to hide just how much this has affected him for nearly a year, even from himself. He hates feeling this helpless, even when he’s alone.

But you’re right here, holding him, telling him that he’s going to be alright, that you’re here for him.

It makes him feel weak, disgusted with himself for allowing himself to be exposed like this.

So Herbert yanks himself away from you, hurriedly pulling on his clothes just enough for him to leave the room looking somewhat decent. He leaves you there, staring at where he had been, feeling more hurt and confused than you ever had in your life.

#herbert west x reader #herbert west imagine #horror fanfiction #reanimator imagine #re-animator imagine

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mister-fleck · 5 years ago

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one bad day: arthur fleck x reader

prompt: “a nfsw one when he comes home after having a bad day.”

Arthur pushed a hand through his hair, turned over his wrist and sighed at the time displayed on his watch. The bus was nearly an hour late. It shouldn’t really surprise him — the drivers were underpaid and underfed, but it made his nerves grow regardless. He knew that you’d be worried if he wasn’t home soon. Perhaps grow weary with me. He mused, endlessly insecure. Perhaps grow angry.

It was your one month anniversary (something you had found silly, but Arthur cherished) and he was dying to be next to you. To hold you, to see your lips curl up into that smile you reserved just for him. Dismayed, Arthur shifted uncomfortably on the old wooden bench and continued to wait.

It didn’t help that his mother had been rushed to the hospital two hours previously. Arthur hung his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Killing those three men had been invigorating, mouthwatering — but plainly careless. He was responsible for somebody other than himself, always had been, and his first taste of crime had placed a roadblock in his daily routine and lessened his capability as a caregiver. Given the hysterical frailty of his mother, he knew it must have been elementary for the two detectives to send her toppling to the ground.

“Such a fool,” Arthur chastised under his breath. He should be home. With you. You were his home.

“Talkin’ to yourself there, big shoots?”

A gruff bark of a voice made Arthur’s thin shoulders jump in alarm. Green eyes lifted and scanned the immediate area before landing on two muscular gentlemen, both of whom were approaching him with a purpose.

Unsure of how to handle the abrupt confrontation, Arthur quirked his lips into a nervous smile and chose not to respond. He always found it wise to stay quiet, stay compliant. He inhaled deeply. Grimaced. Gotham absolutely reeked with this garbage strike.

It was the second man’s turn to speak. They were only a few feet away now. “What’s that in your hand? A diary?”

Arthur looked down to the spiral notebook he kept curled in his fist, then back up at the strangers. He felt the familiar sensation of dread crawl up along his back and spread ice-cold throughout his chest.

“Just a creative journal,” he managed, feeling small. “Jokes.”

Within moments, Arthur was sandwiched between the two of them — the bench definitely not wide enough for three men to sit comfortably— and he felt his throat go tight.

“Let’s have a look, shall we?” The first man grunted, and his movements were so sudden that Arthur didn’t get a chance to react as the journal was ripped away from him.

Arthur’s face twisted sadly, brows furrowing, “Hey, p…please give it back —”

The man to his left, who smelled heavily of cheap whiskey and gasoline, snorted and shuffled roughly through the pages. “What the fuck is this shit? I have generalized anxiety disorder, but it sucks because it affects me specifically.” A pause. “Is this supposed to be funny?”

If Arthur had been any other man, in any other city, he would have asked himself why he was being harassed for just… existing.

Just then, something fluttered out from between the pages and fell to the ground at Arthur’s feet. A tattered black and white polaroid photograph — of you.

Immediately panicked, Arthur leapt forward to grab it from the grimey Gotham concrete (how Murray Franklin could call this city beautiful, he’d never understand) but a large, muddy boot stomped on top of it, halting his efforts.

“Hey!” Arthur croaked, his throat beginning to spasm painfully. He swallowed hard, a desperate attempt to stop the inevitable. “Stop that!”

The man to Arthur’s right snatched the photo from beneath his boot and wolf-whistled, “Now who do we got here?” His eyes lingered a moment too long. “A friend of yours?”

No longer caring about his journal, Arthur put all of his energy into trying to get ahold of the picture, pulling at the man’s beefy arm.

This photo meant everything to Arthur. It was the only tangible reminder he had to convince himself that you were real. That you existed. That you weren’t some… fantastical hallucination.

“That’s my girlfriend,” Arthur tried to defend, but it came out in a ragged, choked laugh. “Give — Give it — Give it back —“

Both men eyed Arthur before breaking into greasy chuckles themselves. “Can’t even say it with a straight face, can ya?” The one to his right mocked. “Like you could land a broad like this.” He grabbed at his crotch and grunted. “I’d love to give her a good dicking, wouldn’t you, Brad?”

The one named Brad swiped the photo — just out of Arthur’s reach — before grinning. “Hell yeah. I’d show her what a real man feels like. Poor bitch has probably never been properly fucked, I mean look at this guy —”

Through his strangled laughter, Arthur managed to give Brad an aggressive shove into the lamp post beside them, positively enraged. His palms itched. Fuck. He had left his gun at home. It was starting to rain.

Before Arthur could take another step further, he received a deep blow to the gut, followed by one to the side of his jaw — an unforgiving one-two punch that left him gasping for air on the ground.

Head spinning, Arthur heaved out a laugh that tore up his throat, tasting blood in his mouth. He saw Brad make his way over and readied himself for punishment when police sirens went off nearby. The two men froze, hesitated, then tossed Arthur’s belongings to the ground before tearing around the corner to get away from what could be an arrest.

A foreign sense of relief crashed over Arthur. Had somebody actually stopped to help him? He heard the gravelly noise of wet tires against pavement. The sirens cut off. Still convulsing with laughter, Arthur lifted his head off of the dirty sidewalk and made eye contact with the policeman, an older gentleman sporting a mustache.

“Th... Thank you —”

Arthur would never forget the look of genuine disgust on the officer’s face as he wordlessly drove away.

The bus never came.

Thirty minutes later, Arthur was limping into his apartment elevator, drenched in rain water. Sneakers and socks soaked from puddles. Lip busted, ribs bruised. Photograph safe in his pocket. No longer laughing.

He had tried to focus on you on his walk home. On how light you made him feel. On how you belonged to him. But the mocking phrases from earlier rattled around his skull despite his efforts to push them away.

What a real man feels like. Arthur angrily scrubbed a wet hand over his face, his face tight with frustration. Never been properly fucked.

Shoving his keys into the lock of his apartment, Arthur began to breathe heavily, jaw set. “I’ll show them properly fucked.”

—

There was no way to prepare yourself for Arthur when he stormed in unannounced. You had been pacing wildly in his kitchen, stomach in knots, gripping one of the throw pillows from your his couch just to have something to cling onto. He was two hours late. This was nothing like your Arthur.

You knew how cruel the world was, just as well as he did. How when the sun went down, crime went up when it came to Gotham City.

Although it made your heart plummet, you weren’t surprised to see dried blood across Arthur’s cheek — but the absolutely deadly look splashed across his usually gentle little face — that gave you pause.

“Arthur, where were you — mmf!“

Like some sort of sinister ballet, Arthur smoothly kicked the door closed behind him, shed his water-sodden jacket and shoved you against the fridge with a bruising kiss. His hands moved from cradling your face to gripping hungrily at your hips to scratching wildly at your sides — he was everywhere, all over you.

The deep-seeded concern that had been holding you hostage melted away, but the relief of knowing Arthur was safe didn’t hinder your trembling — that only increased, especially with the way Arthur was nipping sharply at your bottom lip.

“You’re mine,” he gritted out, kissing and biting an aggressive path down along your throat now. “My girl.”

Absolutely panting, you gripped at him, fingers tangling in his wet hair. His unrelenting kisses were making you light-headed. “Baby…” Lashes fluttering, you pressed your body up into him and let out a soft mewl as he bit harshly at your shoulder. “Fuck!”

Arthur pulled back, green eyes wild, and hoisted you onto his kitchen counter with a strength you weren’t aware he possessed.

“That’s right,” he husked, his voice an octave lower than what you’re used to. He took a moment to lick his lips and drink you in, seeming to just now realize that you were only wearing one of his dress shirts. It fell just short of your bare knees.

He raised an eyebrow, an entirely different man now, and yet still so beautifully Arthur.

You blushed under his stare, trying to explain yourself, but it wasn’t anything eloquent: “It smells like your cologne.”

Without another word, Arthur slid his hands up underneath the dress shirt, hooked his fingertips around the hem of your panties, and yanked them off.

You had never gotten so wet so quickly.

The two of you had made love before, three times exactly, each time sweet and experimental and a little needy, but this — the way Arthur was now on his knees and aggressively spreading your legs — this was a side of him you had never seen before.

Lifting your legs so they rested over his shoulders, he growled at you. “Hold on to me.”

His mouth was hot against you, lapping broadly, and a gasp tore out of your chest. You scrambled to grab ahold of his shoulders, his head, anything to keep you from falling down as pleasure crashed over you. He was eating you greedily and your body was on fire. “Arthur, god…”

Arthur moaned against you, a rumbling vibration that made you whimper breathily, one of your hands bunching up the fabric of his damp shirt, the other tugging at his hair. His fingernails dug into your thighs and you wondered through a pleasured gasp if he would bruise you.

You were going to cum soon, it was evident in the way your own whimpers went up in pitch, and Arthur seemed to force himself to stop. He pushed up onto his feet and began to undo the buckle of his belt.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he demanded, unzipping his pants and swatting away your hands when you tried to help him. You groaned at the sight of him. He was so hard. He grabbed your face and forced you to look him in the eye. “Tell me.”

“You, baby.” Your chest swelled with the darkest kind of love as you trembled, reaching forward to push hair out of his face. Arthur’s lips and chin were wet and it was the most handsome you had ever seen him. “I’m a-all yours.”

And with that Arthur slammed into you, looking crazed and satisfied, an animalistic groan ripping out of his throat as he adjusted to how wet and tight you were around him. “All mine.”

With everything so heightened and sensitive, you had to bury your face in Arthur’s hair, arms wrapped around his shoulders as he finally began to fuck you. “Oh my god, Arthur…!”

His pace was brutal, as was his grip on your waist and somewhere in the back of your mind you heard dinner plates slide off the counter and shatter at Arthur’s feet.

You’d make him dinner again some other time.

#joker #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck #joker movie #joker x reader #drabble

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waywardodysseys · 5 years ago

Text

Masquerade - Oneshot

Pairing: Agent Whiskey/Jack Daniels x female reader

Warnings: just a jealous Agent Whiskey

Requested?: Yes by @fuckmeharryhart - You're an agent along with Agent Whiskey and you're attending a gala for a mission. Whiskey gets jealous over all the looks you pull from guys and gals how does he handle his jealousy? Btw you're a wonderful writer and get characters just right like wow way to go ^^

Author’s note: this does contain spoilers for Kingsman: The Golden Circle towards the end

~ ~ ~

Ginger walks into the room you’re using to dress for the evening. You are helping Whiskey on a mission at a black-tie formal event at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

“You look gorgeous,” Ginger whispers as she approaches you from behind, while you look in the floor length mirror.

You laugh nervously, “I haven’t dressed this fancy in ages.”

Ginger smiles at you in the reflection of the mirror, “you’ll be fine. Jack’s to meet you there,” she pauses as she hands you a small coms bud, “I’ll be on the coms. Jack has one too.”

“Yeah, Jack,” you utter.

You’ve been with the Statesman for two years, working alongside Tequila yet when Champ had called you to ask a favor to help Whiskey you couldn’t deny your boss.

“I need someone primarily to go with Whiskey, just to keep him under control.” Champ had mentioned to you days prior.

“And there’s no one else?” You had asked, knowing Whiskey’s reputation. Great agent, charming personality, flirty twenty-four seven.

Champ had informed you no one else was available to accompany him and that this mission was not a one-man job. Therefore, reluctantly agreeing to join Whiskey.

“Good. It’s in New York City. I will let him know he’ll have backup,” Champ had smiled through the hologram call.

You had then boarded a plane for N.Y.C. and now here you are dressed in a frilly rose-gold colored ballgown, about to place a mask on your face, and head out for a night out on the town, which technically wasn’t true but it’s how you felt since you hadn’t dressed up for anything in years.

“You’ll be fine,” Ginger remarks as she gives your arm a reassuring squeeze.

“I hope so.” You state as you place the coms bud in your ear and leave.

-------

The limo drops you off and you begin walking the red carpet of the Met Gala. Masks donning people’s faces since this year’s theme was “Masquerade.” Multitudes of celebrities were decked out in fancy and shimmering costumes along with their own masks – most looked custom made to match their outfits. Photogs and interviewers lined the stairs to the entrance of the Met, waiting for their chance at speaking with the celebrities who were handpicked to attend this special event.

A tall and lanky gentleman approaches you with a black studded Venetian mask, dressed in a tailored tux complete with bow tie. You smell his cologne as you take note of the thin mustache on his upper lip.

“Jack,” you whisper.

“Darlin’,” Jack drawls in his Southern accent.

You breathe a sigh of relief. You two had arrived separately; you were hoping to find him among the bountiful crowd quickly, not get lost in the sea of people.

Jack takes in your dress along with the black lace laser cut Venetian mask adorning your face, “lookin’ beautiful,” he holds his arm out, “shall we?”

You smile politely, “of course.”

Jack escorts you further into the Met and deeper into the party.

When you think of a masquerade your first thought is from the musical The Phantom of Opera. People dancing choreographed dances in big ballgowns. Music filling the air, people intoxicating themselves with rich champagne and hors d’oeuvres. You also thought about secret couples coming to the event, while others were unaware of them, and enjoying a night where they could be together because of the masks.

The vibrant scene unfolds before the two of you as your eyes take in the extravagant decorations – two and three tiered chandeliers along with ribbons of string in various colors hanging from the ceiling, circular tables with white tablecloths and candelabras, other tables packed with towers of food for consumption. Music flows through the area as people mingle with one another.

“The mark has arrived,” Ginger’s soft voice remarks through the coms buds.

Her voice pulls you out of your trance. You remove your hand from the crook of Jack’s arm and begin walking through the throng of people.

Jack watches you disappear into the crowd then makes his way around the horde of people. He swipes a couple decadent chocolate covered strawberries and eats the treat slowly. He savors the taste as his eyes travel through the crowd. He finds perch on a set of stairs, so he’s able to keep an eye on you and the mark.

He watches as you smile and blush when gentlemen approach you. He also takes in how some of the ladies look at you as you walk by. Jack knows you are a beautiful creature, even without all the makeup and the fancy clothes. Something stirs deep inside of Jack. Is it infatuation? Is it, perhaps, jealously?

When he had heard you were accompanying him his heart leapt. He had been sweet on you since you had begun working for Statesman, was upset when Champ partnered you with Tequila instead of him. He pinned after you for two years and he finally got to work with you. And now, other men were asking you to dance instead of him. He reminded himself you two were here for a job first and foremost.

Jack grasps the bannister as he watches a man take your hand and escorts you to the dance floor. He tightens the grip as jealousy makes his blood boil. He wishes he were the one dancing with you. Wishes his hand was on your lower back, wishes it was his hand your hand was holding as he led you across the dance floor. He wanted to know what your body felt like against his, he wanted to feel your soft skin against his. Jack wanted more than a dance, he wanted all of you.

“You okay Jack?” Ginger’s crisp voice questions.

Jack groans, “I’m fine Ginger.”

“Y/N can’t hear us Jack. Your heartrate is elevated along with your blood pressure. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jack huffs, “where’s the mark? All these goddamn masks! It’s frustrating!” Along with seeing you dance with a man who isn’t him.

“Our source indicated he’d be wearing a suit with coattails along with a gold Venetian mask with what looks like a harp in the middle then a horse on each side of the harp. He has a red and black rose boutonniere pinned to his suit jacket,” Ginger replies.

Jack’s eyes scan over the crowd. He doesn’t see the mark on the first sweep, but then his eyes travel back to you. “Fuck,” Jack mutters under his breath.

“What?” Ginger asks sharply.

The mark is dancing with Y/N, Jack thinks as he tries to formulate a plan is his mind.

After several beats, Ginger pipes back up, “Jack! What is it?”

“I got this handled Ginger,” Jack sighs heavily, “no worries. I promise.” At least he’ll try to promise himself he has this handled.

Jack slowly makes his way down the staircase. His deep brown eyes remaining on you as you dance with the mark. He takes in your eyes holding the other man’s gaze. His mind racing with questions.

Does she know its him? Does she know she’s dancing with the mark? Is she safe, Jack snorts softly, of course she’s safe, you’re here cowboy.

Jack hears your soft laugh as he approaches you dancing with the gentleman. He sees your eyes catch him, sees the slight shake of your head.

She knows, Jack thinks as he stands frozen. His mind scrambling with thoughts of recusing her and hopefully her thanking him later tonight back at his apartment.

Jack balls his hands into fists. Anger and jealously sweeping throughout his body. He’s been trained to rescue those in help, those in need. And you needed him, you needed his help. “Fuck,” Jack curses under his breath and continues walking towards to you and the mark.

“Excuse me,” Jack drawls sweetly as he taps on the gentleman’s shoulder.

You look at Jack in shock and surprise. You had given a shake of your head, fending him off. You knew the man you were dancing with was the mark. You had clearly heard Ginger in your coms bud giving you a description of the mark a minute before you made sure to walk into his eyesight.

“The lady and I are dancing here,” the mark states. He doesn’t remove his hands from your body.

“You’ve been dancing with her long enough,” Jack hisses quietly. He’s holding himself back from punching the gentleman. “I think it’s time to let someone else have a dance with the beautiful lady.”

The mark stands tall, confident. “The lady hasn’t complained—”

Jack steps forward, nearly getting in the man’s face. “She is tiring of you sir.”

You watch as Jack and the mark stand thisclose and face on another. You never had to deal with Tequila being this…jealous? Was Jack jealous of a man dancing with you? Or was it the fact it was the mark dancing with you and not some civilian?

You clear your throat, “gentlemen. I can handle myself. Thank you very much.” You smile weakly at them as they both turn and look at you. “Besides everything has been taken care of.”

Jack raises a brow. He knows what you are referring to – the tracker. The mark on the other hand just shakes his head.

“Obviously this gentleman wants to dance with you mi lady,” the mark slightly bows then moves on, “maybe a dance for after dinner?”

You smile politely, give a curt nod, “maybe.”

The mark nods in return then excuses himself and walks away.

Your eyes on him as the mark retreats. You move your eyes sharply to Jack, “I had everything under control Jack,” you emphasize his name with a hiss, “I didn’t need you coming to my rescue.”

“I, uh,” Jack stutters, “I just thought you needed help. Not rescuing.” But he did want to rescue you.

“Help. Rescue,” you shrug, “basically mean the same thing,” you sigh heavily at his silence, “Ginger informed me of his description seconds before he approached me and asked for a dance. I was shocked but thankful I didn’t have to seek him out.”

Jack frowns, “she described him to me then I saw him with you. I’m sorry. I got caught up in the moment.” No, you got jealous. “But you did place the tracker on him?”

You nod, “yes. Don’t worry. Ginger said it’s activated. We’ll finally get him Jack. And the Statesman will be able to get more information on Poppy.”

The Statesman had been gathering information on Poppy Adams for months now, concerned she was going to release a drug to the world’s population. The mark you had placed the tracker on was dating the woman, and hopefully keeping tabs on him would lead the Statesman to Poppy’s lair because she’s hidden away from the world.

Jack moves his eyes up and down your body. He has the opening to ask for your hand. He holds his out, “will you dance with me?”

Your heart skips a beat as you look down at Jack’s outstretched hand. He did help me, your mind thinks as you gnaw absentmindedly on your bottom lip, what the hell. You smile, “yes.”

Jack smiles brightly, keeps the moan inside of him as he feels your soft hand in his. Your hand is small in his brawny one as he pulls you close with his other hand and places it on your lower back. His body filling with warmth as he’s able to feel you against him.

After minutes twirling around in silence to the music and moving around other couples on the dance floor, Jack finds his voice, “you should be my partner.”

What, you think as his mind draws you away from the music and concentrating on moving your feet in the right direction. You hum lightly trying to absorb Jack’s words. “I am Tequila’s partner Jack.”

Jack sighs, “but it’s Tequila,” he says the agent’s name with disdain, “I’m sure being stuck in Kentucky isn’t thrilling. The city is thrilling Y/N. I could show you around the town.” And my place.

“I don’t get into bed with my partners Jack,” you retort. You smile and continue as he looks at you in disbelief, “if you want something with me, I cannot work as your partner.”

Jack let’s your words sink in. I have a chance. “So, maybe I have a chance?”

You laugh lightly, keeping in the back of your mind you know he’s a charmer and a flirt. You are going to take this one step at a time. “Maybe Jack. But it’s one chance. Just. One.”

Tags: @random066, @synystersilenceinblacknwhite, @pascalisthepunkest, @caitlincat-95, @pedrosdoll, @knight-of-heart44, @arrowswithwifi, @bonkybaaarnes, @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead, @longitud-de-onda, @readsalot73, @earl-01, @x-wingwarriorbbpoe8, @halefirewarrior, @ezraslittlebirdie, @kaelyn-lobrutto24, @stardust-and-starlight

#masquerade oneshot #requested #agent whiskey fanfiction #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels #kingsman the golden circle #kingsman fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal

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ahsokatanope · 4 years ago

Text

Battered and Bruised: Chapter III

(Un)Broken Ties

Previous Chapters: Chapter I | Chapter II

Summary: You and Obi-Wan are forced to work together to fight and survive in Ja’arvis’ arena.

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Inquisitor!Reader

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: Angst. Sad Obi and sad reader talking about their feelings towards the end. Oh, and violence/mention of blood. (arena fights do be tough, y’all)

Note: First of all, this gif of Obi >>>> lol. Originally posted by @bo-katan. Secondly, I really enjoyed writing this one. It’s a long one and took forever to write, but I loved every second of it. I’d love to know what y’all think! It’s only uphill from here. Also, I wanna hug Obi.

“Care to remove mine as well?” A tone of dread edges around your words.

This feeling of vulnerability is something you haven’t felt in a while. In the past 48 hours, you’ve felt more exposed and defenseless than you ever have as an Inquisitor. You feel like the Maker is testing you to see how far your body and emotions can go without breaking.

Obi-Wan just looks at you and raises an eyebrow.

“After what you tried to pull earlier? Oh, I don’t think so.” He shakes his head at you, a hint of a smug smile tugging at his lips.

Then suddenly, the dark, grungy walls around you jerk and you feel the room begin to ascend.

Well, this is a sad excuse for an elevator, isn’t it?

“Kenobi,” you start, your energy for arguing has completely evaporated. “At least give me a fighting chance.”

This is as close as you are going to get to saying ‘please’ or asking for help. Obi-Wan looks at you, his eyes analyzing your exhausted form.

“Sorry, my dear, but I don’t trust you quite yet.”

The elevator jerks to a stop and you look up at him dumbfounded.

“Are you serious?” You stare at him incredulously.

His eyes glint with mischief. “Deadly.”

You hear a horrible screeching metal sound as the rusting durasteel door slides open, letting the bright light from the outside beam into the room.

Immediately, you are met with more guards who pull you out and push you forward.

Given no choice but to exit the elevator, the two of you step out with squinted eyes as your pupils struggle to adjust to the new lighting. The door squeaks shut, so now you are trapped outside.

When you are finally able to see clearly, you are met with the sight of thousands of various types of creatures and living beings onlooking your entrance. The roar of the audience’s cheers fills your ears and it’s deafening.

You look around, thankful to finally breathe in some air that isn’t musty or stale. The sky above is a mixture between pink and orange, the air that surrounds you temperate. The arena is grand, almost as large as the one you and Obi-Wan had escaped from on Geonosis all those years ago.

Suddenly a loud voice booms around the entire massive arena and the audience quiets to a low buzz. “Ladies and gentlemen, friends and fans, welcome to The Games!”

You scan the edges of the arena to find the source of the voice. There, front and center, on a raised balcony with the best view of the arena stands a Rakatan male, dressed in what looks like extremely expensive clothing. He must be the infamous Ja’arvis Takun you’ve heard so much about.

“Today I bring my loyal audience a gift that will be the height of entertainment since The Clone Wars!”

Your heart begins to beat faster in anticipation of what’s going to happen. Your mind goes a million miles a minute as you try to calculate a way to escape from this hellhole.

The towering walls that surround the battleground are too high and steep to climb. Without equipment, trying to escape that way would be a death wish. Various doors line the outside rim of the arena and you are almost positive that none of them lead to the outside world. You’re not sure what exactly lies behind those doors and you’re not sure you want to find out.

The bottom of the line is… you’re trapped with no way to escape.

“Today, my friends, I present the Bane Squad versus Kainoa versus two of our newest competitors...” The audience waits in anticipation. “Two Jedi!”

The spectators that surround the battleground erupt into chaos.

Who the kriff are Bane Squad? Kainoa? What did you get yourself into? You’ve truly outdone yourself this time.

“Let The Games begin!”

Your eyes widen when you see one of the other doors open to your right. You see a group of Togruta warriors emerge from one, various bits and pieces of armor covering each of their bodies. You count four of them and each of them look hungry for blood as they grip their spear-like weapons.

Beside you, Obi-Wan ignites his lightsaber. “I hope you still have an audacious mindset, darling, because right now it looks like we could put it to use.”

“Kenobi, you need to let me go.” You say quickly, sticking your bounded arms out in front of you, desperate for freedom. Your eyes dart towards the warriors who march to hunt you down. “I need to defend myself.”

He just smirks at you before he runs off, towards the enemy. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Kenobi!” You shout after him, seething with anger. Your eyes blaze with fire when you watch him move away. Your gloved fists clench within the cuffs and you feel helpless.

He really hasn’t changed since The Clone Wars, has he?

Deciding to cut your losses, you try to look around for any advantage you could use against your enemy. None. No elevated platforms for a height advantage, no weapons around, no shields; absolutely nothing.

Guess you’ll just have to get creative.

While Kenobi engages with two of the warriors, the other two close in on your position. When one gets close enough to take a swing at you with his spear, he does. You’re quick to react (or maybe he’s just slow) and you parry the blow with the middle part of your cuffs, hoping that the metal would split from the impact and set you free, but it doesn’t. The durasteel spearhead from the weapon splinters instead, leaving the warrior with a long, wooden stick instead.

“What are these damned things made out of?” You mutter under your breath. “The metal won’t give.”

While the Togrutan is frozen in shock at his weapon breaking so quickly, you grab the stick and use it to parry his teammate’s attack on your left. At this, the audience that makes up the arena seems to rile up, cheering louder for you. Stunned by your reflexes, the warrior staggers back and you surge forward on the offensive, delivering striking blows (as deadly as you could with a wooden weapon). The other Togruta comes at you from behind and locks you up in a tight hold, making you drop the wooden weapon.

When the other warrior comes to deliver the killing blow with his spear, you kick your feet out, connecting with his chest and knocking him on his back. Then, you throw your body weight forward to flip the one behind you over your body and onto the ground as well.

Out of breath and your heart pounding with adrenaline, your shackled hands quickly reach forward to grab the dropped unbroken spear on the ground and finish both of your enemies, ending their lives with a stab to each of their chests.

The spectators around the arena go wild at that. Struggling to catch your breath, you look around for Kenobi, wondering how he fared. Expecting to see him as ruffled as you were, you’re surprised to see him staring back at you with an amused look on his face. He’s only a few feet away, having easily defeated his enemies. The wind blows a few tendrils of his auburn hair in front of his left eye. He twirls his lightsaber and deactivates it.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” He says, crossing his arms after he clips his saber on his belt.

“Glad to know you’re making a habit of leaving me to die.” You retort, narrowing your eyes.

A smirk makes its way to your face when you see Kenobi’s smug look drop.

“This isn’t a situation we haven’t been in before, you know.” He says, lifting an eyebrow. “You took out three Geonosians and a nexus with cuffs on while we were held captive in Geonosis.”

“Those cuffs didn’t have Force-binding material, did they?” You respond sharply.

Suddenly another door opens on the other side of the arena. When you see the creature that emerges, the onlookers cheer loudly and your eyes widen.

“You must know-”

“Kenobi, we’ve got more company.” You say, eyes darting to the large dragon-like creature stalking closer behind him.

When Obi-Wan turns around, he immediately goes to grab his saber and ignite it.

“Now would be a great time to free me.” You say, anxiety creeping into your voice, but before you finish the sentence, he’s already slashed at your cuffs with his saber.

Finally feeling the Force flow around you once again, you sigh with delight as the metal drops to the ground. But the feeling of contentment only lasts for a second because you have a new problem at hand.

“Jedi, meet Kainoa, my favorite pet.” Ja’arvis says from his seat on his balcony.

“Is that a Krayt Dragon?” Obi-Wan asks incredulously. “What in the blazes is it doing here?”

You use the Force to call the spear you used to kill the two Togrutans to your hand. It may be a weak weapon, but at least it’s something.

“Doesn’t matter.” You say shortly, watching the creature snarl in the nearing-distance. “What’s the plan to kill it?”

“You’re asking me? I haven’t got a clue, I’ve never interacted with one of these before.”

“You’re the one with the saber, Kenobi.” You sigh, growing frustrated with the current situation.

A few seconds pass and he speaks up again. “Alright, I have an idea, but I don’t think you’ll be a fan of it.”

“Get on with it, we don’t have time to wait around.”

“I need you to be a distraction. Let it chase you as I sneak up behind.”

He’s right. You don’t like this plan at all, but it’s the only thing that makes sense right now.

“Always putting me in danger, aren’t you, Kenobi?” You say with a smirk before backing away from him. “Make this quick!” You shout before turning to run and drag the attention of the Krayt Dragon away from Obi-Wan.

“Aren’t you an ugly thing?” You yell to the dragon (or Kainoa as Ja’arvis named it) as Kenobi moves to sneak up behind. The large creature is covered in spikes, you wonder how the former Jedi is going to pull this off without getting injured. You wonder how you are going to pull off distracting the thing without getting injured.

The dragon snarls and begins to chase after you and you sprint away, using the Force to propel yourself faster than normal. Turning around, you aim and throw the spear into Kainoa’s right eye. It screeches loudly and reels back, but it doesn’t distract it for long because seconds later, it’s back onto you.

Not anticipating its quick recovery and increasing speed, the dragon catches up to you swiftly and grabs a hold of your cape with its teeth.

Not good. You think as you’re dragged backwards and onto the ground.

You try to drag your heels into the dirt, but it’s no use. The dragon drags you with it as it runs across the entire arena. You can hear the audience torn between laughs and cheers.

“Kenobi, you planning on joining the fight anytime soon?” You yell, out of breath as more and more dirt coats your body.

“I can’t find an opening!”

You pick your head up and will yourself to focus, looking for a weak spot in the animal’s armor. You spot that its stomach has reptilian skin over it instead of the spikes that cover the rest of its body.

“Go for the underbelly!” You yell, coughing when dirt dusts into your mouth. “If we both work together, we can lift it and expose it!”

“On the count of three, ready?” Obi-Wan responds. “One. Two… Three!”

On ‘three,’ you focus all your energy onto the beast in front of you and it stops running, levitating off the ground with your cape and yourself hanging from its mouth. In a quick flash, Kenobi gets under the dragon and stabs its underbelly, making sure to step out the way of falling guts and blood.

The shriek it lets out is high and blood-curdling, and it causes you to be free from its grip, which sends you tumbling to the ground. It’s so loud you have to cover your ears.

You and the creature hit the ground at the same time, and instead of getting up right away, you stay there lying on the ground face up. Your body aches and throbs all over, and you are covered with dirt, mud, and dragon saliva. You pant heavily, your chest rising and falling quickly, as you try to catch your breath. The stench from the dragon’s breath fills your nose and you wrinkle in disgust.

A minute later, Obi-Wan is above you, offering a hand for you to stand.

You choose to ignore it and stand up yourself, your legs wobbly beneath you.

“Look at us working together again, Kenobi. Who would’ve thought?” You wheeze, coughing a bit due to the amount of dirt that got into your mouth. What you wouldn’t give for a drink of water right now.

“We make a great team.” Obi-Wan smiles at you, a true and genuine smile that makes the edges of his eyes crinkle. It makes your stomach flutter against your wishes. Your feelings for him are returning and you’re trying your best to stop them, but you find yourself unsuccessful.

Whatever moment you’re having with Obi-Wan is interrupted by a loud voice that sounds around the arena. It’s then that you’re brought back into the moment and reality settles back in.

Ja’arvis.

“Well done, well done, Jedi. You two put on quite a show.”

Pulling your gaze away from Obi-Wan, you take a step away from him and a step towards Ja’arvis’ balcony. When your gaze meets Ja’arvis’ form above you, your eyes turn dark when you remember the situation you’re in.

“I am no Jedi, Ja’arvis. I am the First Sister, leader of the Imperial Inquisition. The Empire will come for me, you Rakatan scum. You will regret holding me in your custody.” You say darkly, your eyes burning a hole into him. Obi-Wan watches you curiously.

Whatever playful mood you were in before is completely gone now and replaced by the same stoic face you show to your enemies.

Ja’arvis just laughs, the spectators following along and the sound of laughter ripples around you. Why is it that nobody takes you seriously?

“Doll, the Empire doesn’t know you’re here. Your threats mean nothing to me.”

Unclenching your right fist, you slightly wave it before you say, “You have no need for us here. You want to let us go.”

“Your feeble Jedi mind tricks do not work on me.” Ja’arvis says, annoyance clear in his tone.

You notice guards come up behind you. Your eyes watch them before they snap back over to Ja’arvis’ position.

“You two are lucky I am in a good mood today or you would have been in that arena with Kainoa and her two sisters.” Ja’arvis states with a wiry smile on his face. “Consider yourselves extremely lucky.”

Now, Kenobi decides to speak up. “Thank you for your kindness, Gamemaster Takun. It’s much appreciated.”

You can tell he is being sarcastic, but the way he delivers the line is genuine, which means that Ja’arvis is buying into Obi-Wan’s charm.

“I like that one.” Ja’arvis says with a chuckle before he continues. “Take them to their new quarters. I’ll come to visit them shortly.”

“No thanks.” You mutter under your breath.

When you turn around and are guided by the guards to one of the doors in the arena, you don’t fight them. It’s no use. So instead, you let them lead you to your new ‘home.’

You just hope it has a 'fresher so you can clean all the dirt, grime, and dragon saliva off of you.

—————

The ‘cell’ they put you in surprisingly isn’t much of a dungeon. Sure, it’s a confined living space with no windows, but compared to the tight, grungy room you were held in earlier, your new holding cell feels like a penthouse.

It’s clean and doesn’t smell like the back end of a gundark. The walls are a plain white color and polished duracrete makes up the floor. You’re surprised to see a table in the front corner of the room along with two chairs. Two beds sit in the back corners split by a door to what you believe is the ‘fresher.

Not bad for being held prisoner, honestly. Upon your arrival, you’d expected worse living conditions from your captors.

The catch? You have to share it with Obi-Wan.

The thick reinforced durasteel door locks after the guards leave the room.

Without sparing a glance at Obi-Wan, you sit down in one of the chairs at the table and run a hand through your hair. It tangles through the knotted, dirty stands and you give up when you realize you won’t be able to tame it until you shower.

Finally able to relax after days of nonstop fighting, you sigh in contentment and bask in the silence the room provides you. As exhausted as you are and as peaceful as the silence is, you can’t help but keep your guard up around you. You know better than to completely relax in a situation where you’re in captivity.

You glance over at the door to the ‘fresher in the back of the room. A shower sounds amazing right now, but you can’t help but feel on edge... like you need to protect yourself from a threat.

“I can sense conflict in you.” Obi-Wan says, carefully watching you from a few feet away.

Obi-Wan. Your thoughts had caused his presence to slip from your mind for a brief moment. Maybe he’s the reason why your body won’t let you fully relax. As he stated earlier in the arena, he doesn’t trust you, and you don’t trust him either. You may have worked together to survive, but that doesn’t mean that you can let your guard down around him.

But he hasn’t attempted to kill you. A small voice speaks up in the back of your mind. And it’s true. He hasn’t. Not today, anyway.

During your first encounter at the scrap yard, you’re positive that there were many windows of opportunity for him to strike you with a devastating blow from his saber, but he never did. And when he got his lightsaber from Hondo earlier, he could have struck you down right then and there for putting him in the situation he was in.

Lord Vader had once told you that Kenobi had betrayed you both. That he was brainwashed by The Jedi Code and never cared for either of you.

So why is he looking at you right now with concern etched across his features? Why does he look like he cares?

The realization sends your mind reeling. You must be losing it.

You tear your eyes away from Obi-Wan. “I need to get out of here.”

Before he can respond, the door to your cell hisses open. The same two guards from before come in and act as bodyguards for the one and only Ja’arvis Takun. Upon his entrance, he throws a sack onto the table next to you with a smug look on his face.

Your gaze on him is hard before you glance down at the sack. A few credits leak out from the opening at the top.

“What is this?” You snatch the bag with your left hand.

“Your cut from today.” Ja’arvis responds. “For some reason, the viewers adored you two today. That’s a lot more than an average newcomer receives.”

You steal a glance at Obi-Wan and he looks just as confused as you feel. Credits? Why? You’re his prisoners.

“As you probably found out earlier, both of you are now my gladiators.” Ja’arvis explains. “I paid top dollar for you two and I expect to get a return on investment. However, if everyday is like today, I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”

“If you expect to profit from us, then why give us a cut?” Obi-Wan asks, crossing his arms.

“It’s all a part of the system, my Jedi warrior. With those credits you can buy yourself weapons, armor, luxuries, you name it! Better weapons and armor means a better chance of survival in The Games. The more games you survive, the closer you get to becoming a Champion. Once you achieve the rank of a Champion, you can choose to leave if you so choose, but most decide to stay because they enjoy the lifestyle.”

Ja’arvis looks like he’s enjoying every part of this. He’s a leech feeding off of the downfall of others.

“There is a training room on this floor as well. In that training room is a weapons shop and a workshop where you can tinker with your weapons and armor. You're free to use the training room any time as long as it doesn’t interfere with your schedule. There’s an intercom next to the door that you shall use to summon guards that will escort you there. The training room is the only place that allows weapons other than the arena.”

The Rakatan continues his explanation. “On your beds you will find your uniforms. Wear them. You’ll get a new set after each match. I’ve decided to keep you both together as a team since the audience loves the idea of a new dynamic duo. You are slated to fight in the arena every day of the week except for Tuesdays and Saturdays. Do you both understand all that I have explained?”

You don’t like this at all. Ja’arvis runs a well-oiled machine and the margin for escape isn’t looking too broad anymore.

Does that stop you from getting up to defiantly get in Ja’arvis’ face? No.

Clutching the bag of credits in your hand, you stand up from your chair quickly and immediately the guards react, shifting in front of Ja’arvis to shield him from you.

“How dare you.” You hiss. “I do not belong here, you Rakatan scum. When I leave here—”

You’re about to throw the bag of credits back at Ja’arvis but Obi-Wan swiftly puts his hand over it, freezing your actions.

“I believe what my dear friend is trying to say is thank you for your payment and hospitality, Gamemaster Takun.” Obi-Wan looks at you pointedly. “You have our gratitude. We will be ready for the arena tomorrow. Won’t we, Y/N?”

You glare at Kenobi, then back at Ja’arvis. You can feel the warmth from Obi-Wan’s hand begin to bleed through your glove. You release your hand from the credit pouch and turn away, feeling the loss of his warmth immediately.

“I’m not afraid of you, Ja’arvis.” You say when you turn back around, your voice calmer than before.

“How are you liking your new quarters? Does it fit you well?” Ja’arvis asks, his gaze on you hardening.

You keep your expression apathetic.

“You have my good friend Hondo Ohnaka to thank for that. Any colleague of Hondo’s should receive the best treatment from yours truly.” He thins his eyes at you. “But if you defy me again, I will not hesitate to stick you back in the rusting cage you were in this morning.”

Swallowing, you stare back at him, hate glowing in your yellow irises. You may be defiant, but you’re not stupid. No way you’re going back to that hellhole.

“Understood.” You finally say, clenching your jaw.

And just like that, Ja’arvis is back to his jolly self, acting like his threats never happened. “Good.” He turns to leave, bringing the guards with him. “See you tomorrow, Jedi. Rest well. You’ll need it.”

Then, the door hisses shut and you are left alone with Obi-Wan Kenobi once again. You don’t get to savor a moment of silence before he begins to scold you.

“Must you always act so impulsive? You shouldn’t speak that way to our captor. The last thing we need is for you to anger him and put us in a worse situation.” Kenobi is displeased to say the least.

You sigh, sinking back down into the chair behind you. “I don’t know about you, Kenobi, but I don’t want to be here. I’m not going to show respect to someone who profits off of my downfall.”

“I do not wish to be here anymore than you do, but I know when to pick my battles.” He says, annoyance growing in his tone. “Your impulsiveness is going to get us killed, you know that?”

You glare at him, your bright amber eyes piercing into his figure. “I’m going to get out of here one way or another. For your own sake, I’d suggest staying out of my way.”

“Do you not understand? The only way you or I are getting out of here is through the way of The Games. Nobody is coming for us.”

“There is no ‘us,’ Kenobi.” You snap sharply. “Not anymore. You are the one who doesn’t understand. The Empire will come for me, and once they find me, they will kill you.”

Obi-Wan clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath. One thing he was known for in the past was his patience, and he’s exhibiting it right now as you speak.

“Whether you like it or not, First Sister ,” Obi-Wan begins, and you can tell that he doesn’t like the way the new title feels coming out of his mouth. “We must work as a team if we are to escape.”

“Yeah, okay—”

“You must know that the Empire most likely believes you are dead, right?” Kenobi asks, the start of a fire glowing in his eyes as he looks at you. “Your helmet along with both of your sabers, which are most likely destroyed by the way, lie in the wreckage from the scrap pile that collapsed mere seconds after I escaped with you in my arms. Your welcome, by the way.”

You sigh and open your mouth to speak, but he continues on.

“If there is an opening that we can take advantage of and escape, we will do so with no hesitation. However, until then, we shall work together to stay alive until an opportunity opens.”

You’re silent for a few moments and cast your eyes down to the polished duracrete floor. He’s right. There is no escape. With no weapons in your quarters or knowledge of the complex map, escape is futile. This means that your options are very slim: choose to comply and team up with Kenobi until the Empire finds you or try to escape and get in a worse situation than you are now. You don’t like either, but your choice is obvious.

“What happened to you, Y/N?” It’s a simple question, really, but the way Obi-Wan asks it has so many emotions tied each word.

“I found my true self through the Dark Side of the Force.” Your tone is detached; like you’ve recited those words over and over again to the point where they hold no meaning anymore.

Obi-Wan looks away before his eyes flick over to you. “You know,” he begins, moving to sit on his bed, “after you took your helmet off on Tatooine, I didn’t want to believe it was you.” You stay quiet as he goes on. “You had the same face and voice as the Y/N I once knew, but everything else…”

“What are you getting at?”

“I refuse to believe that the compassionate, strong Jedi I once knew, my best friend, could turn into someone so…”

“Horrible?” You offer, completely void of energy. “Evil? How about monstrous, I haven’t heard that one in a while.” This conversation is not one you want to have at the moment and it’s wearing you out. Actually, all of the events that happened in the last 48 hours are finally hitting you full on and exhaustion that you felt earlier now kicks into full gear.

“Corrupt.” Obi-Wan replies instead, his voice weakening.

And for the first time since your reunion, you see just how much all of this has taken its toll on him. He looks just as exhausted as you feel. Bags have formed under his eyes from lack of sleep and you can see the pain evident in his blue eyes. Eyes that used to be bright with confidence and triumph are now dull with no shine to them. The luster in his gaze that was reserved only for you during the Clone Wars is absent and replaced by an eerie emptiness.

The man is a ghost of his former self… and you don’t know exactly why, but this realization bothers you.

You blink and let his words sink in, too tired to close your mind to them. As much as you want to leave the room and be alone, you can’t.

Curiosity gets the best of you and you vocalize a question that you’ve been wondering since it happened.

“Why did you save me, then?”

Something flashes in his gaze. “Why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” You say, thinning your eyes at him. “Answer my question.”

“You hesitated.” Kenobi claims and his brows furrow.

You did. You remember every moment of that encounter. When finally given the moment to get your revenge, you couldn’t follow through.

You turn, no longer able to look into Obi-Wan’s imploring eyes. He wants an answer, but right now, you are not yet ready to give one to him.

“Tell me why you did it.” You mumble, fidgeting with a thread sticking out of your torn sleeve.

“What was I supposed to do? Leave you in the sand to die and waste away?” His voice has a newfound energy to it that grows with each passing word. “No.”

“Why not?” You ask, snapping your head toward him.

“Because I already lost you once!” He yells, and you can see frustration and sadness within his eyes once again. You’ve caused that. “I’d already lost you once and I wasn’t going to let it happen again.”

His voice sounds so broken . Nothing like the man you once knew.

Moments pass and there is nothing but silence that surrounds you two. You hold each other’s gaze for a few beats before he looks away, taking a deep breath.

You sigh defeatedly. “I was already lost. I still am.” You subconsciously shift in your seat when Obi-Wan’s stormy blue eyes meet yours again. “I was trying to kill you, you know.”

“No.” He says in a low voice, shaking his head. “You weren’t. That was evident the moment you hesitated to land the final blow. You had me at your mercy and you made a choice.”

Kenobi stands up and takes a step towards you, causing you to rise from your position and move away from him.

“Why didn’t you do it?”

There it is. The question you’ve been avoiding. He’s pretty much backed you into a corner physically and metaphorically.

You close your eyes, turning away from him for a moment.

“I couldn’t.” You whisper. “I couldn’t be responsible for the death of my former best friend, okay? I couldn’t do it.” Your voice is sad, and you hate how vulnerable you feel right now, but there is no stopping your emotions. “No matter how many times I was told that you were a traitor and that you along with the rest of the Order were against me… I just… I was weak and I couldn’t follow through.”

You look up to see a flicker of hope appear in Obi-Wan’s eyes. You want to tell him not that you're not capable of being the person you once were, but when you open your mouth, he’s already speaking.

“You weren’t weak, Y/N. You were strong for fighting the call of the Dark Side. You aren’t the monster you portray yourself to be.”

A mask of apathy takes over your facial features.

“21.” You say darkly, taking a deep, shaky breath. Obi-Wan’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “That’s the number of Jedi I’ve killed over the past two years.”

His eyes widen. It’s the exact reaction you expect.

“Six of them were children.” You continue, staring directly at him. “The rest of them were just Padawans or just barely Knighted.”

Silence.

Now you are the one who senses Kenobi’s confliction. You can feel the emotions clashing within him and how he’s fighting against them.

“I was heartless. Ruthless. I showed no mercy.” You voice, walking a few steps toward your bed. You glance at the uniform that lays upon it. Turning around, you look at Obi-Wan once again. His expression reads concerned, like he’s worried for you.

“I’m the Inquisition’s highest ranking officer, ranking above The Grand Inquisitor himself, because of my achievements in hunting Jedi. Yet, when I found you…” You shake your head and let out a slight scoff. “I couldn’t finish the job. How comical is that? An Inquisitor who couldn’t execute a target due to her pre-existing emotional ties.” You breath out a humorless laugh. “Embarrassing.”

A blanket of quiet falls around the room. It’s a few moments before Obi-Wan decides to speak up.

“There is good in you, Y/N. I can sense it.” He says, his voice strong. “Nothing is going to change that.”

A corner of your mouth twinges up into a slight smirk. “That’s where you’re wrong, Obi-Wan.”

You turn to grab the black uniform on your bed and head to the ‘fresher, wanting nothing more than to put a wall between yourself and the broken Jedi. Upon entering the ‘fresher, you hear Obi-Wan’s voice barely above a whisper. The question he asks freezes your entire body.

“What did they do to you?”

You know exactly what he means by the question. What horrible things did Sidious and Vader do to transform you into the unrecognizable person you had become? What did they say? How did they hurt you? How much were you tortured? What was the extent of your mental wounds? And most importantly… What caused such a powerful, loyal Jedi to crack?

Saying that it’s a loaded question is the understatement of the century.

You try to prevent the terrible memories that threaten to flash on the backs of your eyelids. Just thinking about your transformation makes you feel the pain and suffering of it all over again.

So you don’t turn to look at him when you answer. You don’t want him to witness any more of your vulnerability than he has already.

“You don’t want to know.”

—————

Howling wind blows sand around chaotically as a dust storm begins to brew up on the dry planet of Tatooine. Stormtroopers and probe droids can be seen searching the remnants of a collapsed scrap yard. The Empire is searching for something, or someone .

The Grand Inquisitor steps onto the scene, having freshly arrived from Fortress Inquisitorius. Two Purge Troopers come up to meet him.

“Any sign of her?” He asks, his unsettling figure looming over the troopers.

“No signs of her body, sir. Only these.” One of the Purge Troopers nods to another and he brings forth a broken lightsaber, crushed from heavy impact and deformed from exposure to heavy heat. The Grand Inquisitor takes the saber into his hand and examines it before clipping it to his belt.

Another trooper steps forward with a disfigured helmet; not just any helmet, but the sleek black helmet that belongs to the First Sister. The matte durite of the helmet is completely destroyed, making the helmet almost unrecognizable.

This is all the evidence The Grand Inquisitor needs.

“Bring this to my ship and contact Lord Vader immediately.” He says, his mouth twisting up into a sickly grin.

“The Inquisition is mine now.”

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