#when she picked up the gun and walked out in that bloodstained dress

[casthesixteenth]

Lucy MacLean in her bloody wedding dresses so tabris coded

[storiesforallfandoms]

how they react when you walk in covered in blood and carrying a gun ~ mcu

request?: no

warnings: swearing, mentions of guns and violence

masterlist (one, two)

*only using the og six plus bucky, wanda and loki because there’s way too many marvel characters rn; also based off of a tiktok by anniedvorak!*

BRUCE BANNER/HULK:

The last person you expected to see when you entered Thor’s room on Sakaar with the intentions of saving him was your boyfriend, Bruce. He had been lost for so long, you had let your heart let go of him. But there he was, stood with a cloth wrapped around his waist after having turned back from the Hulk.

You were tempted to walk back out. This wasn’t exactly how you wanted Bruce to see you - an alien gun in hand and blood splattered over your face and clothes. But it was too late, he was already looking at you with wide eyes.

“(Y/N),” he said, turning to approach you but stopping halfway. You weren’t sure if he had stopped because of the blood or because he was still technically naked. “What are you...what did you...?”

“I’m trying to save Thor,” you responded. “Listen, we don’t have much time. I can explain everything once all of us are off of this planet. Put some pants on, we’re getting out of here.”

~~~~~~

BUCKY BARNES/THE WINTER SOLDIER:

You walked in after a surprise run in with the Flag Smashers. Bucky already looked about ready to kill someone, but when you walked through the door of Zemo’s apartment, blood covering your face and your gun clutched tightly in your hand, his face turned red with anger.

“What the hell happened to you?” Sam asked.

“Flag Smashers,” you breathed in response.

“I’m gonna fucking kill them,” Bucky hissed, abandoning his drink on the counter and making his way to the door.

You put a hand up to stop him. “I think that ship has sailed. This isn’t all my blood.”

Bucky cupped your face in his hands, his face softening as he looked at you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you insisted. “I just need a shower, and maybe a visit to a hospital or something. They hit me pretty hard, I think I have some bruised ribs or something.”

He kissed your forehead and took your gun from your still shaking hands. Once it was safely put aside, he brought you into the bathroom to help you bathe and to start dressing your wounds.

~~~~~~

CLINT BARTON/HAWEYE:

You were extremely lucky that Clint worked with someone like Natasha regularly, or else he would’ve been much more concerned when you arrived home from work covered in blood and still carrying you gun. He barley looked up from the TV as you walked through the door, immediately racing for your bedroom so you could shower and change.

“Hard day at work?” he called as you passed by.

“That last target they sent me after put up a hell of a fight,” you responded. “By the time I finally got him, I realized how late it was and rushed home immediately. I’m glad S.H.I.E.L.D issues those SUVs with the tinted windows or else I definitely would’ve been pulled over for suspicious activity.”

Clint chuckled and rose from his seat. He walked into your shared bedroom as you were pulling off you bloodstained clothes and throwing them into a pile to be tossed out eventually. His eyes raked over your body as you looked up at him.

“Red looks good on you,” he said, a teasing smirk pulling at his lips.

“That’s gross,” you teased. “You’re gross. Just for that, you can’t shower with me.”

He groaned as you walked into the bathroom and locked the door before he could follow you in. 

~~~~~~

LOKI:

The sly smirk on Loki’s face was enough to almost rid you of the annoyance you felt after what you just had to do. Almost.

You walked up to the panel that controlled his glass cage. You could’ve easily figured out how to deal with it, but instead you shot the control panel. Sparks flew from it before Loki’s prison sprung open.

“Seems like a bit of overkill,” he commented.

“Shut it,” you hissed. “You told me it was going to be easy to break you out. You failed to mention the entire team of guards that were watching this room, and, oh yeah, the team of super humans that were assembled to face you?!”

Loki walked free of his cage, taking a dramatic deep breath before smiling to himself. “Well, doesn’t seem like you had an issue with them, as I knew you wouldn’t.”

He approached you, arms out as if he were going to hug you and try to kiss you. You poked his stomach with the barrel of your gun, glaring up at him.

“Come one step closer and we see how much damage a mortal weapon can do to a God.”

Loki put his hands on your shoulders, keeping you a fair distance away to heed your warning. “I’m sorry for not giving you a proper warning. Thank you for freeing me, I do appreciate it.”

You allowed yourself to relax against his touch and smiled a little. “You’re welcome.”

“Now, let’s get out of here, shall we?”

“You’re doing all the work this time.”

~~~~~~

NATASHA ROMANOFF/BLACK WIDOW:

It probably wasn’t a good idea, but you didn’t know where else to go. Natasha had always warned you about the Red Room, and you were so stupid to not listen to her.

Now you were stood on her doorstep, covered in blood that wasn’t yours, your gun dangling from your hand as you wished to drop it but also too scared to let it go. It was what Natasha looked at first when she opened the door - the gun, then to your blood covered face.

“Put the gun down,” she said, her voice calmer than you expected.

You gratefully allowed her to take it from your hand as you felt tears starting to well in your eyes. She pulled you in for a hug, where you started to sob on her shoulder. She took a quick look around to make sure you weren’t followed before bringing you into her house.

“Go get cleaned up,” she told you. “We’ll figure out your next step together.”

~~~~~~

STEVE ROGERS/CAPTAIN AMERICA:

You showed up to Sam’s shortly after Steve had brought Natasha. You could barley keep yourself up, the fight had taken everything out of you. You were sure Sam was going to turn you away - you were a stranger showing up on his doorstep covered in blood with a gun in your hand. You were pleasantly shocked when he stepped aside and told you where to find Steve.

Poor Steve. He was already trying to help Natasha, who had been in the same situation as you just with a lot less blood. She was resting when you walked in, dazed and just wanting to also rest.

He was up in seconds, reaching out to wrap you in his arms despite the blood covering you.

“The Winter Soldier is one mean fucker,” you breathed, resting your head against Steve’s chest. “I think he finally got wore out and ran off. Unfortunately, I was wore out about an hour before he was, but I kept going.”

“You should’ve given up long ago, honey,” he said.

“I’m not a pussy,” you said with a slight laugh. “Although I am starting to succumb to the pain.”

He picked you up into his arms and carried you to the bathroom where he helped you to rinse the blood off of your body so you could finally rest.

~~~~~~

THOR:

It was a side of you that Thor had never seen before. He had lost you during the battle in Sokovia and was expecting the worst when he couldn’t get you over the coms. When you showed back up to jet, blood covering your tired looking face, he was overjoyed to see you were alright, but also a little shocked by your appearance.

“Those fuckers really thought they had me,” you said, a half laugh bubbling on your lips. “They were a little shocked when I got the upper hand on them. Even more shocked when I shot them dead.”

“I was worried for you, (Y/N),” Thor said, cupping your face in his hands as he approached you. “I truly thought they had taken you from me.”

You smirked up at him. “You really have no faith in me at all them, do you? Or you just underestimate me. I’m a little offended on both accounts, though.”

Thor smiled back at you. “Of course, I would never doubt you. Just a bit of fear is all.”

“When you two are done being gross,” came Tony’s voice from inside the jet, “we’d like to get back to the tower. I think (Y/N) needs a shower and a fresh change of clothes more than anything.”

~~~~~~

TONY STARK/IRON MAN:

“Miss (Y/L/N) incoming Mr. Stark.”

“Tell her to come back at another time, J.A.R.V.I.S, I’m busy right now.”

“I don’t think it can wait, sir.”

Tony looked up to see you walking through the door to his lab, your body trembling as you clutched the gun tightly in your hand. There was a splatter of blood over your shirt and some on your face. You looked up at him, looking like a helpless child.

He quickly walked over to you, his hand automatically reaching for the gun. You gladly let him take it, feeling like a weight had been lifted the moment the weapon was out of your hands.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I-I was attacked at-at home,” you stuttered. “I don’t know how they got in, I don’t know who they were. I walked into my house and was blindsided by these two men trying to attack me. I got the gun out of the hands of one of them and I...I...”

Your hands moved to mimic the action of shooting your attackers, but you couldn’t actually bring yourself to say you had done it. You didn’t want to admit to having shot anyone, even if it was in self defense.

Tony placed the gun aside and took you into his arms. You stopped fighting against the lump that had formed in your throat and began to sob into his chest. He ran a hand through your hair, calming you down.

“It’s okay,” he said, soothingly. “It’s alright. I got you now. I won’t let anyone else try to hurt you.”

~~~~~~

WANDA MAXIMOFF/SCARLETT WITCH:

You didn’t think of Tommy and Billy. You didn’t think about the perfect neighborhood Wanda had created. You didn’t even think about Vision, or the version of Vision she had created. Your only thoughts were getting to Wanda before Hayward and his people could.

She was horrified when she opened the door. Of course she was; you were stood at her doorstep, a ghost from the life she wanted to forget, holding a gun with blood splattered on your face.

“You have to get out of here,” you said before she could speak. “You have to break down that boarder and you need to get out of here now.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her voice still in its sitcom mode. “Please leave before I call the police.”

You grabbed hold of her shoulders before she could walk away, startling her.

“Wanda, you have to listen to me. You know what’s happening here because you are controlling it all. I know that, everyone outside the Hex knows that. Including the S.W.O.R.D director Hayward, who is trying to break through your barrier right now to kill you. I know you don’t want to lose this perfect life you’ve made, but your are in real danger. You need to get out of here.”

It seemed like she was understanding. A hurt look passed over her face as she turned to look into the house where her perfect family was likely residing. She took a deep breath and turned back to you.

“Let’s go.”

[undertaker1827]

ohayo ! how are you ? a headcanons for bassy, edward (cuz i cant find too much hc for edward) a s /o who knows how to shoot and rebuild a broken gun cuz she's russian thank you >~< ❤️❤️

Ohayou!! I’m good thank you, how are you? Absolutely, sorry these took so long and hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

❗️Warnings; canon typical violence, guns (obviously), death all that stuff. Also Book of the Atlantic spoilers but I guess everyone’s seen that by now??

-

Sebastian

Alright, so when Sebastian first found out about this ability, it was during a life and death situation (for you at least)

You had ended up going with him and Ciel on a chase to catch the group behind a recent string of especially violent murders, something the Yard had been pushing to get through as quickly as possible

Sebastian hadn’t wanted you to go, back time was of the essence and he didn’t have any spare to argue with you about it, so you went anyway

Needless to say it went decidedly wrong

The three of you ran straight into an ambush

Whilst Sebastian had thought it was a distinct possibility, it didn’t happen at all in the way he expected and he hadn’t been able to take out any of the shooters because he was having to protect both you and Ciel

A bullet just clipped the collar of your greatcoat and you yelped, out of surprise rather than pain, diving behind a discarded wooden crate

Sebastian and Ciel joined you moments later

You were, much to your distress, unarmed and waiting very impatiently for Ciel to bring out his own gun

When he didn’t, you called him out on it

“Y/N don’t you think I would already be using it if that were an option?!” He rebutted, more than irate

“Well what’s wrong with it?” You whisper-shouted back in frustration, jaw dropping open when he said it was broken

“For God’s sake, give it here”

A few minutes later and with only a key someone had dropped at the side of the road and the corner of a thin piece of metal, the gun was back to rights and fully functional once more

Ignoring the earl’s flabbergasted expression, you leapt up and, using the crate as cover, began to take down your attackers

Each bullet you fired hit one of them square in the chest and in seconds only two were left standing

You cursed when the trigger clicked and nothing happened; out of bullets

The last two men realised this at almost the same time and started firing back, giving you very little time to crouch down behind the crate once more

You glanced between Ciel and Sebastian, both of whom had very wide eyes

When neither said anything, you gave an indignant cry about how you were still getting shot at and neither of them were doing anything

Sebastian quickly dealt with the last two then walked back to you and Ciel, letting you know it was safe

Ciel went to check the shooters’ pockets, presumably for some kind of identification, whilst Sebastian remained standing with you, an appraising gaze locked on your eyes

When you asked him what it was, he just smirked

“I had no idea you were hiding something like that, my darling”

You grinned back

“Perks of being Russian,” you offered as explanation, “my whole family can do everything I just did, really it would be a travesty if I wasn’t able to”

“A travesty indeed,” was Sebastian’s reply, then Ciel called you over to carry on the search once again

Edward

Edward on the other hand, found out aboard the Campania

You had been staying in a smaller suite that was fairly close to his and his family’s, disturbed from the book you were reading by a sudden bout of screaming from just down the hall

You glanced out through the spy hole in the door to be met by the gaping maw of what could only be described as a monster, groaning and beginning to pound against the door

The smell emanating from outside was rancid and you stumbled back from the door in surprise, frowning when the hinges started to rattle

A determined look came over your features and you rushed to the desk your room was fitted with, opening the draw and pulling out your loaded twin handguns and multiple spare magazines

You ripped open the door and shot the creature point blank in the chest once, twice but to no avail

When it didn’t so much as flinch you went for the next best option; the head

That seemed to do the trick

You stepped over the body, mindful it didn’t move again, then made your way out into the hallway

Bodies of the nobility littered the bloodstained carpet, but the moans of the monsters and the screams of their victims had disappeared around the corner

You twirled your guns once then took off in the opposite direction, every sense strained to make sure you weren’t caught off guard

Edward’s suite was clearly still in the thick of things and you took out as many of the undead as you could before they could make their way through the doors

You rushed inside as soon as a path was clear at the same time as a butler dressed all in black appeared, Ciel Phantomhive’s if you remembered correctly

“Y/N!” Edward called out, eyes quickly scanning the blood on your face and the guns in your hands

He asked if you were alright, concern in his voice, but gave an annoyed huff when the monsters resumed their attack once more

Yourself and the butler told the Midfords to aim for the monsters’ heads at the same time, but in doing so you were caught off guard

You yelled in protest as one of the undead ripped a gun from your grasp, leaving you no choice but to let it go lest it were to rip your hand off as well

You shot it regardless before the others had time to attack, but that didn’t prevent you growling in frustration over your gun

Edward told you not to worry about it, that he would be able to find you another one, but you had already picked it up again

You grabbed a butter knife from the table behind you and immediately set to work, returning the gun to its full glory in just a few minutes, before the monsters even had time to return

You smirked at the look of surprise adorning Edward’s features

“Wipe that look off of your face, Edward,” his mother admonished, “she’s Russian, what did you expect?”

He was starting to smile now, then asked how long you’d been able to do that

“Pretty much my whole life,” you told him proudly, reloading and turning to face the fight ahead

[theladyofdeath]

In the Bleak Midwinter {20}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

Summary: 2 years after Arobynn Hammel is killed by Rowan Whitethorn, Maeve has returned from Eyllwe with a vengeance. Meanwhile, Rowan is getting married, Lorcan is a father, and Lysandra is finally ready to give her heart away. There’s been peace in The Cadre’s Orynth for 2 years, but peace never lasts.

A/N: Epilogue coming soon....

All characters belong to SJM. I am no more than a fan with a plot.

**Warning: mature content - language, alcohol use, drug use, sex, murders and shit.

Links & masterlists:

Fanfic Masterlist

Ask me

The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

For what seemed like the hundredth time in days, Aelin awoke in an unfamiliar place. The ground beneath her was damp and cool, covered in sticks and dead leaves. Once her vision cleared, she was blinking up at a surrounding of trees, bare from their fallen leaves of Autumn. She pushed herself up on her elbows, which sunk into the seeping dirt, covering her already dusty, bloody dress in thick mud. 

A fluttering came from inside of her stomach, and Aelin was, once again, grateful to her baby for letting her know that they were still there, perfectly okay. 

After pushing herself up on her knees, Aelin looked around. She was in the middle of the woods, but other than that, she had no idea where she was. 

No fucking clue.

After taking a look around in every direction, she screamed at the top of her lungs.

There was no response.

Once she had randomly picked a direction, Aelin started walking.

With every step she took, she thought of Rowan. 

Where was he? What had Maeve done since she’d left?

Left, been kicked out - same difference. 

Aelin remembered very little. She was hungry, scared, heartbroken from hearing Rowan scream her name from the upstairs, wherever he had been upstairs. She could hear her name, which he shouted from the top of his lungs, through the door in which Maeve had kept her in within the basement. 

Not long after, Cairn entered her room and hit her in the head with the butt of his gun. 

She remembered nothing else until moments ago, when she woke up, tossed on the ground like a piece of trash. 

She kept walking.

Every step hurt, she was beginning to feel dizzy. 

Her hands rested on her stomach, giving her as much strength as she could muster. 

Aelin felt like she had walked for hours, for days, even though the sun never set. Although it was Autumn, the sun was warm, and she was dehydrated. After a while, she decided on a break and plopped down on a log.

Her nightgown was ripped, her nightgown that she had been wearing when they stole Aelin from her bed. 

Aelin forced herself to stand back up, even though her knees shook, and continued on her way. She still had no idea where she was, but she had been walking for so long that she figured she had to be getting to civilization soon.

She imagined that she couldn’t have been out long enough to go somewhere far enough away that she couldn’t find her way back. She didn’t think she had been out that long. But, then again, she had no idea how long she had really been out. 

So she walked.

She walked for hours, walked until the sun began to sink low in the sky.

Then she saw smoke billowing in the distance, high above the trees. 

A mangled cry left Aelin’s trembling body, and she tried to run, even though every inch of her body ached, even though she felt like she would faint.

For my baby, for Rowan. She repeated the words in her mind with every step she took, each time the ones she loved pushed her forward.

Until she fell out into a clearing.

Her house, the manor, sat half a mile away across the vast,green landscape. 

Aelin sobbed.

Hours, she had spent hours wandering around through her own land, her own woods. They had brought her home. In the cruelest of ways, certainly, but they had brought her home.

Why would they bring her home?

Aelin’s blood ran cold.

Rowan had made a deal.

She had no doubt about it.

Her freedom, her to go home, for his life.

Aelin ran.

With every little last ounce of energy she had, Aelin ran across the grass, held onto her small bump as she ran and ran and ran until she was throwing open the front door.

“Gavriel!” she screamed, tears streaming down her face. “Aedion!”

“Aelin?” Lysandra was around the corner, tears in her eyes as Aelin threw herself into her friend’s arms. “Aelin! What - How - Are you-.”

“Rowan made a deal, they dropped me off in the woods, they left me for dead, on our property, they still have Ro, Lys, they have him, and they’re going to kill him-.”

“Ael-.”

“We have to go to him,” Aelin sobbed, her entire body shaking. Lysandra was practically holding her up. “We have to go to him, where are they? Where are the boys? Gavriel! Lorcan! Vau-.”

“Aelin,” Lysandra said, her voice loud, her face close to Aelin’s. “They’re gone.”

Aelin went still. “Gone?”

“They found out where Maeve is staying, where she’s keeping Rowan, they’ve already left.”

“They’ve already left,” Aelin breathed.

“They’ve already left,” Lysandra repeated, keeping her tear-lined eyes on Aelin’s. 

“They’re going to get Rowan?” Aelin whispered.

“They’re going to get him,” Lysandra promised. 

“And Lucy?”

“Safe,” Lysandra promised. “Napping in her crib, Natalia hasn’t left her side.”

“I have to apologize to Lorcan, I should have protected her, when he gets back with Rowan, I have to tell him I’m sorry, I have to, he has to, Rowan, Rowan has to-.”

“He’s coming back,” Lysandra said, her voice stern, even though it broke as the words escaped her. “There’s nothing to apologize for, it wasn’t your fault, and the men are coming back with Rowan, okay? They’re coming back.”

Aelin’s lip wobbled as she fell into Lysandra’s arms, sobbing, her face buried into Lysandra’s shoulder. 

Lysandra held Aelin close, clung to her best friend, sobbed alongside her, neither saying a word.

It wasn’t until those sobs died down that Aelin finally spoke again, in the quietest of voices.

“Lys?”

“Yeah?”

“What if it’s already too late?” she asked, afraid of the words. The last thing Aelin remembered was his screams, his voice, echoing through the house, terrified. 

Lysandra didn’t reply.

She only held Aelin tighter.

~~~~~

The gunshot rang through Rowan’s mind.

It all happened so quickly.

He was screaming for Aelin.

Screaming, because he didn’t know where she was, his wife.

She wasn’t there, Maeve had said.

She wouldn’t tell him where she was.

His wife.

His mate.

His love.

Carrying his child. 

He screamed for her, over and over again. He screamed, but no one gave him an answer. 

Maeve told him that his time was over.

Rowan didn’t care.

He just wanted his wife.

Maeve told him that he was worthless, told him that it was his fault her life had gone to shit, blamed Arobynn’s end on him.

It was Rowan’s fault.

He didn’t regret it.

He kept calling for Aelin.

Her name had barely left his lips when the gunshot rang out. 

It hit Rowan between the ribs.

Maeve’s face was the last thing he saw before he faded away into darkness.

Her dark, serpentine grin. 

Now, he had no idea where he was.

He wasn’t in pain, though. The bullet had hurt. The bullets always hurt. 

Now, wherever he was, it no longer hurt. 

Maeve wasn’t there, either.

He was still wearing his dingy clothes, his shirt still bloodstained where her shot had hit him.

“Hello?” he asked.

Suddenly, he was in a clearing. He was on his feet, his feet bare atop the grass. He spun around. All he could see was trees. 

“Rowan?”

He knew that voice.

He spun around.

Connall, dressed in his finest suit, was leaning up against the trunk of a tree, smoking a cigarette. He gave Rowan a mischievous grin.

Rowan had missed that grin. “Con?”

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” he said, blowing a puff of smoke into the open air. 

“Where am I?” Rowan asked, quietly.

Connall cocked his head to the side. “You’re still breathing, you know.”

“What?” Rowan shot back. “Where am-.”

“Maeve shot you, in the ribs, and she wants you to suffer a slow, miserable death. You’re still breathing,” Connall replied, his voice light, his eyes bright. “You could still wake up.”

“I don’t understand,” Rowan said, shaking his head.

“What’s not to understand?” Connall asked. “You’re dying. Want a smoke?”

Rowan blinked. Connall was now standing a mere foot away, holding out a box of smokes.

Rowan hesitated. “But-.”

“It’s a little overwhelming, isn’t it?” A new voice.

Rowan spun around.

Elide was there with that familiar, comforting smile. 

“El,” he breathed, and his eyes were suddenly lined with tears as he looked back and forth between the two members of the Cadre that had been lost.

Lost, too soon, too young, long before their time. 

“We’ve missed you both,” he said.

Connall’s grin widened. “Who knew becoming a father would make you so vulnerable, Whitethorn?” 

Becoming a father. 

Rowan wouldn’t be able to see his child be born. 

Elide’s eyes softened. “You can still wake up, Ro.”

If he woke up, he’d be in pain.

What if Maeve was still there? She would stay there, smiling, watching him die. 

He was a dead man. 

“Not yet,” Elide said, reading his thoughts with a kind, gentle smile. “They’re coming.”

“Who?”

“Who do you think?” Connall asked, rolling his eyes. “Your men, along with Rhoe and his men.”

“They’re coming?” Rowan asked, as Elide’s hand rested on his shoulder.

“You didn’t think they’d let you die without a fight, did you?” Elide asked.

Rowan slowly shook his head. “Is this real?”

“Is what real?” Connall asked. 

“This,” Rowan breathed, gesturing around them. “Wherever we are, the two of you.” 

Connall tossed his cigarette onto the ground and put it out with his boot. “Do you want it to be real?” 

Yes, he did. He wanted to see them, was happy to see them.

But he wasn’t ready to die.

“It’s real if you want it to be,” Elide followed, when Rowan said nothing. “You’re still breathing, Ro.”

Still breathing.

The Cadre was coming for him. 

Aelin was alive, he knew it, felt it in his bones. ‘

“Live,” Connall pushed, reaching up to put his hand on Rowan’s shoulder.

The second Connall’s hand touched his dusty sleeve, Rowan’s eyes were shooting open.

~~~~~

They weren’t exactly sure what to expect when they got to the abandoned manor, but they were pleasantly surprised at one thing: they were fairly evenly matched in men, and Maeve’s men were not ready for a surprise attack. 

Two men were shot before they even made it through the door. Chaol and Dorian were walking around the manor, eliminating all threats to the outside. On the inside was Rhoe, Ren, Aedion, and the Cadre, led by Lorcan and his twin revolvers. 

Lorcan shot first and looked who it was after.

They were here, they knew it, and they would be getting them out. 

True to Fenrys’ word, they found the closet that led down to the basement. There were a few more of Maeve’s men that were quickly demolished, but after opening up door after door, they found it was empty.

“It makes no sense,” Lorcan growled, kicking up a door that he’d already opened and searched within. “Where are they?”

“They should be here,” Fenrys agreed, shaking his head. Someone’s blood was smeared across his cheek. 

“They have to be here somewhere,” Gavriel said. 

“The place is massive, we don’t have much time, if I had to take a guess,” Rhoe said, his face paled. “Let’s move. Split up. Search the grounds.”

There was no time to disagree. Lorcan went with Gavriel and Fenrys as Rhoe, Ren, and Aedion searched the first floor. Lorcan was halfway up the basement’s stairs when he saw her.

She was smiling, brightly, as beautiful as she always was.

“Elide,” he breathed.

Gavriel shot him a look, but Lorcan wasn’t paying attention. He was watching as Elide whispered, “Follow me, my love.” 

Lorcan didn’t hesitate. “Follow me.”

Gavriel and Fenrys looked worriedly at one another, but it didn’t stop their feet from moving, didn’t stop them from following him.

“Where is he?” Lorcan asked.

“Follow me,” Elide repeated, but she was moving quickly. They went through the kitchens and through the halls, through the foyer and into the winding hallway.

“Are they together?” Lorcan asked, following Elide up the winding staircase. 

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Gavriel growled.

“He’s not talking to you,” Fenrys whispered, with a surprise calm. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Gavriel asked, exasperated.

Fenrys didn’t answer.

“Who?” Elide asked, at last, as they neared the second floor landing. 

“Aelin and Rowan,” Lorcan snapped. “Are they together?”

Elide’s brows furrowed. “Aelin is gone. Home, safe, with baby Lucy.”

Lorcan said, “Aelin is home.”

“Home? What-.”

“Trust him,” Fenrys begged.

Gavriel growled in frustration.  

They followed Elide to the end of the hall where she stopped in front of a door. Before anyone could open it, her eyes widened. “Turn around!”

A shot rang out, but it missed them all, hitting the spot where Elide’s incandescent form stood in front of the wall.

They all spun, coming eye to eye with Maeve, Cairn to her right. 

“It’s about time,” Maeve crooned, her heels clicking along the hardwood. “But, I’m afraid Aelin has left, and it’s too late for your leader.” 

“Where is he?” Lorcan growled. 

“Don’t bother,” she said, her smile remaining. “Too late.” 

“Where the fuck is he?” Gavriel yelled, taking a step toward Maeve.

Cairn raised his gun.

Gavriel froze. 

“Another step and it will be your last,” Maeve promised, her grin fading. 

“You have a lot of nerve,” Lorcan said, quietly.

Mave only lifted a thin, sculpted brow. “Pardon?”

“My wife,” he breathed. “Connall. Now Rowan.” He shook his head. “You’ve known us our entire lives. Why?”

“Arobynn-.”

“Why?!” He screamed, Lorcan’s voice echoing through the hallway. “You are a ruthless, worthless, piece of shit!”

“Lor,” Gavriel whispered, in warning.

“What’s she going to do?” Lorcan asked, snorting. “Shoot me?”

“Oh, I’d love to,” Maeve snapped, and snatched the gun from Cairn’s hand. It went off, the bullet hitting a nearby lamp, shattering the bulb into countless piece and the clay base into chunks.

Another shot went off.

Everyone froze.

All but Maeve, who fell to the ground.

Smoke was coming from the revolver in Lorcan’s hand.

“That was for my wife, you bitch,” Lorcan hissed, slowly lowering the gun back to his side.

Cairn stared at Maeve’s lifeless form, his lips parted.

His body joined hers soon after, thanks to Gavriel.

Lorcan had already turned and was pushing his way inside of the room that Elide had led them to. After he pushed open the door, he froze.

Then he ran.

He ran to the center of the room where Rowan was tied, hanging limply, in an old wooden chair. There was a crimson stain on his shirt, above his ribs. 

“Rowan!” Gavriel growled, but Lorcan was already on his knees in front of his leader.

“Ro,” he whispered, patting Rowan on his face. “Rowan, hey, Ro, wake up, yeah?” He pressed his ear up to Rowan’s chest.

“He’s breathing,” Elide said, softly, from behind Lorcan’s shoulder. “He was here, but now he’s not. He’s ready to live.”

Lorcan looked up at his wife, and the gentle kindness in her eyes.

She was fading.

“What?” was all Lorcan could say.

“Get him to the hospital,” Elide said, as her form became lighter and lighter.

“Elide,” he breathed. 

Gavriel was untying Rowan, and Fenrys stood close by, not saying a word.

Perhaps he understood.

Perhaps he saw Connall, sometimes, too. 

“Goodbye, my love,” she whispered, and Lorcan knew a tear had fallen down his cheek, but he didn’t care.

Elide disappeared, and Rowan fell forward with a groan. Gavriel had loosened the bonds around his wrists, and Lorcan caught Rowan, lifting him up.

Even as he wept.

Rowan’s eyes were still shut, but the house was silent, all for Rhoe’s voice from down the hall.

“Gavriel?”  

They all looked through the open door. Rhoe stood before Maeve and Cairn’s bodies, Ren and Aedion behind him. 

No one bothered to ask what had happened.

Maeve was dead.

That was all that mattered. 

“We need to get Rowan out of here, to medical professionals,” Lorcan said, although his voice sounded distanced.

Rowan.

Elide.

Blood.

Maeve.

Cairn.

Too much was happening. 

Rowan was being lifted off of Lorcan, then Lorcan was on his feet, following the others out of the room.

Everything was in a blur.

Elide was gone.

Elide was gone, and everything was in a blur. 

Elide was gone.

Gone.

He couldn’t see her ghost, not anymore.

As Lorcan followed the others out of the house, over the dead bodies in which they shot, Gavriel hung close, holding Lorcan up by the arm.

Shock.

Lorcan was in shock.

His wife’s ghost disappeared.

His best friend was shot.

He had shot Maeve.

He was following the others out of the house, but he felt like he was in a dream.

A dream, a nightmare...One of them. Either, or. 

Rowan was taken from the house, put in a cab, and driven away. 

To safety.

To help.

Lorcan watched.

Watched, and waited, and hoped for the very best.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[sergeant-donny-donowitz]

Making Friends: Basterds Imagine-Fem!Reader

Requested by @cass-danvers

@owba-chan @war-obsessed @inglourious-imagines @tealaquinn @struggling-bee @frozenhuntress67 @kwyloz @sodapop182 @marlenemarauders @what-the--curtains @taikawho @spookybearlandtaco Let me know if you wanna be added to the IB or OUATIH taglists! :)

___________ It was a cool Sunday evening. The basterds marched into an A-list,  luxurious club in the middle of Paris, in the middle of the nazi occupation. It was a bold move. Some may even say stupid. But it was necessary. Besides, they were the basterds. Bolder still was something they'd come to see in a few moments. It was you. You, in your long, glamorous red evening gown, with a slit down your leg, and black gloves half way up your arm. And bolder still, the bright spotlight shining directly onto you with a loud click, just as the band began to play. The basterds had never seen you before...but the light that flowed onto the crowd immediately around you was quite revealing. They'd seen every single one of those spectators before. They were all high ranking, high profile, high-on-their-kill-list nazis. All of them were targets the basterds had been pursuing from the moment they landed in France a year before. And there they were, all in one place. Donny instinctively reached for a pistol hidden in his coat, but Hugo signaled him off, shaking his head slightly. If Donny did what all the basterds wanted to do, none of them would make it out alive. Aldo looked around at the basterds, with stark eyes indicating one word they often did not listen to: "Wait." Since it was an order, they had  to do just that, while clenching their fists and jaws seeing their prime targets slip through their fingers.  In order to fit in, they ordered a round of drinks, and lit up some cigarettes. They had no choice but to listen...and watch... your performance. "When they had the earthquake in San Francisco, back in 19-6..." You were singing put the Blame on Mame. It wasn't quite what they expected to hear, but, they weren't exactly complaining. And yet...

Aldo leaned into the table, and muttered low enough so no outsiders could hear, "Look for anyone that might be Y/n L/n. Got it?" Aldo rolled his eyes, seeing Hirschberg's eyes were glued to the stage. "Got it, Hirschberg?" "Uh huh..." Aldo muttered, "Damn it, Hirschberg," and glanced at the stage... He wasn't disappointed. The light from the chandeliers reflected off your eyes, beaming flares of danger and daring as you sang and swayed with the band, walking out toward the crowd, "Put the blame on Mame, boys..." The basterds scanned the room, looking for anyone that looked like a Y/N L/N. "Mame did a dance called the hoochy coo-" Hirschberg's elbow rested on the table, and his chin dug into the palm of his hand as he sighed, "Hm...she really did." Smitty rolled his eyes, nudging Hirschberg out of his day dream. "Look for L/N." "I'm lookin'..." "Not at the right-" With that, the song ended, and the announcer spoke in French while the crowd called out for an encore. The one thing all the basterds were able to pick out, even though they didn't speak French, was two words: Y/N L/N. Donny laughed in disbelief, "No fucken' way..." "This is crazy..." Omar shook his head,, watching as you blew kisses out to the crowd with a wide smile. "She's crazy..." Wicki muttered, lighting a cigarette that rested between his lips.

Aldo shrugged, "Well shit..." He chuckled, and sighed, "Well best damn place to hide is right out in the open, some times." Hirschberg elbowed Smitty, remarking "Told ya I was lookin' the right fucken way." They sat through the encore, and the encore to the encore, and the roaring applause. They watched as you spent the night moving from enemy to enemy, spilling their drunken and careless secrets right into your ears. Eventually, the club was empty except for one of the bar tenders set to lock up, you, and a few disguised soldiers. "Des amis à vous?" He chuckled lightly as he wiped down a glass. "Friends of yours?" "J'espère" you sighed, as you took a drink for yourself, "Hopefully." The bartender, Marius, leaned over the counter and presented you with your purse. "Merci," you chuckled as you pulled out a folder. You made your way to the table in the back of the club where ten young men were sitting. You stopped at the edge of the table. Though the lights were fully on, there was still a sharp streak of intrigue and hazard cutting through your smile. You were one dangerous woman, any basterd could see that. You looked them over, barely half a moment studying each of their faces. You slid the folder onto the table, and it met the hands of the  man at the very end of the table: Aldo Raine. A round of whiskey and packs of smokes were brought to the table as he briefly filed through the thick stack of bloodstained information. It was exactly what he was looking for...which was suspicious. Aldo sniffed some tobacco before looking up at you, "So uh, where does a pretty lil' parisian singer like you get information like this?" You spoke suddenly, in what could without a doubt be identified as a Brummie accent, "Get yourselves some friends, mate." Hirschberg smiled blankly with dreamy eyes as he nodded "So you're British..." Your accent changed suddenly, sounding like an equally dreamy California girl as you shrugged, "Depends who's asking." Aldo had his fair share of run ins with spies and double agents. He laughed, "Aw you tommy's don't know wh-" You suddenly mimicked his accent, "Tommy, huh? Ain't that nice." He was startled, but then smirked a little "Well I'll be damned..." You shrugged, now in your natural tone and accent, "Sometimes, darlings, the best informants are only great pretenders." Hirschberg could hardly contain his excitement, asking with a wide grin, "Who are you?" Smitty rolled his eyes, though he had to admit, "You do look familiar." "Oh," You shrugged, "I've been here and there." "Where?" Even Wicki was a little curious.

Seeing as you'd all be there for quite some time, a pot of coffee was brought over by Marius.

Hugo finally spoke up, "You make friends with the nazis?" "I make them think I do." You shrugged, taking a sip of coffee, with a sly grin. "Rub elbows with the higher-ups, get them piss-drunk. A few drinks loosens anyone up...And loose lips sink ships," you winked as you stirred your coffee. Something about the way you smirked told them you were one hell of a spy. You could tell your enemies the loveliest lies of all, and they'd believe you. You were dangerous... But to the basterds, you were now an ally and an advantage. Donny raised his eyebrow, remembering their briefing before finding you. It wasn't just a folder with names and rumors. You had indispensible, indisposable insight. This folder was only the tip of the iceberg. You had names, you knew faces, voices, wives, families, addresses, plans and plots, back alleys, back ups, and back stabbers, spies, and double-agents. You knew the worst of the worst, and they knew you. Just what the basterds needed. Not only that, but you were supposed to house the basterds in your apartment in the dead center of Paris while you helped them piece everything together and create a plan of attack. Donny asked, "They know where to find you?" "No one gets in without an invite. Every one of those damn animals stationed in France knows that," you smirked, "But, for the next few weeks, only you boys have an invite. No one gets in or out." The doorman, after all, was a friend of the resistance. He packed a gun. A knife. Not only that, he literally owed you his life. Marius vouched for that as you walked toward the stage. You'd left your keys backstage.

"So how do we know you won't double cross us?" Wicki wanted to trust someone, he really did... But that got harder to do as the war went on. You stopped by the stage, looking back at him, you lifted your leg onto the stage, your heel producing a powerful, echoing thud. The slit of your dress shifted, revealing a knife strapped to your thigh. "This knife belonged to-" you trailed off, knowing you'd never see his face again. You'd used that very knife to exact revenge on the nazi that took him from you. "Someone I used to know. Using it won't bring him back...but it does make the world a little brighter." Hirschberg sighed, resting his face on his palms, murmuring "Marry me..." You giggled, disappearing behind the stage's velvet curtains. You soon reappeared with the keys, then quietly led the basterds through Paris. Louis, the doorman, kind as ever, let you all in through a hidden back door. He familiarized himself with the basterds, taking note of their faces. They were the only ones to be allowed in to see you for the next few weeks. As the basterds followed you to the elevators, and you made sure no one saw them walking into your apartment. You quickly unlocked the door, and drew the curtains before turning on the lights, then welcomed them all in.  For the next couple of weeks, this would be their headquarters. You showed them around. It was a big place. You had a few guest rooms, showers, and had stocked up the kitchen. The flat itself was about as luxurious as the club. "Nice place ya got here, kid." Donny smirked as he sat on the couch, which was the first couch he had sat on in well over a year. Aldo nodded, looking around, noting the thick walls and quiet area. "This'll do..." Wicki wasn't so sure. He stood behind you as you cleared things off the large dining room table, and began to set down files, maps, and photographs that they'd need for the mission. "The nazis know where you live, don't they? What if-" You shook your head. "I wouldn't bring you somewhere it was dangerous. Believe me, corporal. I want this war to end, too." You sighed, "Besides....it'd be rather ungentlemanly to just barge into a lady's home, knowing she lives alone. As a matter of fact, it's scandalous." "How can you be so sure?" You shrugged, as you organized some of the papers, "Would you rather these meeting be held somewhere more public?" Omar smirked, "She's got ya there, Wicki." You sighed, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was just past 2:30 in the morning. You welcomed them to make themselves at home. They slept in a warm, quiet place for once. Though it was safer than what they were used to, there was still a lingering fear that any moment, the sound of marching boots would echo in the hallway leading to your front door. They were soldiers, far behind enemy lines. There was always a chance of something going wrong. You weren't a soldier, but you were in no less danger. It was Wednesday now. You spent the first few days going through files, showing them what information and photographs you had about their targets before even starting to come up with a plan of attack. It was now nearing midnight, and you noticed Aldo was tense, snapping a bit at his men. He wasn't uneasy because of the information you were giving them,  in fact, the things you gave them gave him the most peace of mind he'd had since he left Tennessee. You slipped away for a moment, and found Utivich in the kitchen, eating a pastry you'd left out for them. You noticed he had a bit of a sweet tooth, and made a point of saving a few extra treats for him (because Donny tended to eat way more than his fair share). "So your lieutenant's a little-" "On edge?" Smitty chuckled a little with a sigh, "Aren't we all, miss?" "Y/n." You smiled kindly as you sat by him, handing him another pastry. He smiled with bright, grateful eyes, "Thanks, Y/n." You nodded once, and after a moment you asked, "He a smoker?" You hadn't seen Aldo light up a cigarette, and wondered if he'd gone through his ration...and subsequently gone through a bit of a withdrawal Smitty shook his head, "Snorter, though. Man loves his snuff." "Ah," you nodded, understanding as you made your way to a cabinet. You pulled out five tins of snuff, or so, and Smitty watched in awe. "I told you, make friends to survive this," you winked as you walked back out to the main room. The rest of the basterds were calling it a day, and finding a place around the radio to sit. Aldo was standing by the window, looking across the street. There was an operahouse and a theater there, which was going to play a part in the big plan. "No one's going to talk. You're not the first man anyone's seen on this balcony," You chuckled as you pulled him out to the balcony for a breath of fresh air. He looked up at the stars. The big black canvas with an infinite splatter of stars, reminding him of the southern night sky. He smiled softly. You slipped the tins into his hands, and he turned to you "What's this for?" You shrugged, "A little birdy..." You glanced out at the sky, and the Parisian skyline. Sure it was bright...but this night didn't hold a candle to what you knew before the war. You smiled softly, nostalgia clouding your eyes. It was a familiar feeling, and you saw it in Aldo's eyes, picturing a sky an ocean away. You left him there, knowing soldiers like Aldo had a lot to think about, and a world on their shoulders. So you sat with the others by the radio for a while, looking at them once in a while, wondering where they'd be a year from then. Maybe they'd be home by then... At least, you hoped they would be.

Later that night,  you woke to the sound of footsteps. Your eyes shot open, fearing the worst, as you reached for your knife.  You snuck to your doorway, ready for anything... Except for what you saw. Sgt. Hugo Stiglitz pacing around, murmuring things to himself every so often. "Hugo." Your voice was soft...and that's what startled him most. You motioned for him to come in. He hestitated for a moment. He spoke lowly, "Sie könnten die falsche Idee bekommen ..." 'They might get the wrong idea...' How he knew you could speak German, you didn't know. He lingered outside of your bedroom, and you giggled, rolling your eyes as you pulled him in, "Schlimmeres kann über Menschen wie uns gesagt werden." 'Worse things can be said about people like us." He smiled briefly, though it was dark, you couldn't see it. You flipped a dim lamp on, and shuffled through a hidden drawer, till you pulled out a  key. You smiled, hoping he'd be a bit patient with your system. You opened a jewelry box...though there was no jewelry in it. Just cartridges and bullets for guns Hugo hadn't seen around. He was a little impressed, though he'd only admit it to you years later on a visit. You pulled out another key, then pulled out a box, and unlocked it. Hugo wasn't a nosy person. But...seeing the lengths at which you'd gone in such a short time during the war, he was a little curious at just how much information you had hidden away for the allies. In that box, no more than two feet across, he saw carefully folded notes, clipped to photographs, sketches, seeming to never end. In the blink of an eye, you snapped the box shut, and handed Hugo a  folded, handwritten note and a photograph. His eyes narrowed, and his knuckles went white as his eyes locked onto the photograph. "So  I was right..." You sighed as you sat on the bed, "You know him." Hugo looked up at you, and nodded slightly. You handed over the other scrap of paper. It contained an address, a phone number, and a few other details Hugo may have deemed useful. The nazi in the photograph was the one responsible for torturing Hugo when he was detained. That same nazi happened to be transferred to Paris just after Hugo's escape... and he happened to make his way into the club...regularly, every Friday and Saturday night. He often bragged about being the one to capture and torture the great Hugo Stiglitz, to your face... He slowly smiled again... He was going to sneak out, without a doubt.  You saw him to the door, and winked, "Habe Spaß," 'Have fun.' It was now Friday afternoon, and you had to go to the club to perform for the evening.  

The basterds were a little reluctant in letting you go. What if someone followed you? Or what if- You immediately shut down all worries and disguised suspicions. "It'd be far more suspicious if I didn't show up, since I've been there every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday evening for the past four years, with no exceptions. That's how I've made it this far." Aldo nodded, then said, "Omar. Why don't you go with Y/n?" Omar nodded, "Yes, sir," while Hirschberg muttered "Are you fucking kidding me?!" After  you slipped into a long black dress, satin gloves, and shimmering heels, Hirschberg lingered by the door. "How do you do it?" "Do what?" You asked passively, as you slipped a deep red shade of red lipstick over your lips. "Do this job. Talk to them nazi fucks, and not blow their brains out?" Your heels clicked over the wooden floor was you down the hall, "I wouldn't get very far if I did, now would I?" "Huh..." He shrugged chuckling, "Maybe not in those shoes." "Mm," You smiled, resting your gloved palm against his cheek, remarking quietly with a smirk "Don't wait up." His heart melted, he sighed deeply with parted lips, watching you walk out the door. Omar walked out with you, and followed you to the club. Not closely enough for there to be questions, but close enough to get a good seat...for..."safety measures." The truth was, you reminded Omar of his kid sister. He got a letter, just before leaving England for France with the newly formed team of basterds, a year earlier. She'd gotten married, and Omar never forgave himself for having to miss it. She was so much like you, it kind of hurt him.  He didn't know much about you, and frankly, he didn't bother asking. It was a dangerous thing to do in these times. But it broke his heart, knowing you probably had a family waiting for you to come home, somewhere in the world, just like he did. Still, he tended to keep distant from you. For a moment, toward the end of your performance, there was a glimmer of a tear in the corner of his eye. For a moment, as you sang on that stage, you smiled just like his sister did, and it broke his heart. It was three AM by the time you were both back at your apartment, and he didn't say much. You didn't ask what was wrong. You knew soldiers, and you knew better. Besides, he seemed tired, and headed to bed right away. He didn't seem to notice the figure looming over the table with all the plans and information charted out. "Wilhelm?" You called out quietly, in case a few basterds had fallen asleep nearby. You set down your keys, and slipped off your heels with a breath of relief, and walked over to him, looking down at the plans, "What did we miss?" He shook his head, "Nothing..." He spoke sincerely, but you noted a twinge of worry in his voice. "You need some rest," you sat, resting the side of your face against your palm, and your elbow on the table. He shook his head again, "No matter how much we plan..." "You're basterds," you smiled a little, not understanding yet. "It'll work. It has to work." He spoke suddenly, which wasn't something he did often. "There used to be more of us," he sank into a chair beside you. "I see..." you looked at him, "Maybe I will never understand what it is to be a basterd. But...I understand what it feels to be scared of losing everything." He only raised an eyebrow, as he turned to look at you. You weren't just a singing spy in over her head. You had a story, as detailed, and mysterious as any of the basterds. In that moment, when he looked in your eyes, he felt as though he'd known you, at some time. And yet, you seemed distant. You smiled, "So the only thing we can do is raise the stakes." "What do you mean?" You shrugged, "I can make a few calls....figuratively." "To?" "A few Soviets. Andrei, Mikhail, Yura, Irina. They're all snipers. I can get some resistance fighters in, some rebels, some double-agents. I know people on the inside, that can get in with no suspicions. No questions asked." He smiled a little, beginning to feel a little relieved."You've already called them." He was half asking, half confirming. You smiled with a nod, "I was going to mention it in the morning." "Mention it?" He chuckled a little, "You really are the greatest agent I've never heard of." You laughed softly, "Goodnight, Wilhelm." "Goodnight," he smiled, as he found a place to sleep in one of  the guest rooms. You were only halfway down the hall, when you heard an odd sound. You slowly pushed open one of the doors, and found Donny sharpening his knives He hadn't noticed you walk in. "Keep it up, and you'll whittle it down to nothing." He smirked, and you asked "What's troubling you Sergeant?" You shrugged a little, "Didn't think that was a possibility." "And I didn't think you'd be as good of an agent as you are." "Hm," you laughed as you sat across from him, "No one ever suspects pretty ones like you and me." He'd been called every name you could think of, but pretty...well, that was not a common one. He put the knife down and you saw how tense he looked about the upcoming mission. By dawn, the basterds would be leaving. "What do you drink?" "Whatever you have, kid." You came back shortly with some whiskey, and your glasses clinked. For once, Donny was silent. But, he was calm now. You finished your drink, and said good night. But, before you slipped out the door, he said your name. You lingered by the doorway and he said, "Thanks kid. For everything." You smiled softly, "My pleasure." as you shut the door.

Though you weren't going with them, you found yourself as equally sleepless. If something went wrong, you knew you'd never forgive yourself. You'd hardly have time anyway. If something went wrong, you'd definitely be found out and executed. It wasn't long before you heard birds chirping outside. The basterds scrambled to get their things ready, go over the plan one last time, and say their thanks and goodbye. They slipped out the door silently, separately, and slowly,  as to not alert any neighbors. The very last basterd to leave was Smitty. He lingered by the door, and seemed worried. "What's wrong?" "What if they find out about you?" You smiled softly, "Oh, don't you worry about me." "If they find this," he gestured to all the files you had laid out, "If they know you helped us...they'll kill you... Or worse. I mean, what if-" "Well," you sighed, as you lit a cigarette with a peaceful sigh, "That's just the way it goes, sometimes." You'd come to that conclusion the night before. "But," he shook his head, almost as though refusing to say goodbye. "Oh..." You hugged him "Don't you worry about me, love." You smirked a little, "I have friends that'll take care of me." "But...what...how can you be so sure? How can you be so calm?!" "Like I said before," you shrugged, "If you want to survive this war, make yourself some friends." He nodded, with a half-hearted smile as he left. Before you closed the door, he turned back and asked softly "Are we...friends?" "You know where to find me," you smiled, letting him know you were the kind of friend that would get them through the war. As a matter of fact, they'd meet other contacts, rebels, and informants over the next few years. And every once in a while...just when they least expected it, that new 'friend' would  tell them you said hello. Far from the skyline of Paris, and any luxurious club, wandering the bloodstained wilderness, Aldo would always respond the same, but genuine way. He'd smile, and hold one of tin boxes of snuff you'd given him, and chuckle, "Well I'll be damned..." It wasn't until the war ended that you got to say hello yourself. It was a Saturday night. Paris was free. And it was your last night performing in that club. It was time you went home you thought... You looked out at the crowd, studying the faces of French, and other allied soldiers. You saw friends of yours, finally allowed to be at ease. You saw a face you hadn't seen since before the war. He'd written a review of a movie of yours, an undiscovered gem, he called it. His name was Archie Hicox. Lieutenant, now. And, you were thrilled to see a few more familiar faces by him. Bridget von Hammersmarck, of all people. And, of course, the basterds. You addressed the crowd, spoke in French, but didn't say goodbye. This was not a time to say goodbyes. All you said was that this next song was one near and dear to your heart. You sang Put the Blame on Mame, just as you had the night you met the basterds.  You couldn’t stop smiling as you sang that old familiar song. That night, it felt as though you’d never sang it before. You felt free, you felt more alive than you had before. And seeing those basterds again did it.  They couldn’t believe a spy with so much to lose like you could make it this far...but then again, basterds like them had made it to the end. In a way, they owed it to you.  At the end of your performance, the loudest cheers and claps and demands for an encore came from a table of basterds. What are friends for, after all?

[superfanficnatural]

The Choice Part 6

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Christian Grey x Reader 

Summary: Deciding to get over your crush on Dean, you find Christian, a mysterious billionaire that manages to split your heart into two. Finding out hidden truths, your decision becomes a hard one, who will you choose?

A/N: Don’t really have anything to say lol. As always, I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Fluff, Slight Angst, Smut, NSFW 18+, Slight Rimming, Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex, Dom/Sub Dynamics, others that I can’t think of.

Word Count: 1,733

Italics are thoughts

Masterpost

The sight in front of you was something you never thought would have happened, he tells me he wants only me, then goes out and kisses some random slut at a bar?!

The door slamming behind you drew the attention of a few onlookers, Dean included. The second his eyes met yours, he pushed away the girl and stood up with a guilty and broken expression. 

Before anything else could happen, you grabbed Christians hand and walked out of the bar with him.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked, tugging your hand to bring you into his embrace, a warm and soft look on his features as he looked down at you.

“The reason I didn’t want to be exclusive was because of him, I didn’t know if I could make it with him or you so I tried to keep my options open, I’m sorry,” a tear fell from your eyes.

“Hey no, it’s fine. That’s a completely logical thing to do,” he softly spoke, wiping away the tear with his thumb.

How is it that he’s so damn perfect?

You reached up and gave him a heated yet short kiss, the two of you pulling away and panting, “Let’s get out of here.”

You pulled him along with you to the motel across the street, paying for a room up front with cash and basically dragging him to the room. Closing the door behind you, you missed the look of a crushed man looking over at the two of you entering the motel.

You pushed him up against the door and attacked his lips as you tried to unbuckle his belt.

“Hey, are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, still as soft as ever.

You paused your advances, “Absolutely.”

He smiled darkly and that’s when you knew: he was in charge now.

“Strip, I want you ass up on the bed,” he spoke in a professional voice.

You walked backwards, reaching the edge of the bed and slowly stripping off your clothes, giving him a show. You were silently reveling in the fact that you could see his pants tighten as you went along. He smirked once you were down to just your panties, unbuckling his belt and slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

“Keep going.”

You peeled off your underwear, crawling up the bed on your back.

“I said ass up didn’t I? You don’t want me to repeat myself, little girl,” he growled, the feral look in his eyes threatening to have your juices ride down your thighs. 

You continued to obey, “Yes, sir.” Turning your body around, you dug your face into the pillow and hoisted your ass up into the air.

“That’s a good girl,” you could register, a low growl erupting from his throat.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?”

“Y-yes, sir,” you responded, your anticipation as to what would happen next, tantamount. 

The next thing you heard was a clink of a belt before you felt the sharp sting against your ass. 

Arching your back in pleasure, “Shit!”

“You missed me spanking this nice ass, didn’t you?”

You nodded your head into the pillow and felt another sharp slap, “I want to hear it.”

“Yes, sir! I missed it so much!”

He chuckled low and dark, “Such a good girl, already have you wrapped around my finger.”

You felt the belt against you once, twice, a third time. Each time had you crying out, your juices slowly leaking onto the bed sheet below you.

“You love this, I can practically smell how much you do.”

You heard the belt fall against the floor before you felt the bed dip, Christian getting on behind you. Two bruising hands fell onto your sides as he pulled you back towards him, feeling his throbbing member against the side of your ass. The next thing you knew, his cock was buried deep inside of you, a guttural moan falling from his lips while a scream tore out of yours.

“Fuck I missed this cunt, so nice and tight,” he grunted, slamming his hips forward after pulling back so just the tip was inside.

He began relentlessly pounding into you, leaving no room for you to even breathe, “Looks like I’ve got you wrapped around my cock as well.”

You felt a finger teasing at your rim and you audibly gasped, your body rocking back towards it without your consent.

“You like it in your ass too? I knew you were perfect for me,” he growled, possessively grabbing your hips harder and thrusting deeper. “Though, we’re going to try that later.”

He was reaching areas inside of you that you never thought possible, your body writhing underneath him in ecstasy. The strength of his fingers on your hips and the force of his thrusts were driving you insane. The knowing of the fact that you were going to have bruises after this was something that pleasured you even more, being claimed by this man. 

“That feel good? I wanna hear it,” he growled.

“Yes, so good, sir!” your voice was muffled from how deep you were pushed inside of the pillow.

He wasn’t even touching your clit, yet you felt your orgasm begin to rise, your legs slightly quivering and your breathing picking up. As if he was reading your mind, he reached his hand under your legs and began to play with your bundle of nerves, tapping on it and drawing figure eights over it. Your walls clenched around him from your impending orgasm and you felt his hips begin to stutter.

“Oh fuck, Christian!” you screamed out, the power behind your orgasm rendering you breathless, forgetting the title you were supposed to call him. 

He slapped your cunt with such force that your overstimulated pussy once again spasmed and you had your second orgasm within seconds.

The feeling of your tight walls wrapped around him made his hips begin to stutter, Christian letting out a deep groan as he released his seed inside of you. He didn’t stop, continuing to fuck him cum back into your hole.

“This pussy is mine, and mine only,” he growled, reaching down to nip at your neck while continuously rutting into you.

After a few more thrusts, he pulled out and went to grab a towel from the bathroom, returning shortly after to clean you up.

“Was that what you needed?” he asked, a soft look overtaking his features as he laid down next to you.

You felt extremely satiated and like you were on the clouds, though there was still the nagging feeling of seeing Dean with that other girl.

“I feel a lot better, though not completely. Thank you, Christian,” you shyly responded, lowering your gaze.

He picked up your face by raising your chin with his thumb and index finger, “You’re welcome, Y/N,” he reached over and planted a sweet kiss on your lips.

“Today was probably one of the best days in my life if I’m being completely honest,” you breathed.

“I enjoyed it a lot too, especially since it was spent with you,” he charmed, a smirk coming across his face.

You chuckled, but it was short lived, “I’m assuming you have to be back by tonight? With work tomorrow?”

He solemnly nodded, “Yeah.”

You couldn’t lie and say that you weren’t disappointed that he couldn’t stay the night, but you understood that he was a busy man; instead taking the win that you could spend as much time with him as you could. 

The two of you got up and got dressed, leaving the room and returning the key to the front desk.

“Let me take you home,” he insisted, fear striking your heart.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to, I live really close to here anyways,” you tried to shake him off.

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes, I am,” you smiled, grateful for his kind gesture.

“So, I guess this is goodbye,” you said, arriving at the limousine.

“For now,” he finished, taking you into his embrace.

The two of you pulled away and Christian stole one last lingering kiss from you before sending you a wink and getting into the car, pulling away from the lot and driving away. You felt light, like your body was weighless. You also had an incredibly stupid smile, your body buzzing with euphoria. 

Taking out your phone, you dialed Sam, “Hey, Sam. I’m at the bar near the bunker, do you mind coming to get me?” you asked once he answered.

“Dean actually came in about fifteen minutes ago, he seemed really broken up-”

“I don’t wanna hear about Dean, ok? Can you pick me up or not?” you cut him off, your anger from the scene you witnessed returning.

After Sam agreed to come pick you up, you hung up and waited by the corner of the bar, seeing a couple stumble out with their arms wrapped around one another. You didn’t make much of it until you saw a man with a mask run up to them across the street and steal the woman's handbag.

Without hesitation, you took off after the man, chasing him around the corner. Luckily he wasn’t even that fast, for you caught up to him relatively quickly, tackling him to the ground. You took off his mask and laid a few punches on his face, his nose mostly broken and bloodied.

“Don’t ever try something like this ever again,” you growled, punching him one last time.

You got off of him and turned around, seeing the couple from before behind the two of you. Handing her the bag, she gratefully smiled at you and the two of them took off. 

The next thing you heard was the ring of a gunshot.

Looking down at your abdomen, you saw your shirt become bloodstained. Turning around with your hands hugging the bullet hole, you saw the man from before on his feet, aiming a gun at you. You coughed and blood spilled out, a smirk coming across the man's face. Without a moment's notice, he took off into the night, leaving you to fall to your knees on the pavement, blood rushing out of your stomach. After a feeling of cold washed over you, you fell to the ground, the faint shouting of your name in the distance the last thing you heard before darkness overtook you.

Next Part

The Choice Tag List: @fuckthis-and-fuckthat​ @spnfamily-j2​ @greenarrowhead​ @vicmc624​ @pie-with-hunters​ @m-winchester-67​

Forevers Tag List: @magssteenkamp​ @shadowsinger11​ @donnaintx​ @flamencodiva​

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags: @akshi8278​

Female Reader Tags: @punof-agun​ @emoryhemsworth​

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

My Little Secret: The Beginning

Summary: When a young vampire comes across a dying outlaw on a mountain, she decides to take his fate in her hands.

Warnings: Brief summary of the end of the game, so spoilers?

The night was cool. Fog held heavy in the air, not a breeze to stir the underbrush. The sounds and scents of nature surrounded the being that swiftly moved through the forest like a panther. Hunger gripped her with iron claws, a thirst that could be quelled by only one substance.

Thunderous sounds of hoofbeats ripped through the quiet night air. Shouts, curses and gunshots were soon to follow. Fresh blood spilled and clouded her senses, pulling her toward the commotion. A burning need sat in her throat, flowing down to her stomach as the fist of hunger gripped her. Fangs, sharp as talons, spiked through and poked her lips. Humans arriving by the droves in pursuit of something, and she had to be cautious.

She kept to the trees, following the explosive sounds as they made their way up into the mountains. She was close enough to hear names: Arthur Morgan, John Marston. They were chasing those two. Through the fog she could make out a plethora of lawmen on horseback. The aroma of gunpowder hung heavy in the air as bullets sprayed mercilessly.

She veered off, knowing she’d be unable to lure one away. They were too focused on prey of their own. Interfering would only turn the attention to her. She made her way to a nearby mountain as the sounds faded.  Lean, powerful muscles leapt up the smooth rock, the steep surfaces just mere small hurdles. She reached the top within seconds, staring out at the landscape beneath her. Perhaps she’d catch wind of a lone passerby somewhere else.

The crowd of policemen were relentless in their pursuit it seems. A few short minutes passed by when the gunshots once again crew closer, catching her attention. She turned to see the two outlaws were now on foot, scrambling their way up the very same mountain.

Their voices, although distant, were not hindered to her enhanced ears. The breathless rasp of one urging the other to run, to leave him behind.

She crouched behind a boulder to peer on in curiosity. They were just yards below her. Their words carried like a breeze, final moments of a heartfelt goodbye rushed by the urgency of the situation. Names murmured to one another in sadness. Brothers. Emotions ran high, and she was curious as to why this chase even begun.

The one, John, left the other, Arthur, to fight the onslaught of lawmen alone. The odds were against him. She expected him to be mowed down, buying his friend only mere moments before they were on his tail again.

But he surprised her. He fought back with a barrage of bullets, effortlessly nailing many of them. He climbed up further, the gunshots becoming quiet as he killed off the rest of them. A seasoned gunslinger somehow escaping an inevitable fate. Her curiosity of him grew, wondering if he’d make it back to the other after a while.

That thought was cut short when another man appeared, creating a struggle between the two. This new opponent was dressed unlike the lawmen from earlier, spouting out anger and insults toward Arthur. The fight grew more intense by the second. The way the opponent spoke to Arthur as they battled out on the ledge below, sharp and venomous.

More blood was spilled. Her fangs dropped down immediately from the scent. She knew she should carry on and feed, yet the scene unfolding kept her interest. The sun would be rising soon, and while she could go another day without feeding, it wasn’t ideal.

More emotions bled out as the fight continued. Arthur, from what she could see, was beginning to falter. It didn’t take much longer for them both to fall onto the stone beneath them. Arthur began to crawl for a gun on the ground, while the opponent got to his feet and taunted him.

And then, a third stepped out of the shadows. She was unaware of his presence, appearing like a ghost in the night. Arthur seemed to be drawn to him. Dutch.

There was a raw plea in his voice. She knew that tone: the tone of someone who knew they were about to meet their end. He spoke about trying to become a better man, how he pushed for those around him to break free. The little heartstrings she had left were tugged for this man. He struggled to speak through his ragged breaths as he lay there. He was dying.

The other two still standing began to part their ways after a tumultuous conversation, leaving Arthur on his spot. In her sharp eyes she could see the defeat written on his bloodstained face.

A swell of emotion hit her, stirring her stilled heart. Try as she did to lock away her human emotions, she often would find herself sympathizing with them.

The near-black expanse overhead began to grow gray with dawn’s incoming. She would have to find shelter immediately. She began to scale back down the mountain, though his weak, raspy breaths continued to echo in her ears. She should leave him. Humans die every day.

Yet his last words kept ringing in her head. He just committed such selfless acts despite being so close to death. Most men she observed weren’t honest; falling to their selfish, dark wills and desires behind closed doors and returning to their normal livelihoods as if they hadn’t a sin on their shoulders. A man like him were as rare as they came. Losing such a good soul to the world would be a pity.

She drew closer to him, listening as both his pained breaths and weak heart had slowed drastically. She paused in place, her stomach churning. The dead would not heal. She knelt beside him, watching as his clouded, bloodshot blue eyes stared out into nothingness. Another pure soul lost to the true darkness of the world. As silly as it was to mourn the man known as Arthur Morgan, it only felt proper as he was truly alone.

The blood leaking from his fresh wounds was rancid, tinged with the poison of disease. It was nothing short of a miracle of how he managed to put up such a fight in those last moments, setting his affliction aside to assure one would make it.

Why must the world be so cruel?

The first weak rays of dawn appeared over the horizon, stinging her flesh with its arrival. Just then his head turned, his chest crackling with one final breath.

Her eyes widened. Perhaps he was meant to survive another way.

Before the sun could burn her any further, she picked his body up and cradled him with ease in her arms. She scurried over to the west side of the mountain, keeping herself to the shadows while she ran at a near breakneck speed. Her shelter was not too far away.

---

Darkness. Complete darkness surrounded him when he opened his eyes. A heavy weight as crushing his chest and he tried to breathe – only to inhale what felt and tasted like dirt. He tried to spit it out, though more and more fell in. He attempted to raise his hands to clear the earth away, though his limbs felt bogged down. Cold, loose soil shifted across his skin in his efforts to be free.

Has he been buried?

Panic began to settle in. Buried alive?

His first instinct was to dig, and dig up. He forced his arms through the moist dirt, clawing forward and forcing himself upright. He pursed his lips and muscled his way through. He had to get out. The further he reached, the lighter the dirt became. His fingertips reached open air and he hastened, hands breaking the surface. The darkness above spilled out to glowing silver. He found purchase on even ground and heaved himself upward, loose dirt falling in front of his eyes as he gulped in cool, fresh air.

The remaining sediment fell from his hair into his face, he spluttered and shook it away, blinking as the scene around him came to focus. He seemed to be in a barn, the smell of old hay filling his nose. The bright moon filtered through a window from the hayloft.

He stood to his feet slowly, confusion beginning to settle in. Where was he, and why was he buried in a barn of all places?

“You’re awake.” A feminine voice spoke from behind him.

He whipped around just as a lantern illuminated, bathing the barn walls in a golden glow. A young woman sat on a crate, a curtain of raven hair shrouded half of her face. Her skin was dark and bright brown eyes reflected the flame. She tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing her face in full. Her round cheeks and curious gaze reminded him of a child. She herself was petite, dressed in a simple skirt and chemise.

“I thought I was too late.” She continued, standing to her feet.

“Too late for what?” Arthur asked. “Who are you, and where am I?”

“You’re in an abandoned homestead in Ambarino,” she explained, stepping closer to him. “My name is Lucia Rosales. And you’re Arthur Morgan I presume.”

Arthur nodded, his confusion only growing. “Why am I here?”

Lucia walked around him slowly, eyeing him up and down as she went. Arthur froze in place, anxiety beginning to pool in the pit of his stomach. His finger twitched toward his gun belt, only to find it was no longer there.

She came to a stop in front of him. She was at least a head shorter than him, her eyes meeting his. “I brought you here, Arthur. I saw you dying on that mountain last night.”

Dying. The memories suddenly flooded back to the forefront of his mind. Gunshots, running, panic and sadness. Bloodshed. Hatred. The struggle to bring that rat bastard down. The betrayal of the one that helped raise him. The ache in his chest finally spreading through the rest of his body, coaxing him to sleep…

Everything at once. So intense it gripped his insides and twisted them. He grabbed hold of a nearby support beam, squeezing his eyes shut, the images flashing vividly behind his eyelids.

He took a deep breath – wait. A deep, clear breath. He wasn’t struggling to breathe. His body didn’t force him to try to cough. No longer did his chest feel heavy with disease. No longer did his body feel fatigued with the tendrils weighing down his muscles.

He turned his attention to Lucia. “Did…did you heal me?” he murmured.

“I did more than that,” she answered with a small smile. “I gave you a second chance.”

“Huh?”

“You know there aren’t many men like you in the world,” Lucia began. “Most I’ve seen are wretched scoundrels. They think they can get away with playing dirty and pretending to be innocent in the eyes of God…” she shook her head, disgust plain on her face. “But you… you’re different. You sacrificed yourself to save another. You fought even when your life was at an end. You spoke about doing good deeds. You tried to become a better person.”

Arthur listened quietly, the bewilderment beginning to surface again. “How could you possibly know any o’ that?”

“Like I said, I saw you dying on that mountain. I heard every word spoken…” Lucia stepped closer, placing her small hand on his chest. He flinched slightly from her touch but hadn’t moved. “The sadness I felt for you was like no other. I thought you deserved more than what cards you were dealt.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “How were you even there? That whole place was full o’ Pinkertons n’ –” he huffed and stepped back, beginning to pace. “This jus’ sounds too bizarre.”

Lucia dipped her head for a moment. “I know it does. But I saved you from death, Arthur.”

“And how exactly did you manage that?” Arthur stopped in his tracks to stare at her. “I had Tuberculosis! That ain’t somethin’ that can heal overnight, Lucia. It’s a goddamn death sentence unless you’re some miracle worker or –”

“Vampire.” She softly interrupted.

“What?”

“I’m a vampire,” she continued. “And now so are you, Arthur Morgan. I gave you my blood and buried us here to begin your transformation, out of the sun. Niños de la noche. We are Children of the Night.”

Vampire. Arthur stared at Lucia, words stolen from his mind. She had to be speaking utter nonsense. Vampires did not exist outside of scary bedtime stories. “I don’t believe you.” He grumbled, scowling at her.

She hissed and her mouth opened immediately, showing a top row of perfectly white teeth. In the blink of an eye two fangs flicked out, as long as wolf teeth and as sharp as eagle’s talons. Arthur jumped and took a step back, his hand raising in defense.

“Now do you believe me?” Lucia said quietly, prompting Arthur to peer at her over his hand. Her fangs somehow disappeared. “We’re much more than urban legends.”

Arthur just stared at her, unable to comprehend what he just witnessed. It’d been so quick that he could have imagined it. He shook his head and turned away. “No…I don’t believe it.”

“Believe what you want, Arthur…” Lucia said, approaching him slowly and raising her hand up to him. “It’s true…feel for a pulse.” She held her wrist out.

Arthur didn’t dare to meet her gaze again, instead looking down at her hand. In the pale moonlight, her dark skin seemed almost devoid of all color. Her veins were prominent, shining blue underneath. Hesitantly he reached out, placing his fingers on her wrist. He waited and…felt nothing.

His eyes widened, slowly lifting his gaze to her face again. She had a solemn expression, staring at him unblinkingly. She stepped forward again, gingerly grazing her hand along the open fabric of his shirt. She rested her palm against his heart.

“You don’t have one either.”

Arthur swallowed hard, his own hand hovering over hers. She moved out of the way as he lay it against his skin. He held his breath and waited…waited…no rhythmic beat to be found. His stomach flipped.

“See?”

He stepped back again, horror ripping through his entire being. “I’m dead!” he exclaimed.

“Undead,” Lucia corrected. “While your human organs ceased to work, another force drives you now.”

He released shaky breaths. How was this happening, and why? Why was he subjected to this? Why couldn’t he have just died on that mountain and be done with it?! “I didn’t ask for this, damnit!” he roared. “Why didn’t ya just leave me?!”

Lucia didn’t react at all to his outburst. She kept her cool expression. “Because you deserve a second chance.” She said. “I wanted to heal you at first…but you were too far gone. Believe me, it wasn’t a decision to be made lightly. Being a Maker is – ”

“A maker?” Arthur interjected. “The hell is that?”

“When a vampire turns someone into another vampire, the original vampire is known as their Maker. It’s a bond like no other. Parent to child, sibling to sibling, even lovers.” She replied, dipping her voice as if speaking intimately. “It is a bond that no human could even understand.”

Arthur stared at her in disgust. “I don’t wanna bond with you, ‘specially since I don’t even know you.”

Lucia nodded once, staring down at her feet. “I…don’t blame you, Arthur. I’m sorry. I just thought someone like you should stay in the world to counter the bad in it.”

Arthur scowled. “My ‘good deeds’ came at a price,” he growled, kicking at a rock on the ground. “I was an outlaw, Lucia. Hell, I still am. I’ve murdered n’ robbed folk for years. The gang I was in, they were my family, they fell to pieces before my eyes…” he sat down on a crate and held his face in his hands for a moment. “I don’t deserve to go on after all the shit I’ve done. Sure, I’ve helped people now n’ then but…it don’t atone to everything else…” he mumbled.

“Your past isn’t what defines you,” Lucia quietly responded. She moved closer to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Now you have an eternity to do better.”

“An eternity.” Arthur repeated with a grumble. “Livin’ for that long… I don’t think I can take it.”

“The years will pass without thought. You don’t age nor get sick.” Lucia murmured, pausing when he sighed. “You don’t need to breathe either. That habit will fade over time.”

Arthur shook his head silently. “I didn’t ask for this, Lucia. I was ready to meet my fate. I’d done all I could do…” he voice cracked with emotion. “I weren’t meant to survive.”

“No one knows what their true fate is, Arthur,” Lucia gently chided him. “Not even you. Perhaps I was meant to come across you.”

He scoffed in disbelief. “To turn me into a…a monster…” he grumbled.

“It will take some time for you to come to terms with your new life. It took me a long while…” Lucia sighed and gazed upward toward the ceiling, but her eyes told a much deeper story. “I hated knowing what I was, knowing that I could no longer feel the sun on my skin, enjoy my favorite meals, have a family of my own to grow old with…”

Arthur blinked at her words. He noted the look of longing on her face. Her eyes glazed in the lamplight as if she were about to cry. She sniffed and looked right at him again.

“Until I realized what gifts I have, now I pass onto you. I chose to bring you back because I believe you have so much more to give to the world. It’s up to you whether or not you go through with it.” She finished.

Arthur pursed his lips, unsure how to even consider a response to her. He thought back to those last few moments. The rush to get John to safety while the Pinkertons breathed down their necks. The fight against Micah and those moments of betrayal with Dutch. He didn’t know if God existed, but he truly believed it was his fate to die. Everything had fallen apart, and the list of people he trusted had shrunken by the day. Too many innocent lives lost whether it was by his hand or in front of him. His way of life dissolved. The time of outlaws finally ceased to exist.

He went to take a deep breath, and paused. Breathing was no longer a necessity, but a mere habit. He truly was no longer human.

What was his purpose now?

His stomach churned with hunger. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate. He grimaced from the discomfort, his hand immediately going to his abdomen.

“You’re hungry,” Lucia stated. She straightened up and padded over to the barn doors. She pushed them open, gazing outside. “Come, you’ll need to feed.”

Feed. The word echoed so strangely in his mind. He knew what she meant, and the idea revolted him. At an instant, he felt the pricks of two teeth on his bottom lip. It surprised him, and he ran his tongue along their surfaces. Razor sharp and long, the fangs of a predator.

[godsofmonster]

Bangtan MC  ≽ II.

Reader x Bangtan- Motorcycle Club

Word Count- 8.2k

Warnings- sexual content, death, murder, guns, drugs, violence, betrayal,  mentions of suicide, mentions of rape, etc.

For as long as I can remember back, I always wanted to be in a motorcycle club. Since I was six years old, the only thing on my mind was getting my hands on a Harley and a cut. I was a wolf, a wild cur, cut from the pack with bloodstained on my fur. Every wrong has marked a debt because a beaten dog never forgets.

The next morning, I woke up remembering almost nothing at all. We had spent the night at Namjoon's house after the occurrence of the evening before. There was no time for me to process or even begin to understand what was happening around me. The only thing I knew was that I had to get dressed for my father's funeral today. 

No one spoke to me unless there was some kind of practical reasoning behind it. Half of the time, I didn't even know who it was that would come and inform me of the time. However, they all always looked at me with a similar expression. The type of look you give to a caged animal, one you should never really turn your back on. 

"Here are some clothes that should fit you," Said a vague voice from the entrance of the bedroom. 

A woman, around my same age, knocked at the door of the guest room. She placed a few pairs of clothes to choose from on the bed in between us. A wet towel was barely covering my body as she quickly turned back to leave. I watched her pause with the door almost closed behind her, "Namjoon is waiting outside for you when you're ready."

-

The sun seemed to shine awfully bright despite the events that were to partake this afternoon. I found my sunglasses as I stepped out the front door in the same clothes from the night before. Namjoon was accompanied by Taehyung and Hoseok. They were gathered around their bikes in his driveway. Once he heard the door close behind me, he stood off his bike, excusing himself from the other two members.

"Hey," Namjoon spoke as he met me halfway up his driveway. His eyes scanned my figure momentarily, leading to a sudden smirk poking from his lips. "I can see you didn't like any of the dresses Cherry offered to lend you." 

"Cherry?" I questioned. Then the immediate realization of the scampy clothes became apparent. "I'm wearing the clothes of a hooker?"

"A pornstar, actually," Namjoon corrected, failing to hide his chuckle behind his hand. He found my frustration considerably amusing- he always had. "She's a nice girl."

I hummed in response, trying to overlook the new information.

"Well, I can't really ride in a dress anyhow," I muttered, taking a moment to look down at my clothes for any alarming stains that I might have missed.  

"Yeah... about that," I hated when his voice dropped like that. His gaze struggled to meet mine as I raised my brow at him. "You'll probably ride in the car with my mom- behind the club."

"What?" My chest tensed at his words. I pushed my sunglasses on top of my head to get a brighter look at him.

"Come on, (Y/n)... you know how it is," He said, hoping to dismiss the situation quickly. 

"He's my father and you won't even let me ride behind him?" I scoffed, still falling amazed at their ridiculous regulations. Namjoon took a step closer, trying to keep our conversation between us. 

"You know, as well as I do, that it's not allowed." He deepened his voice, thinking that I would fall intimidated by it. However, he only managed to create tears of rage brimming my eyes as I fought to keep my composure. "We can't break the formation."

"Fuck your formation!" I shouted, not caring that I had gotten the attention of the other members. "I deserve to be by his side!" 

Namjoon grabbed me by the arm, pulling me closer toward him. I could tell that my words triggered him but he worked to hold his temper. 

"I'm not going to remind you," He said in an ominous tone. 

"You aren't Bangtan."

His stare burned holes in my eyes and his hand was cutting the circulation of my upper arm. I yanked myself out of his hold and looked passed him at Taehyung and Hoseok who had taken a few steps closer, ready to interfere in case of any conflict. I decided to not drive the matter further. 

"You put your hands on me again," I pulled my sunglasses back over my eyes, "and I'll slit your goddamn throat." 

I pushed past him, avoiding eye contact with the other guys as I walked up to my bike. Namjoon walked toward me at a great pace, as if he wanted to stop me. I didn't hesitate to mount the bike and kick start the engine. We met each other's expressionless gaze, I waited to see if he would say something to me. 

He didn't.

I pulled out of the driveway dangerously quick and followed the road all by myself.

-

My feet marched and stopped their way into the House of Cards. Even in the middle of the day, the bar was full of hang arounds who felt entitled because of the name Bangtan. Members and nonmembers eyed me as I made my way across the floor. My eyes focused on the pair of black doors that had been shut in my face my entire life. There was no hesitation when I burst through them, knowing that I would find him sitting there at the head of the table. 

"Please, come in." He said sarcastically but with a bitter taste on his tongue. I locked the double doors behind me, making sure that nobody would interfere with us from having this conversation. 

"You've been avoiding me," I stated and stepped slowly around the opposite end of the table. He hadn't bothered to look up from files that laid in front of him. 

"Is that a fact?" He hummed. 

"It's been five days." I dug but he wouldn't nudge.  

I looked at the six empty seats in front of him, the doors of Bangtan carved, proudly, into the center of the Indian rosewood table. I leaned on the opposite side of him, my hands flatly placed at the edge. 

"I've been busy."

"Oh," I laughed coldly. "Is that how the great president of Bangtan deals with problems? By cowering away in his clubhouse?" 

"Don't push it, (Y/n)." He warned, finally setting down the papers in his hands to give me a stern look. "I don't have time to deal with your childish games." 

"You don't have time to deal with me?" I teasingly challenged. "Or you don't know how?" 

I stepped away from the table, my hands were placed firmly at my hips, as I smiled down at him. "It's funny that you can deal with murder and gun trafficking- but being a father!?"

His hands slammed against the table, loud as a gunshot, as he stood to his feet. He was furious but I was just glad to see a reaction out of him.

"Watch your goddamn mouth," He said through clenched teeth. 

I spat. "Is my desperate need for your attention getting boring?" 

"Is that what all this is about, (Y/n)?" He stood up straight. "Is that why you did it?"

The single light that dangled over the table was deep, creating the harshest contours on the borders of his face. The blinds were drawn behind him and the specks of light that seeped through were enough to give his figure a glow. He was a fearful sight but there wasn't much he could do to me that he hadn't already. 

"Did it ever occur to you that I might be the one who actually deserves your trust? Your counsel?" 

My voice softened deeply. Finally, reaching the situation in which I pleaded he would hear me the most. "Not your club-not Namjoon but me! You're daughter."

"You're telling me that all this shit is some fucking tantrum?" His voice sounded of disbelief. He shook his head and took his eyes off of me but I wouldn't allow it. He was going to hear me, whether he wanted to or not.

"After years and years of your lectures about family and what it meant to be a part of something," I stepped around the table, slowly coming to his line of sight once again. "Did you ever stop to realize that I was the only one who ever listened- who lived by everything you ever said!"

I hadn't even noticed that tears had escaped from my eyes until I tasted them on my lips. My father stared at me with burning eyes, his breath deepened in his chest.

"But you never did see it-" My voice cracked and more tears streamed down my face. "because of this thing... between my legs." 

He shut his eyes and sighed under his breathing. His anger had burned out completely and he only listened. "Believe me, I see what you- this lifestyle does to women. We're supposed to hold you down while you cheat, lie, and use..."

"(Y/n)," He spoke softly, it was like a breath of air, barely anything at all. "I don't distrust you because you're a woman- I distrust you because you aren't as smart as you think you are."

I scoffed under my breath, not being able to believe that he believed his own words. "It’s time you learned your place and stayed in it."

 "My place- isn't wherever you say it is," He allowed himself to sit back down in his chair as I made it to his side. "I'm not Jaeeun- and I'm not mom."

My father turned his eyes away from me, his hands closed tightly into fists as he spoke. I had come in here thinking that there was nothing else my father could have taken from me but I was so very wrong.

"I’ve decided to send you to live with your aunt in Seattle."

He had taken away from me the only thing I had left- a chance to prove him wrong. 

I looked away from his cold figure, hating the tears and pain that came at the price of his words. He had refused to see that he picked his stepson over me once again. I cleaned my face and began to walk toward the door, knowing that I had lost.

Just as I came face to face with the set of doors, without daring to look back at him- I said,

"Your club...your legacy- you have always loved it more than your actual family." There was no noise from his part. "Mom knew it and now... so do I."

-

Even now, it hurt the same. 

Throughout that time, I was alone, so many years lost without a home. I found my prayers answered by a different devotion. At that time, I didn't know just how fast and hard the wind could blow toward disaster. 

"I'm sorry I didn't come to see you sooner," I gulped silently, fiddling with the dandelion bouquet I had rumpled together. "I'm sorry I haven't come in over seven years." 

I was only eight when she passed away, which had left my father to care for me during my most formative years. Even so, I prefer to believe that the pain of my mother was the only thing that didn't allow me to break under the sins of my father.

"I'm sorry I'm going to leave you here with him." My back rested against her cold headstone, placing the bouquets of weeds just under her name, tears falling from my eyes. 

The place next to her was empty, my palm moved over the fresh grass, pulling out a few strands of green in the process. Originally it was meant to be saved for my father but when he remarried, Jaeeun tried to sell the lot. I had managed to convince him that the space next to hers would be my final resting place. I think it was the reason my father was looking for. 

I knew that my mother could not refine me from the sky. Still, I hoped that she would at least welcome me with open arms. 

"I thought you might be here," The words were accompanied by footsteps that roamed around my, sitting, frame. I shoved some loose strands of hair from my face.

"Did he send you to come to find me?" My eyes began to sting from the blazing sun that was emanating from his direction. I could only imagine how puffy and sore they looked under the rays of heat. 

"Well, I just figured you should be there," Jimin bent his knees, coming to eye level with me on the ground. 

"I don't even know why I'm here Jimin..." I muttered, avoiding eye contact out of embarrassment. He tried his best to make me feel not so alone, reaching his hand out to touch my arm, but I winced. "My father didn't want me here then- why would he now? I was only ever his burden." 

"That's not true," Jimin grabbed my hand, causing me to look up at him through my wet eyelashes. His voice had always been the voice of reason in my ears. "I think, in his own way, he wanted to protect you..."

He sighed as my face revealed that his words were falling to deaf ears. He meant well, I knew that but he didn't know what it was like. This is the life that he showed me- the life that I knew how to live in. "(Y/n) you aren't like us- believe me, that's a compliment."

"Jimin," I gulped through pain in my throat, the soft summer breeze pushing my words out. "I spent the last seven years of my life believing that if I just could come back home- the rest of my life would fall into place." 

"But why?" He urged, his voice becoming strained. "I know you see through the bullshit of this town. You always said so."

"My family is here..." That's what this was about. My hand reached to feel the stone carvings of my mother's name. That’s all this has ever been about. "Was- was here..." 

Maybe, it was stupid. Maybe no one could ever make sense of how I felt. But family was the only law I ever knew. 

Jimin stood back up on his feet, a loud sign leaving his mouth as he continued to look down at me. 

"We're still here, (Y/n)." 

I looked up at him to see his arm was extended out for me to take. How Jimin had managed to make me feel the smallest bit better- was far beyond my knowledge. 

He offered me his help to get back on my feet, allowing me the moment that I needed, before we walked together to the burial service. 

I was riding through this world all alone, thinking that God had taken my soul. I created a cage that accepted the darkness because it was easy on the eyes. A cage that I used to catch my breath, rest my head, ease my mind, and fuel my anger.

The green life that grew in the ruins of a cemetery seemed to be the most flourishing. The dead did not disturb them and the living provided them with their tears to drink. I figured I had done enough watering for one day. 

Jimin walked closely by my side, our feet walking over the bodies of loved ones as we made our way through the cemetery. There was a silence between that had been the most comforting thing I've heard all day. However, there was a consistent glimmer coming off the metal buttons of his leather cut. My eyes scanned the side of his chest that was closest to me. He had two patches sewed into the area above his breast pocket, one above the other reading, 

SGT at Arms

Dog of War

"What are you staring at, love?" Jimin asked after taking notice of my longing eyes. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything, but curiosity got the better of me.

"Did my old man appoint you Sergeant?" I asked, genuinely curious. He looked down at the patch on his chest and then back into my eyes. 

"Yeah," He answered with a bit of a chuckle. He brought his hand to rest over the patch as if he was remembering the day. "I guess he got sick of my preaching."

The SGT at Arms was a position given to a member who was in charge of upholding the rules and philosophy of the club. While also keeping an eye on all the members and in charge of looking out for everyone. Jimin had a heavy soul that was held tightly together by his values. Having been in my father's situation, I would have probably made the same judgment call. It wasn't that patch that I was surprised to see- it was the one underneath it. 

"And what did you do to deserve that one?" My hand reached out and made contact with him. His eyes shifted back down as I moved our hands to the patch below. "If you don't mind me asking, that is."

I said, quickly withdrawing my hand, noticing that the question made him a bit uneasy. I kept my eyes on his facial expression, carefully, watching for any kind of response. 

"I," Jimin paused to lick his lips. His hand also dropped from his chest as he looked ahead. He chuckled again, this time, more ambiguously. "I guess I just took care of business."

Only a few were selected to earn the title of Dog of War, to receive such recognition, you had to make a serious act of loyalty to the club- usually a violent one. In fewer words, you had to kill a high enemy of the club.

"I still like to shove it in Hoseok's face, whenever I can. Since he, Jin, and Yoongi are the only ones who don't have it." It was definitely something he was proud of. I could only imagine what he must have done to deserve it. "But I guess, he'll be rubbing his VP patch in front of me soon." 

My mind almost didn't process what he had said since it was barely a mutter. My feet slowly came to a halt and Jimin mimicked me as he noticed. 

"I-Is..." I don't know why I hadn't noticed it before. My stomach turned into a ball at the words I was about to say. "Is Namjoon going to take over as President?"  

"Well, technically, we still need to vote on it," Jimin ran his hands through his long locks of hair, a habit of nervousness that I recognized instantly. "But he is your father's VP." 

Rage heated up my body, I could feel it burn color over my face as I tried to remain calm. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do with this feeling of instability. I couldn't let go of the hatred because I loved the way it tastes. 

The only notion that was able to draw me from my relentless thoughts were the soft words being spoken off in the distance.  

"If I should go before the rest of you.

Break not a flower nor inscribe a stone"

"(Y/n)," Jimin attempted to recover my attention. 

However, I had managed to spot, underneath a grove of pine trees, a gathering of people. The familiar voice traveled along with the breeze that was coming from that direction.

"Nor when I'm gone,

 speak in a Sunday voice."

Before I knew it, my legs began to move once again. This startled Jimin, he followed closely behind me as all I could do was follow the voice. 

"But be the usual selves

 that I have known."

The group in my line of sight becomes clearer with each step, faces become apparent, I even began to recognize some of them. My legs commenced trembling with some kind of adrenaline. I wasn't sure if it was my footsteps or heartbeat pounding in my ear.

"Weep if you must,"

I found the words coming from Namjoon's mouth, he stood over the casket, in front of a large crowd of people. The head of the group was a line of seated women, among them, Jaeeun, the members and close friends of the club gathered behind them.

"Parting is Hell,"

Heads slowly began to turn as I approached the crowd. Red and white flowers blanketed the ground surrounding his lot. My father's casket was completely black, except for the words 'Bangtan' written in white lettering, along its side. His leather cut also rested on top with the back rocker facing up. 

Without warning, I moved swiftly to get my hands on Jimin's bowie knife. I pulled out the weapon from its place, where it had been tucked into his belt. 

Small gasps filled the crowd as Jimin failed to keep me from advancing toward the casket. Roses crushed under the weight of my feet as I grabbed the leather cut. I flipped it on its front and eyed the patches it held. 

I dragged the end of the knife to slice loose the bottom stitching of the patch. Once I freed the edge of it, I gripped in my hands and yanked it off with all the anger that I had built up. I could feel the stares coming from behind me, murmurs and whispers were exchanged between them. I continued to repeat my actions to the patch that laid underneath. Just making a second of eye contact with Namjoon, who stood on the other side, before also ripping the patch off by hand. 

I crumbled the two patched into my front pocket as I turned on my feet. I was met face to face with the crowd of people, mixed expressions spread across their faces. I looked down at my feet, stepping aside some of the crushed roses, and found a red one that had remained unharmed. I bent down and picked it up between my fingers. I brought the delicate thing to my nose, taking a smell, before tossing it on top of the casked.

I caught a glimpse of Jaeeun cold glare before I pulled down my sunglasses and took a seat at the only empty chair at the end of the row.

I crossed one leg over another and made myself comfortable. Jimin shortly after walked to stand by my side, in which, I handed him his knife without a word.

The muttering in the group had begun to quiet down, Jaeeun, who finished the session with a hushed, "Crazy bitch..."

Everyone soon turned back to Namjoon, who had not been able to take his eyes off of me this entire time. When he did look away he let out a sigh, to clear his throat, as he continued. 

"But life goes on,

So sing as well."

-

After the burial, Jimin had convinced me to join the rest of them at The House of Cards. Truth be told, I didn't have anywhere else to go. My father's home had become a crime scene, with broken windows and blood painting the house. Spending another night with Namjoon and Jaeeun felt further like an option. 

Staying, within itself, proposed a predicament.

"Here," 

The sound of short, round, glass being placed in front of me drove me away from my pity-party. "Neat, right?" 

"Yeah, thank you," I took the glass into my hand as Jimin took the stool across from me. 

We shortly glanced at each other as we both took a sip from our drinks. Jimin puckered his lips against the rim of a bottle of beer, and I hissed at the taste of straight whiskey. 

"So, what's the plan?" Jimin asked after letting out a small burp and setting his drink down.

"I have no idea," I lamented. "Go back to Seattle? Let fate take the wheel?"

Jimin chuckled and leaned back in his seat.

"Come on," He said. "I know you don't believe in that shit."

I played with the glass in my hand, watching as the brown liquor rattled against the edge. I sat up on the wooden table and looked up at him.

"I don't believe in anything anymore."

His face didn't twitch at my words, he merely kept a similar face, which was hard for me to read. The sigh that shortly followed made me believe that he had grown rather worn of my self-indulgence.

"(Y/n)," He said, pushing a single strand of hair from his face. He held my eyes in his own, the tone of his voice had fallen seriously. "Are you happy?"

I knew he meant in life- in general. However, I was afraid that the answer would remain the same. He managed to read that in me, without me having to say a word.  He leaned in, much closer than before,

"Do you want to be?" It was easy to assume that the answer was yes. Didn't everyone want to be happy? But the truth was, not everyone still had that hope inside of them, to fight for their happiness. "Has anything you've done these past seven years- made your life any better?" 

I felt a single tear slip from my eye, blinking it away upon noticing it. I had 25 years behind me. I've lived my life inside a cage, surrounded by demons, many of which were my own. Falling weak by your own hands was a hard way to fall.  I shook my head and felt ashamed to maintain his stare.

"I think it's time you stay awhile," He said, reaching out to hold my hand. It was the first time I had taken notice of his touch, how it was warm and welcoming. "And decide what it is you want."

It could have been the hard liquor, but I felt my face heat with a mixture of shame and embarrassment. Taking another glimpse of his touch, I slowly removed my hand and swallowed to clear my throat. 

"S-So, what about you?" I pushed part of my hair behind my warm ears. Straightening out my back, I pulled my arms in and created some space between us. "What have you been up to all this time?"

He took another drink of his beer before answering. I thought I could make out a flush of color on his cheeks as well, but the lighting above us was too warm and too dim to tell.

"I um- went to school, shortly after you left," He explained. "I got an associate in automotive technology." 

"Are you working in the shop with your old man?" I asked. A motorcycle was everything to a biker- if you weren't a good mechanic, finding one was a matter of life or death. His family's shop was the only workshop I would dare to trust in.  

"I'll be taking over, pretty soon," He joked lightly. 

Words hung over his mouth as our attention was stolen by the sudden sound of rapid running. I felt a small hand pat my leg eagerly, demanding recognition. I looked down from the tall stool to find a young boy about the age of four. 

"My daddy said another drink will make you feel better." Before I could question anything, he pushed an open juice box into my lap. 

I broke out into a laugh, taking the juice box into my hands and inspecting it. When I looked back at the kid he was also smiling, this time a bit more shyly than before.  

"Geeze kid," Taehyung came walking up beside him. He quickly picked up the kid as if he had run off from his side. "Not that kind of drink."

I was confused at first, but in the arms of his father, there was no doubt that he was Taehyung's son. He had large dark orbs for eyes and his father's ears. His hair was dark and full, parted to the right and long enough to tuck behind his ears. 

"Milk?" He innocently suggested. 

"That's right, little man." Jimin laughed along. His little voice melted my heart, and his smile was a mirror reflection of Taehyung's. Jimin stepped down from his seat and grabbed his beer. 

"I'm going to get some more milk." He shook his bottle lightly, indicating that it was almost empty. 

"Grab me one," Taehyung called out to him as he walked toward the bar. 

Just then, a group of children came running around the table. Their laughs and screams of joy induced Taehyung's boy. His little feet began to kick lightly, Taehyung responded right away, by letting him down.

"Daehyun, stay where I can see you!" He called as his son took off running after the other kids. 

I found my smile fading as soon as he was gone, the sudden memory of the night before flashed in my head. 

"He wasn't there last night?" I asked looking up at Taehyung, who had not moved from his place a few steps beside me. 

His face had fallen stiff at my question. Obviously, the thought of the night before had brought bad images to his head. Something a parent would never want to imagine. 

"My parents had him." He explained while he searched his back pockets. Even for those who choose this kind of life, they knew better than anyone, what the fear was like.

I felt relieved to know that he wasn't there. No kid deserved to witness such hell. For some reason, the air always fell dry between Taehyung and me. I just simply watched him pull a pack of smokes out his back pocket. He noticed my eyes on him and stepped closer to offer me a cigarette. I didn't agree with smoking indoors, much less around children, however, I could really use a drag. 

I placed the square between my lips, Taehyung closed the gap between us, his figure casting a shadow over me. He flicked the flint wheel of a zipper lighter, cupping his hands over the hot flame, and offered it to me. I connected the two and breathed in deeply, Taehyung ultimately doing the same. 

"Thanks," I muttered, deeply bringing the smoke into my lungs. "Do you have more kids?"

Taehyung moved back, pushing some of his hair away from his mouth, avoiding any unwanted event. His cheeks hollowed in, a sharp inhale followed his deep drag. 

"Nah, just the one." He smirked, glancing back to find me somewhere in the bar.

"I'm sure you've got some more scattered around the state." Jimin teased as he came back with two beers in his hand. Taehyung grabbed one of the opened bottles and shoved Jimin back to his seat. Jimin continued to joke in his seat. "Don't bring any of them. We don't need more kids running around the shop."

"You're working at the shop too?" Taehyung nodded his head and took a sip of his drink.

"I should be running the damn place," He said, taunting Jimin. "I put in more hours than him."

"I'm still a better mechanic than you." Jimin shot back. 

I pressed the glass to my lips and watched the two bicker with each other. It reminded me of when we were in high school. It was good to see some things hadn't changed, that some people were still the same. 

"What about you?" Taehyung asked.

"Hm?" I said not completely hearing what he had said. 

"What do you work in?" Jimin clarified, seeming more interested than Taehyung. 

"Oh," I stammered. I took another drag to give myself some thinking time. "Just a boring office job." 

"Like with data?" 

There wasn't any time for the question to settle. The main entrance of the bar opened and walked in Namjoon. I hadn't even known that he was missing from the group until then. 

Hoseok and Jungkook were by his side as he scanned the room. His eyes landed by the end of the bar, where Yoongi and Jin were seated, drinking, and well accompanied by women. Namjoon's hand motioned Hoseok over to them. During this time, Jungkook had spotted us over on the corner and made sure to point us out to Namjoon. 

"Guess it's time..." Taehyung muttered to himself. His head turned back to eyed Jimin, who began to chug down his drink. 

By the time my eyes looked back, Namjoon and Jungkook were walking in our direction. I took hold of my drink once more, my cigarette resting in the same hand. In an attempt to look busy, I suppose. 

"Ready?" Was the first thing out of Jungkook, obviously referring to Jimin and Taehyung. I avoided Namjoon's stare.

"Yep," Taehyung stepped over the table and put out his cigarette in the ashtray. He looked over his shoulder, my eyes followed to where he had spotted his son. Daehyun was playing with some other kids under the tables of the bar. 

"I can keep an eye on him," I offered. 

His gaze lowered to mine. Only then did I notice how close he was to me. His fingers still digging the already crushed cigarette deeper in the glass ashtray. 

"Thanks, doll." His eyes dropped into a wink that no one else witnessed. 

Jungkook came up and wrapped his arm around his shoulder. They walked together toward the hallway, which was in the back of the bar, leading to the garage and the doors to the chapel.   

MCs had weekly club meetings, that they referred to as church. If their meetings were church- then their conference room was the chapel. However, special club meetings could be held at any time they were needed. Any club action needed to be voted on by current members. For the most part, it was a matter of the highest vote being the one to pass. Although, there were special cases where a vote had to be unanimous for it to pass into action- patching in a prospect, sending someone to hell, and voting in a new president. 

Namjoon and I were left alone, but still, I kept my eyes glued to my drink. I always felt so on edge when his eyes were on me. He stepped toward me and leaned his hand on the table. 

"I'm going to need what you took." He said softly. I still refused to look into his eyes. Not wanting to spend any more time with him, I pulled out the severed patches from my pocket.

The two patches were bitterly placed on the table between us. Namjoon's hand hesitated to reach for them both, but I had quickly changed my mind. 

My hand slammed back down, shielding the patches from his hold. I looked at them both and only pushed one toward him.

"Just because you need it," I said. His finger touched the sewed on letters of the president patch. I looked at him this time, staring him down, "But this one belongs to me."

His face remained the same for a moment, his eyes lightly shifting from side to side as he tried to focus on me. Then his cold stare broke into a smirk. 

"He's rolling over in his grave knowing you have that." I placed the cigarette back in my mouth and leaned away from him.

"Good."

Without saying anything else, a sort of truce, Namjoon took what was his and left. Once his back was turned to me, and he was far away enough, I let out a shaky breath. 

I gripped the Founder's patch in my free hand and soothed my burned throat with whiskey. 

My father was a boy of agony, a man of soul, traded in his misery for the lonely life of the road. In the late of June, the king had died from a hell that was heaven made.

My father was the founder of Bangtan. A group of men that loved their Harleys and their family. Willing to anything to protect they're right to ride, no matter the cost. They were motorcycle enthusiasts that lived their life on the edge- and so was I.

Daehyun's laugh seemed to be the only joy in the entire room. His tiny shoes screeched against the black tile floor as he ran in circles. He struggled to keep his long hair away from his face, the mop on his head almost costing him the game, as it compromised his vision. His smile was contagious.

"Oh god," A groan, from beside me, managed sucked the small gasp of happiness from the air. "I know that look anywhere."

I turned my head on time to catch Jaeeun, offering herself the seat where Jimin had been. She held a drink in one and an unlit cigarette in the other. 

"What look?" I ask, only half curious. 

I spared her my look and continued gazing at the sweet child who knew nothing of the cruel world around him. 

"That look of an empty-aching womb." She responded with the noise of a flicking lighter following. 

I scoffed.

"Why would I want to bring a kid into this shit world?" The thought crossed through my mind and then I forced it out. 

"Because you have a deep, painful need to be needed," Jaeeun said. I somehow knew that wasn't meant to be an insult. "You're a lonely bitch."

That part was. 

"Is that why you had Namjoon?" I looked at her and found amusement resting on her face. A trail of smoke blew past her lips. 

"All mothers are selfish for bringing babies into this world." 

She wasn't the most heartwarming person, but she had her wise moments. I unearthed the similarities in our way of thinking many times before. Perhaps, that was the issue. 

"That's why I wouldn't do it," I set my empty glass on the table between us. Her eyes continued to watch my every move, "Don't worry,"

A bad joke crossed my mind and the whiskey was the only encouragement I needed. 

"I don't plan on making you a grandmother just yet."

She didn't seem to appreciate it very much. 

Jaeeun leaned in across the table, her eyes threatening me before her words ever could.

"I don't have to remind you what happened the last time you tried to fuck with my family." She spoke viciously and effortless.

I tried to hold back my grin, but the alcohol in my veins made it quite difficult. I didn't think I could feel anything but the warmth burning up in my face. 

"If you think that this is your chance for some kind of redemption story," She was almost losing her patience with the venom spitting from her mouth. "It's not."

Her words began to sting.

"I'm not afraid of you," I declared and pushed the butt of my cigarette into the ashtray. "And I'm not the same girl I was seven years ago."

"I am." She sneered. 

 "And just in case you were wondering, no one here feels sorry for you." She was proud of herself for finding the right button. "Your name is a forgotten memory in this town."

As the liquor gave me the confidence, it took it away just as easily. Jaeeun had a keen nose to sniff out people's weaknesses. I couldn't be any easier to read in her eyes.

"Believe me," I said, forcing myself to keep my head up. "You've made that perfectly clear."

There was little compassion in Jaeeun's heart, and it was not saved for the likes of me. Even as my eyes glossed with the effects of her words. 

"You're weak." She looked down at me.

"Maybe you're right," I grabbed my empty glass and stood off my seat, our eyes holding up into the last second. "But I lost everything and came back,"

I spoke softly, surrendering my share in this conversation with the only truth I knew. "You would have crumbled."

I had to admit, by the time I sat at the bar, I felt very discouraged. All of my desires had turned out to be a gifted lie. I loved everything I didn't have and yet, hated it for that very same reason. 

I decided not to order another glass for myself, seeing as how the first drink had a wild effect on me. I settled for a glass of water and to keep myself company. 

"Excuse me?" I answered to a voice beside me. "(Y/n)?"

My eyes fell upon a young woman, reserved and beautiful.

"Yes?" She was noticeably better dressed than anyone in the room. It was hard not to notice that she was very out of place. 

"I'm Darcy Durrell," Her last name was all I needed to know. The Durrell's were one of the wealthiest families in the town. Her father, the mayor, is the head of many organizations. "I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am for your loss." 

"Oh, thank you," I answered awkwardly, just taking notice that she was the first person to tell me that. "You look so different from before- I didn't even recognize you."

"Oh," She smiled, running her hands through her hair.

Darcy was four years younger than I was. She naturally had large brown eyes, with dark brows and long blonde hair. At least that's how I remembered her 14-year-old self. Now, her hair was dark and cut into a blunt bob. 

As we were talking, my mind couldn't help but recall back to that night. 

-

"Actually,” My father suddenly spoke up. Both Namjoon and I paused to see who he was referring too. “You can stay, Namjoon, it’s time you learn a thing or two.”

He barely spared me a glance as he continued, “Prospect, follow (Y/n) and make sure she gets home.”

“No problem,” Yoongi responded.

I gathered my belongings in a wave of harried anger, trying to avoid anyone from taking notice of the tears streaming down my face.

No one bothered to give me another look, anyhow. I was as insignificant as the dirt on the garage floor. 

I followed closely behind Yoongi, stepping through the doors that lead into the bar. I almost couldn't contain the built rage that was brewing inside of me. My heart was broken, and my trust was shattered. I could almost throw a child-like tantrum. The kind that would call for someone to carry me out of the bar.  

I had to do something.

I stopped in my tracks and managed to come up with something on the spot. 

"I have to use the bathroom," 

Yoongi looked over his shoulder at me and simply nodded. 

"I'll wait for you outside." 

The door to the bathroom was down a long hall, the entrance to that hallway was an arch, beside the door to the garage. Once Yoongi was out of my line of sight, I hid in the space where the arch met the wall. I waited there as more people approached the back of the bar. It was late at night, and the only people it could be were other club members. The darkness of the hallway kept me well covered as the disembodied voices passed by me. 

Once I heard the door to the garage close, I stepped out and walked up to the door myself. Ever so quietly, I cracked the door open just a bit, enough for me to see. 

"Good to see you, Steven."

My father stepped toward the direction of Steven Durrell, the mayor of Blackburn. My father extended his hand out to him, but Steven was hesitant to take it. 

The relationship between the club and the town wasn't a very good one. They didn't appreciate our outlaw way of dealing with our day to day problems. I couldn't make sense of why he was here, but I imagine it couldn't be good.

The look on his face was further confirmation of that. 

"Darcy is still in shock..." Steven spoke timidly. He looked worried and unsure of his own business. "She doesn't remember anything."

He let out a shaking sigh, his shoulders falling into a hunch as if the weight of the world rested on them. "Son of a bitch busted her in the jaw, threw her down on the dirt, and raped her." 

"What did the police say?" Namjoon asked, standing beside my father. 

"They took a report." He responded, not sounding to have much faith. 

His demeanor was shaken. He could barely make eye contact with my father as he worked up the courage to speak. 

"I want you to find him and bring him to me."

My father took a deep drag from his cigarette, letting his words sink in, making sure that he, himself, believed them. "I'll pay you anything you want."

"Who do you think we are?" My father seemed annoyed. He tossed his cigarette to the floor and crushed it under his foot. "I don't want your money." 

His voice fell deep, as it did before he was about to preach.

"No one comes into our town and does this to a little girl."

Steven took in a deep breath, one of relief, to hear my father agree. 

"We'll find this bastard but this isn't so simple Steven," My father took a step closer to the man in distress. "I need to know that when I deliver him to you,"

Steven gulped.

"That you'll take care of business."

There was doubt on his part, my father's strong eyes beckoning him further. But after moments of silence, it was Steven's turn to extend his hand to my father. 

The deal was sealed.

-

“Your father was a good man,” Darcy said and gave me a sympathetic smile before excusing herself. 

It was a small town, so everyone knew who Darcy Durrell was, and what happened to her that night at the park. She was fourteen years old, and the police never found the man. Yet, her family could rest assured that he had paid for what he did, and everyone knew why. When people came to the club because they couldn't go to the police, that meant something to my father. 

I had neglected the parts of this world that I admired. The good and shelter the club brought to people. How selfish of me to only remember the beginning of that day. The part that only affected me. 

Still, I could not find any valid reason to stay. 

Was there truly nothing left for me? Life was not what I foresaw for myself and the blame was solely mine. The world had given me seven years to make a change and instead, I built up this rage and anger. I managed to Isolate myself into the void and hate. 

Jimin was right.

It was time for me to ask myself the big question; 

Who am I?

And what is it that I want? 

Now, I don't know if I believed in fate; that in which you cannot change. However, Destiny is that which you're meant to do- who you are meant to be. Fate is what happened to me because I didn't take responsibility for my life. My destiny is what came calling on my cell phone. 

I pressed the phone against my ear and answered, "Hello?"

"Hello, am I speaking with research specialists (Y/L/N)?" I looked over my shoulder, making sure that nobody was around me. 

"Yes, this is her." My eyes scattered around the room. 

"This is Special Agent Anthony Romero." My eyes landed on Daehyun at the closest table beside me. "I apologize for calling you at a difficult time. However, we believe that you might have first-hand insight into a motorcycle club that we believe is in the works to be affiliated with the Camilo Cartel." 

Our eyes locked and he smiled at me. 

"I'm sorry," I stood from my seat, worried too much that my conversation might be overheard. "Sir, there must be some mistake. This club doesn't associate with those kinds of activities." 

I stepped toward the back of the bar, close to the back door of the garage. 

"Ms. (Y/L/N), I understand that you have family ties with the Bangtan motorcycle club," Our way of life was always outlaw, but if there was one thing that my father refused to entertain was Bangtan getting into the drug business. 

"But as an agent of the DEA, we are asking for your cooperation in this investigation." 

The doors of the meeting room opened. The boys came out gathered around Namjoon, each of them making gestures of praise and excitement. Namjoon smiled, his hand stroking the newly stitched patch on his vest.

"I have no experience as a field agent," I answered quietly.  

Jaeeun walked up to Namjoon, wrapping her arms around him and speaking inaudible words to him. 

"I can brief you in the morning. For now, get some rest agent." 

Just like that, he wished me a good night. Little did he know, nothing would ever be good again. 

I brought the phone down, and the way that I looked at everyone in this room had changed. 

I knew things were not the same as when I left, but I didn't know that everything had gone to complete shit. If you chose this life, then you knew what the fear was like if you welcomed addiction. There was no taunted charm or broken smile that could reach you then. Nothing happened in California that the club didn't know about. 

Destiny is what happens when you commit to your path. I was born into this life, I was born my father's daughter and this was my kingdom.

Masterlist ≽

[mawmdalorian]

To Get By - Boba Fett x Reader

You're just some Mos Eisley girl working at Jabba's Palace, cleaning up after the debauched gangster and his guests, trying to keep your head above the sand and out of the rancor pit. Until, that is, the notoriously deadly bounty hunter notices you... 

Characters- Boba Fett x Reader

Warnings- explicit smut (next chapter), someone gets eaten and not in the fun way

Author’s Note- Are you really a fan if you aren’t a little horny for all Mandalorians?

You were a housekeeper. Nothing more. Keep your head down, do your job quickly, and you might make it another day without being noticed by any of the dangerous, demented filth that wandered through the halls of Jabba’s dim palace.

The pay was decent. Jabba didn’t want anyone to say he was stingy, and he certainly didn’t want it getting out that he didn’t take care of his people. But there was no reward. The place always smelled of smoke, no matter how hard you tried to air it out or how much air freshener you sprayed.

In the wee hours of the morning, once everyone had finally gone to bed, when you scrambled into the throne room to try to make SOME progress against the bloodstains and the alcohol spills, you saw him.

The Mandalorian bounty hunter happened to be walking by when he saw you hurriedly stacking chairs onto tables, heralded by the sound of the spurs on his boots. He’d slung his gun over his shoulder. You froze for a second, your heart almost beating out of your chest. You’d seen the messes this man--you had heard he was a man, a human man, from some of the working girls who kept themselves busy here--had caused, the spilled blood and piss and whatever other substances some beings leaked when he threatened them.

There was a second where he just stared at you.

“Are you going to shoot me, or can I just get back to work?” you asked. Sure, you were terrified, but you didn’t survive as a child in Mos Eisley by being a coward.

He turned his helmet away, and walked off.

The next time you saw Boba Fett, you’d been assigned a night shift. You bloody hated night shift with all the force in your body, but you knew better than to protest. Better to grin and bear it than argue and risk either losing your job or your life, which was getting pretty stressful these days.

Nothing you wore would help you escape notice, you hoped your shitty job was enough to protect you. Still, you dressed with consideration in a well-fitting tunic, a loose sweater to disguise your shape and make you harder to shoot, and boots laced tightly in case you had to sprint for your life.

He was standing beside the Master, his arms crossed in that way he did to remind everyone that he had muscles. You knew when he saw you--could feel the burn of his eyes through the black visor. And maybe, yeah, you could see the appeal. You weren’t dead. Yet.

You hurried to mop up somebody’s spilled firewater before they could notice you. Someone threw up. Someone else laughed, and their stray fist knocked a basket of bantha cracklins’ on the floor. Your night was getting long.

And then one of the girls was brought forward.

“ Oola, ma gooka.”

You looked up. You looked back down, quickly .

There was a conversation you couldn’t quite hear. The girl was begging for her life, but it wouldn’t matter. Soon enough she’d be rancor meat. You had to pretend you didn’t notice the lathered crowd, hot and bristling with excitement to watch her die. Leaning in, leering.

You had to go back to your cart for more rags and fresh water to clean up. You were hoping to do so before… well. You did. In the small closet, you took in huge gulps of air that, if not fresh, at least smelled of disinfectant and washing, rather than seat and puke and that smell of rot and stink that came off of Jabba the Hutt. There was an outcry, a scream, you winced. You couldn’t help it.

“Hey.”

You looked up, startled. You backed into the cart, everything on it jangling and rolling. You wondered how he’d snuck up on you with the spurs, always ching-ching-chinging down the halls.

“C-can I help you?” you asked.

“Came to check up on you.”

You were surprised. The Mandalorian wasn’t exactly known for his caring, gentle demeanor. Up close, you could smell the desert on his armor, the faintly hot smell of blaster smoke and the beskar steel. If he came any closer, would you smell… him?

WHOA, that was getting a little weird.

“I’m… I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Don’t care for the entertainment?”

“If you mean feeding people to the rancor, then no. I don’t,” you said quietly. You gritted your teeth. How were you supposed to feel? Angry? Sad? You didn’t even know her. Did you have to?

“Why do you work here?”

“I’ve got mouths to feed. He pays the best,” you said, gesturing to the throne room. He knew you meant Jabba.

“Kids?” the bounty hunter asked.

“Brothers and sisters.”

“Your folks?”

“If you mean my parents, my dad was killed in a Tusken raid a few years back and mom… well, she likes the drink. I kicked her out a few years ago.”

The helmet nodded. He stepped forward, and you tried very, very hard not to flinch. You had guessed it right, you could smell him, the warmth and musk of a living man.

“You’re normally a day girl, aren’t you?”

“I clean the place during the day, yes.”

“I don’t often see you around here at night.”

“I try not to be around here at night.”

“But you’re here now.’

“We do what we have to to get by.”

He raised his hand, and just as you were as tense and coiled as a loth-cat ready to spring… Boba Fett touched you. Gently, softly, he chucked you under the chin, but not like he did the other girls. He started at your throat, skimming his way up your chin, slipping his gloved thumb across your bottom lip, opening your mouth ever so slightly. You could smell the leather, the blaster smoke. He held your chin in his fingers, even after your lip had slipped from them.

You couldn’t help the hitch in your breath, the soft inhale that tipped the hunter’s helmet to the side. And you got the sense, though you weren’t sure how, that he was smirking at you. For just a second, you were distracted.  

“Keep a stiff upper lip, lovey,” he said gently. But under the gentle tone, there was something else. Something heavy, a strain. But he couldn’t have been… well. He had his pick of the girls around here. They all whispered and fluttered their lashes when he walked by, and the ones that’d had him spent weeks preening afterwards. That edge of desire was the product of a dry spell, nothing to do with you, personally.

Right?

He walked away, his spurs rattling as he sauntered off into the night.

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Dark Side: Part 3

Master: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Steve X Reader

Summary: You expected Captain America to be a lot of things… You didn’t expect him to be anything like you. As it turns out, America’s Golden Boy may be more than a little tarnished.

Warnings: Violence, blood, feels, fluff, smut, everything

A/N: This bad boy is for @littledarlinhavefaithinme ‘s Marvelous Writing Challenge!

LOLOLOLOL WHAT HAVE I DONE. 

Well. This is longer than I expected but seeing as the challenge is over this week I thought I’d give it to y’all in one final beefy chapter filled with blood and emotions and smut and the bevy of human messiness that makes us all tick. The prompt is bolded. I need a drink. Aaaaand there is probs gonna be an epilogue because I have more ideas for these two. 

Hope y’all like my angsty Cap! 

Tags are open!

It takes two hours to clean up the mess.

He tells the police he had been here with a friend, who he told to leave as soon as the shot was heard, he saw the victim attacking a woman, she fired in self-defense, before he could question her she’d gotten lost in the crowd. As he conveyed his not entirely untrue story Natasha stared at him, eyebrows raised as if she didn’t believe him but she said nothing.

It didn’t matter. No one seemed too concerned with any of it. Almost to the point that it unnerved him. Both the DCPD and S.H.I.E.L.D. chalked it up to some random incident, bagged the body, took some statements and that was it.

“They’re not going to do anything more about this?” He asked Natasha as everyone dispersed.

She shrugged, “People die every day in this city. They’ll look into it but he’s likely just a thug who picked the wrong mark. Sucks to be him but if no one’s gonna miss him they’re not gonna waste the manpower on it.” He doesn’t like it. “Can’t save everyone all the time, Steve.”

That wasn’t what left a bad taste in his mouth but he couldn’t tell her that. With a cloud hovering over him he heads home, trying his best to push down the feeling in his gut that he’s missing something.

As he slips his key in the lock he hears water coming from the bathroom. His blood runs cold.

Quietly he opens the door. Slipping inside, he stands, hardly breathing as he assesses the situation. His shield isn’t where he usually leaves it, close to the door. However, he does see blood, drops trailing on the wood floor toward the bathroom. Even though he assumes it's you he cautiously makes his way through his apartment.

The door to the bathroom is just barely ajar. He shoulders it open and hears the click of a gun. You’re standing in the shower, shield raised, gun poised.

“Oh thank fuck,” you breathe out, shield dropping to your side revealing your muscular form clad in nothing but a pair of high waist lace underwear and a matching bra. He swallows hard, trying to pretend he doesn’t feel his cheeks heating.

“That thing is heavier than I thought it’d be.” You lean his shield against the wall beside the shower, setting your pistol beside it.

“They really just let you bring that home? I thought it’d be on lock up or something. Vibranium is worth a shit load.” He says nothing as he steps in, nothing the first aid kit, the blood in the bathtub, and discarded surgical thread in a pile.

“I’ll clean this up,” he’s surprised at the awkward tone in your voice. “I… uh… it’s hard to stitch up the back of your thigh yourself, in case you ever need to know.” Blood is still snaking down your leg, he can tell from the pool forming by your foot.

“I’d assume as much.” He has a million questions but for now, you need help. “Here,” he begins undoing the buttons on his shirt.

“You don’t have to-”

“I can’t just leave you bleeding in my shower. And I think I’m owed some answers. So, you’re gonna let me stitch you up and you’re going to answer my questions.”

“Authoritative. I’m into it.” He slides his gaze to you, as he tosses the shirt to his bed. That goddamn smirk on your lips. He’s got half a mind to turn you around in the shower and… No. You need help and he needs answers. That’s what this situation is. Nothing else.

He washes his hands and grabs a few rags, getting them wet. “Turn around, let me see.” Ignoring the blood he kneels behind you, setting the kit down beside him, to inspect the wound. It needs stitches but it’s not too bad.

“Am I gonna make it doc?” You look over your shoulder and down at him, voice dripping with mock concern.

“I think we can save the leg, just barely though.”

“Thank god. Though I could always replace it with a machine gun.”

“That may be the most ridiculous image I can imagine,” he laughs as he starts to clean the area around the wound.

You hiss just a bit before explaining, “It’s in a movie actually.”

“Well,” he pulls gauze from the kit to press to the wound, you brace yourself against the wall, “that sounds like a cinematic masterpiece.”

You laugh a little, “It’s so bad it’s almost good actually. Kind of a horror action combo.”

“Maybe I’ll watch it.” Gently he removes the blood-soaked pad before pressing another, the flow slows.

“I don’t know if it’ll be your taste.”

“Aren’t you the one always telling me to try new things?”

“Ok,” you laugh, “point.”

He threads a fresh needle, “Ready?”

“Can’t wait.” Your tone is flat, forehead pressed against the shower.

He’s impressed that you hardly flinch while he sutchures the wound. As he does so he can’t help but think about how quickly something like this would heal on him. He’d hardly bother to stitch it. He almost… envies you.

Once you’re stitched he tapes gauze over the wound and cleans the dried blood from the back of your leg. “You’re set, though I’d still maybe get it checked out.”

“Thanks, doctor Steve,” you turn and he’s eye level with those maddening lace underwear again.

Forcing his eyes away he stands, stepping out of the shower, heading to the sink, “Yeah, well I didn’t do it for free, Zelda. You owe me-”

“Y/N,” you say softly. He looks back at you as he soaps his hands. “My name… is Y/N.”

His face stretches into a smile. It’s pretty, suits you. Drying his hands he turns to you, “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

It’s not the smirk he’s grown to expect, the curling of your lips is genuine, soft, lighting your eyes. You nod, “I obviously owe you a new suit too,” you gesture to the bloodstained slacks. “Think I could add some other clothes to the tab? Unfortunately, my dress has seen better days.”

“Sure.” He heads into his room pulling sweats and a tee from a drawer. You’re rinsing the shower with the handheld head when he walks back in. He sets the clothes on the counter. “Don’t worry about the suit. Not like I bought it.”

“Still, thanks.”

“If I leave you in here are you gonna disappear again?”

“No promises,” the smirk back on your lips. He leans in the door, arms crossed. “I’m not going anywhere. I owe you, remember?”

He nods and leaves you. Grabbing fresh clothes himself he goes to the guest room to change too. When he opens the door, there you are. Before he can say anything your eyes fix on something behind him.

“Is that…?” You gesture to the almost finished canvas of St. Louis.

“Yeah…” He hasn’t felt this awkward in more than 70 years. “It… I…”

“You did this?!” You look awestruck.

He shrugs, “Yeah. I went to art school back in my day. It was kinda the only thing I was good at… well besides getting the shit kicked outta me.”

Your gaze has shifted from him back to the painting. “Steve… honestly… this is stunning.”

“Eh. I’m still not happy with the sky, it’s not the right kind of purple. The gradient is off too and my shadows need work.”

“Shut up. It’s beautiful. What the hell are you doing being a soldier?!”

“Could ask you the same thing.”

You scoff, “Nah,” something dark flits over your features when you turn back. “There’s no spectacular hidden talent here.”

“I doubt that.” He gives you a warm smile, “You’re one hell of a dancer.”

Your head tilts back in a laugh, “That’s me bein’ a ho. Nothing particularly special there.” You pat his chest as you walk from the room. “Mind if I nab some of that whiskey I saw in there?”

“Not at all.” He follows you out, “Have a seat and I’ll pour you a glass.” His eyes follow you to the living room, unable to ignore the curve of your ass as you walk.

He pours you a hearty bit of whiskey, certain your leg has to be hurting and he doesn’t have any other pain killer. For posterity, he pours some for himself too. It does nothing for him but the smoky taste is comforting.

“Here,” he hands you the tumbler.

“Thanks,” you wrap your fingers around the glass. Suddenly you look tired, smaller somehow.

He pulls the armchair close to the couch, not wanting to crowd you. For a few minutes, silence hangs. As adamant as he was earlier about getting answers, looking at you now he just wants you to rest.

“So…” you break the silence.

He sighs, “Let’s start with why you asked me out tonight.”

One perfect brow raises, “Because I wanted to.”

“And someone trying to kill you had absolutely nothing to do with it?”

“Not… exactly.” He doesn’t honor that with an answer, just stares at you. Nervously your nails tap the glass of the tumbler. “A few weeks ago I got tapped for a gig. Blind hire. Usually, I don’t even entertain jobs like that unless the pay is very good. This was, but when they told me who…”

Ah… he sees now. “How much is Captain America’s head going for these days?”

“Not funny.”

“I’m not laughin,’ just curious.”

“Millions.” Not bad. At least he knew he was worth something to someone, even if it was dead. “Thing is,” your voice pulls him back, “I have a, uh, reputation of sorts…”

“I don’t doubt that,” he smiles up at you through his lashes and your features soften.

“Fuck you.” Playfully you toss a couch pillow at him. “See, if you hire me you had better be damn sure your hands are cleaner than the person you’re sending me after.”

“If they’re not?”

That smirk plays on your lips. “Well, most times I’ll flip the gig. Tell whoever you hired me to go after what you’re doing, offer my services, usually make more than I was gonna before. And if not it’s at least more satisfying.”

“Judge, jury, and executioner.” He can’t pretend he approves.

You shrug, “I don’t trick myself into thinking it’s justice. It’s a job. That’s all. I just sleep better knowing I didn’t go after someone innocent.” His brows rise. “Yeah. That’s kind of my niche. I’m who the underground sends after their own.”

“Seems like a fine line to walk.”

“I’m very, very good at what I do. So, I’m tolerated.”

“Guessing I’m not dirty enough to justify being your mark.”

“Well… I’m sure in some ways… but not enough for me to put a bullet in you.”

“So you turned ‘em down.”

“No.” He can’t help but look surprised, you laugh. “Told them I needed 48 hours. I knew they’d go underground once I said no, so I needed time. There wasn’t any trail I could find to figure out who was putting the hit out but I did find a tie to my Popov job.”

You slam back the rest of your whiskey, “It was also a blind hire, great pay, but I didn’t look too far into it because he was a fuckin’ monster. Hell, I would have don’t it for a smoke and a beer. But I think they wanted to see if I I could get to someone even with you there…”

“And you did.”

“Yup.” You roll the glass in your hands, “Realized I wasn’t getting anything else on my own so contacted them in 30 hours, they thought I was going to say yes so they were pretty willing to share what they wanted.”

“They wanted more than me dead?”

“No, more like how… They didn’t care about anything else other than it looking like you went out in the line of duty a-”

“Hero’s death.” Bitterness fills his mouth.

“Something like that. And it was to be local, close to DC.”

“We don’t do many jobs close to home…”

“Figured as much.”

He nods, “So they worked out you were going to tell me and came after you?”

You shrug, “That or they planned on taking me out once I turned them down, just finally had a good window.”

He doesn’t like this. Not because someone was gunning for him, that honestly didn’t phase him. He doesn’t like that you were in the crosshairs over it. You may have a questionable day job but… you weren’t a bad person.

“So,” you slowly stand and walk to the table where your clutch and shoes wait, “I was thinking you could cash in on some of those clearly unused vacation hours.” Picking up your things you turn to him smiling. “Maybe see St. Louis for real or Notre Dame, Greece is great this time of year, or-”

“I’m not running.” He’s sort of touched and a part of him would love to go to any of those places with you but… Steve Rogers didn’t stand down from a fight.

“Steve… if someone tried to hire me they aren’t fucking around. They will find someone and-”

He stands, “I’ll be fine.” His hand rests on your shoulder, you lean into it a bit, taking weight off your leg.

Looking up at him your face is hard, “You won’t be.”

“And if I’m not America can have her martyr back, plus someone gets a great payday. Why does it matter to you?”

“Why doesn’t it matter to you?”

He holds your gaze, meaning every word, “Who’s gonna miss Steve Rogers?”

“Me.” He honestly wasn’t expecting that. A sad smile lifts your full lips, “I think I’d miss Steve Rogers… a lot.”

Something in him snaps at that. He’d felt so numb for so long and now he’s suddenly burning. Cupping your face he leans down pressing his lips to yours.

Your things clatter to the floor as you return the kiss, arms curling around his neck. He wraps you in his arms, holding you close and lifts you just a touch as your tongue finds its way between his teeth. The taste of whiskey and desire fill his mouth.

Steve can’t remember wanting something, someone, in so long…

You break the kiss, eyes burning into his own. “Please don’t do something stupid… please.”

“Promise I won’t if you stay.” Hope flickers in his chest for just a moment.

“I can’t…” It flickers out. “I’m sorry.” You release him and he makes sure you’re steady on your feet before he bends to retrieve your things. When he looks back he swears that’s disappointment on your face…

“Even just for tonight? Your leg…”

“Too risky,” your index finger traces his jaw, bottom lip catching in your teeth.

“Can I at least get you home?”

“I can manage, Cap.” You sigh heavily, “I should go…”

His eyes glue to the wood grain of the floor. “Ok.”

“I’ll see you around…” He looks up, then, the soft smile on your features telling him this is a request.

“Maybe.” You nod, darkness flickering behind your eyes. He won’t make promises he can’t keep. Holding your things he turns to walk you out, now just wanting this to be over.

At the door, you both stand awkwardly. “Here,” he hands you your things.

“Thanks.” you take them. “For everything.”

“Don’t mention it. Thanks for the warning.”

You nod. “Steve…” Your hand rests over his heart before your pleading eyes catch his, “Please be safe.”

He wraps your hand in his lifting it to his lips, “You too.”

You nod when he releases your hand, no doubt noting his avoidance. “Well, until next time.”

He opens the door, “Next time.” And then you’re gone.

-

The next few months crawl by. Anytime you’re not working is always miserably boring but you needed to lay low unless you wanted to end up in a shallow grave somewhere.

Your new found free time had left room for you to keep digging into Steve’s hit. What you were finding was… well, nothing short of a national crisis so wild and far-reaching that if you hadn’t been doing the research yourself you’d think it was bullshit. Honestly, discovering that the government was run by lizard people would have been more believable.

More than once you try to convince yourself to meet up with Steve, share all this. But… he wasn’t in a good place, that had been clear. You were pretty sure he wasn’t much better since you left him if your mostly unanswered texts were any indication. If you were to tell him you had evidence that Hydra, the organization he’d given his life to see destroyed, was still functioning… And that it was very possible that S.H.I.E.L.D. was involved… What would he do?

One morning you’re on your third cup of coffee, wondering how you’ll fill your day when your phone rings. The little hand drawn picture of a dick on a napkin that pops up tells you who it is.

“The fuck you want, Wade?” You hear Vanessa laugh in the background and can’t help but smile. “Am I on speaker?!”

“Of course. I only conduct sensitive business in the loudest way possible you know that. Oh and also, rude.”

You laugh, “What’s going on.”

Crunching echos on the other end before he answers. “You asked me to tell you if I heard any chatter about someone getting tapped for that Captain America gig you turned down?”

“Yeah?”

“Well. I heard something.” He says nothing else.

“Wilson. I know you love foreplay but now is not the time.”

“Ugh, you’re so boring.”

“She prefers me anyway,” Vanessa quips.

“She’s not wrong.”

He laughs, “Why am I friends with you again? You’re rude to me, prefer my girlfriend, you never come slap me around anymore, I mean honestly, Y/N.”

“Wade, I swear I’ll do more than slap you around next time if you just stop dicking around and tell me what you got.”

“Ooooh, see that’s what I’m talking about.” More crunching, “But in all seriousness, that’s not the promise I want from you. I tell you this, you tell him if you have to, but don’t get involved, this shit is way too risky.”

“Aww, you care.”

“Fuck you.” He sighs, “Private airport, DC, supposedly some child-smuggling ring, links to human experimentation. That’s at least the story on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s books. Don’t have an exact date but it’s likely going to be within a week.”

Bold of them to stick with that structure even after telling you… but it was a good enough cover, and if it worked… Fuck.

“Y/N… don’t be a dumbass. Why you give a fuck I don’t know but if you need to tell him, do it. That’s it though. Don’t get yourself killed.”

“I won’t, promise.”

“Good.”

“Thanks, Wade, seriously.”

“Anytime.”

“Love ya, Y/N!” Vanessa calls out.

“You too boo! Fuck ‘em up for me.” She laughs and the call ends.

For the next ten minutes, you just stare at your phone. Your fingers trace the shape of your lips, remembering the way he tasted, how warm his body felt… Suddenly you realize you may actually miss him.

Finally, you pick up the phone and tap out a text:

Y/N: Hey. We need to talk ASAP. Call me?

Hours come and go. You run, work out, clean, anything to try to keep yourself distracted but it doesn’t help. Every minute he doesn’t respond fills you with dread.

When you can’t stand it any longer you call him. It rings and rings until his voicemail picks up. You don’t leave one.

Two days later you feel physically sick from the stress. What if you were too late? What if he…

The phone rings, and you practically drop it in your haste to pull the thing from your pocket.

“Steve!?” You hate how desperate you sound.

“It’s the job with the kids isn’t it?” His tone stings a little… still…

“Yeah, it is. Don’t know who took it but it’s a safe bet it’s not someone to fuck around with.”

“Right. Well, thanks for the heads up.”

“Steve?!”

“What.”

“I… uh…” You don’t know what you expected… this wasn’t it. “Just… ya know, don’t die.”

“No promises.” With that, he hangs up.

It hurts more than you want to admit. Angry you storm to the garage and begin beating your punching bag until your knuckles bleed and tears run down your face.

You had made peace that the life you chose was a fairly solitary one. It was better that way. For some reason, though he made you wish that wasn’t the case… it didn’t matter. You couldn’t have him, he didn’t want you… And he’d likely be in a flag covered casket by the end of the week.

That thought makes you freeze mid punch.

No. You can’t let that happen. Rushing through the house you gear up, wrap your knuckles, and in less than an hour, your bike is thundering down the highway.

You’d been living in Pittsburg so it doesn’t take you long to get to DC. The sun had just set when you stand at his door, banging, heart threatening to burst from your chest.

As soon as it’s clear that he’s not going to answer you go outside and work your way up the fire escape, prying the window open like you did the last time you were here.

“Steve?” You call out, begging that if nothing else you’ll see his shield… There’s no Steve and no shield. “Fuck.”

Wade didn’t tell you what private airport. You wrack your brain, there were two that were legit just outside the city but you knew there were a couple more exclusive ones that wouldn’t be found through a simple Google search. You don’t hesitate to call in some contacts to find out where this may be going down. If someone wanted to rat you out so be it.

Favors called in, promises given, you finally have it narrowed down to two places. One on the books one off. The first one is the obvious choice, used mainly by wealthy dignitaries looking to avoid customs and it’s closer. It’s also a dead end. Cursing yourself you pray you’re not too late as you rush to the other private airport near College Park.

The place is dead… as is the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent near the front of the small check-in area. It reminds you how easily this could go wrong. You slip your phone out and text Wade.

Y/N: Look. If I eat it tonight this isn’t on you. Idk why he matters but he does and I couldn’t stay out of it. You know where my stash is, take Vanessa somewhere nice if I don’t come out of this. Love ya.

If you did live he’d likely kick your ass after this. You’d welcome it. Taking a deep breath you stalk slowly deeper into the airport.

The silence eats at you making your anxiety rise. If there was still a fight going on you’d hear something… if he was…

You hear glass breaking from down the small terminal. Immediately you take cover. Unable to see you let your ears do the work. Two, maybe three, a groan and a snap echos in the space. Well… two people. A shot goes off and you flinch but you have to look.

The merc isn’t someone you know but he’s big, a mountain of a man who’s bulk rivals Steve’s. Brass knuckles on his massive hand, in the other a gun.

“Honestly,” he speaks, clearly American, “I thought this would be harder.” A sinister grin fills his face, “But who am I to complain?”

He rushes Steve, landing a blow to his solar plexus. Steve gasps and the shield clatters to the ground. Before you know it your gun is in your hand and you shoot, not to kill but to distract.

“What the fuck?!” He takes cover as you let loose another shot.

“You scare easy for a big fucker!” You taunt more to let Steve know who’s here.

The glint of the metal on his knuckles tips you off before he can take his shot and you tumble toward Steve who’s still getting his breath. Pushing him to the side you fire.  

“What the hell are you-”

“Shut the fuck up.” You growl at him. From your belt, you pull a flash bomb and hurl it toward the merc. In a second it goes off and you pull Steve to his feet. “Come on.”

You head toward the front of the terminal, previously abandoned but you can hear the shuffle of people. Steve pulls you against him and against the wall, shield in front of you.

“Not yours?” You ask looking up at his bloody face partly covered by the cowl.

“No.”

“Great.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says low in your ear.

“Neither should you.” You push away from him, “This way.” Hopefully, you could get out the back of the terminal before the merc got his vision back.

Holding close to the wall you manage to make it to a side door. Relief begins to tickle at you. You just may get out of this alive. With no assailants near, you turn to him.

“So, I warn you that someone is trying to kill you and all you can do is run straight for the reaper!? I mean I get you don’t like me or approve or whatever but come on you could have at least-”

Unblinking he flings his shield behind you with a swish. You turn in time to see it slam into someone's neck, snapping it.

“-listened to me,” you finish your statement voice flat with restrained surprise.

“Never said I didn’t like you,” he pushes past you to retrieve the shield. “We should aim for the back.” You nod and follow him.

You cover one another as you slowly make your way to the gated back portion of the airstrip. The shrubbery would provide just enough cover once you got there and-

A bullet grazes Steve’s shoulder causing his shield arm to go slack.

“Shit,” he hisses. The shot came from the single-engine plane you had just cleared.

Whirling you take aim at the assailant and catch them in the chest as they try to take cover off the wing. With a clatter they tumble to the ground, head making a sick crack on the asphalt.

“They must have sent a team,” you say kneeling to look at his wound.

“Ya think?” He sets the shield against his calf for a moment while he tries to move his arm.

“You’re making me regret showing up to save your ass.” He huffs out a little laugh.

It happens so fast you can’t think. A shot rings to your left and you both look. He must have seen or heard something you didn’t because he’s got you by the shoulders pulling you to the ground and under him. You can feel the moment the bullet hits his body. He groans and goes heavy on top of you.

“Steve!” He says nothing and you manage to push him off gently. Blood stains the navy of his suit a darker shade and you can see the tip of the bullet glinting against the fabric. Through and through.

You grab the shield and deflect another volley of bullets from the two of you. Glancing over you see the big man from before. Great.

“Just go,” Steve groans.

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up earlier?” You rip your shirt off and toss it to him to press to his wound. “Don’t bleed out on me.”

Thinking fast you rise to your feet, shield before you and you fire at the man. One in the head, two in the chest. He’s only part of your problem. You can see movement toward the terminal…

The two of you need cover and a very loud distraction. You pull two smoke grenades and toss them toward the plane the shooter had been on. In just a minute there’s enough of a screen to shield you both for a moment.

“Ok,” you turn to him. “Cover your ears, it’s gonna get loud and then we’re gonna have to run like hell. Can you manage?”

He grimaces, blood suffusing his side. “Sure, why not.”

There’s no other choice. You pull the two concussion grenades you keep for special occasions from their holster. Flicking the pins and hoping for the best you hurl them one after the other in two directions before covering you both with the shield as best you can.

The one that lands by the plane has the desired effect, it blows close by and will only cause a bigger hazard as the fire you can see through the smoke spreads. The other doesn’t hit much but is loud enough to distract. Good.

“Time to go old man.” You help him up, shield on your free arm and you make your way to the fence. The link is easy to cut and you’re quickly through it into the brush.

“Where are we even going, Y/N? Just leave me here, my people will come and-”

“I’m not fucking leaving you.” Your tone is sharp. “We aren’t in the wilderness. There’s a strip mall not far. I’ll jump a car and get you…” Where?

“Just get me home.” You stare at him trying to gauge just how much he wanted to die. “If you take me to a hospital they’re gonna look for me and innocent people may get hurt. I’m not bleeding enough for this to be life-threatening-”

“You don’t-”

“You can stitch me up.” His smile is crooked.

“I’m not a fucking medic, Rogers.” If he died… You were wasting time. “Whatever fine. Come on.”

You manage to get him back to his apartment alive.

His massive form leans against you heavily. “Don’t fucking pass out on me now, Rogers.”

He grunts in response. “Table.”

Hastily you clear the mail and books from the table top. The heavy wooden furniture groans under him as he sits on it, shaking fingers fumbling to undo his tactical suit.

“Here,” you push his hands away. There are an annoying amount of zippers and connection points but you eventually get it loose to his waist.

Moving behind him you lean across the table to help slide the suit down his arms. At first, your breath catches at the way the muscles of his shoulders and upper back ripple, a fucking Grecian statue of a man. When your eyes trail down though…

Blood stains his side, leaking slowly from the bullet hole. Bruising, deep and painful, already blossoms around the wound. His arm is nowhere near as bad but still needs attention. You swallow hard, trying to calm the panic in your chest.

A clink on the table draws your eye away. The bullet, intact and bloody lies there.

“Jesus, Steve…” Your fingers barely touch the unbruised skin close to the wound. He shivers.

“Not to be an ass but-”

“Shit! Yeah, sorry.” Hurridly you run to the bathroom and tug out the first aid kit, in the same place it was before, and soak rags in warm water. When you come back in you notice Steve sway.

You slam everything down on the table. “Steve,” you grab him by the shoulders, “hey,” your hands move to cup his face. “Look at me.” Those cool blue eyes meet yours, hazy and distant, “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

His hands catch your wrists, strong fingers digging in. “No,” his voice is stern, eyes seeming to clear.

“Ok,” you don’t want to waste time fighting him. You wash your hands in scalding water, slip glovers over them, and pray to a god you had long since given up on that you don’t kill this man.

When you’re finally wrapping a bandage around him you feel like you’ve just sprinted 10 miles. Your hands are shaking, your nerves are fried, you want to throw up and pass out and have 40 drinks but… you did the fucking thing. So far, so good. He hadn’t fainted, bled out, or died.

You take a shaky breath as you secure the bandage and he catches your hands in his bloodstained paws. Slowly you drag your eyes to meet his, barely breathing.

“Thank you,” his features are so soft.

A dry laugh slips from you, “Thanks for not dying.” He squeezes your hands a bit.

“Come on,” you pull back to help him up. “Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed.”

“You don’t hav-”

“Consider it me protecting my hard work. I’m not about to have gone through that for you to fuck it up.”

“Fair,” he groans as he stands.

You guide him to the bathroom and he hesitates, “Seriously I-”

“Don’t blush Rogers, you’ve lost too much blood to send it running in places it shouldn’t be.” The look on his face is slightly shocked. You can’t help but laugh, “Look, do you really think you can get out of the rest of this gear on your own?” He shrugs. “No. You can’t. Don’t be a baby.”

Gently you push him toward the bathroom. “Sit.” He does so on the edge of the tub.

-

Steve watches you kneel before him, sure fingers untying the laces on his boots.

There was a time in his life he was used to being cared for. Honestly, it felt both like yesterday and an age ago… Unsurprisingly he still absolutely hates it.

You were right though. He wasn’t in the shape to do it himself.

“Stand for a sec, we need to get this suit off.”

He swallows hard. It wasn’t that he was particularly shy… but…

“I can’t let you hang around in bloody clothes, man.”

All he can manage is a nod. His legs shake as he stands and his head swims a bit from blood loss and lack of sleep. When was the last time he had a solid night’s sleep…

“Stay with me,” you reach out steadying him.

“Tryin’,” his tongue is thick in his mouth.

“Just a bit longer.” You give him a gentle reassuring smile.

He feels almost drunk. “You have a beautiful smile.” The words just fall from his lips. Some part of him is mortified until your smile brightens even more before you look away. “Now who’s blushing?” He teases.

“Ya know I was gonna let you keep some of your dignity and give you a towel to cover up with. Now I’m not so sure.” You look back at him and wink.

“I got nothin’ to hide.”

“I bet.” That spark in your eyes makes the muscles in his abdomen clench painfully.

He’d be lying if he tried to pretend he’d never wondered what you’d look like on your knees. However, in none of his imaginings were you working a blood-soaked tac suit off him while he fought to stay conscious. But since when had anything in his life gone to plan?

“Boxers?”

He blinks at you, “What?”

“Your boxers. You need some that don’t look like evidence.”

He looks down, the ones he’s wearing are half grey and half crimson. “Top drawer.” You disappear and return with boxers and sweats.

You hand him a towel, “Thought I’d be nice.”

Wordlessly he takes it, holding it loosely in front of himself. When your fingers hook around the elastic of his boxers, your body lowering slowly down with the garment, eyes locked on his, he feels like he can’t breathe.

“Hangin’ in there, Cap?” Mischief glints in your eyes.

“Mhm,” he nods his head. You turn to wet a rag and, despite his best efforts, his mind fills with images of tearing your tac pants off your body and fucking you over the sink until you can’t stand.

His throat goes dry as you turn back. Unsuccessfully he tries holding the towel out a touch further to hide how hard he is.

The corner of your mouth ticks up, your warm hand on his chest causing his heart to beat a little faster. “What’d I say about keeping blood where it belongs?” Your voice is a purr.

Steve huffs out a small laugh, grimacing at the movement. You drop to your knees, gently washing the blood off his thigh. Bullet wound be damned. His fingers release his grip on the towel.

“Steve…” Your eyes lift up to his, the tip of your tongue flitting out to touch your bottom lip. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “You just got shot… I don’t want to hur-“

“Please.” He doesn’t care. Doesn’t care that his knees feel week, that his head is filled with fog, or that he could have died tonight. He didn’t die. And he wants you… it’s the first time he’s wanted anything… anyone, in so long…

He won’t force you but his eyes are begging, he knows. As you stand disappointment feels heavy in his gut. But…

The bloodstained rag lands with a thwack in the tub. Your calloused palm rubs the stubble on his cheek before pulling his face to yours. It’s a soft kiss, your mouth warm and inviting. He groans as your hand wraps around his cock.

“Sit,” you whisper against his lips. He lowers to the edge of the tub and you settle between his thighs.

Your fingers trail feather light touches down his chest, your lips following close behind. Lust and adrenaline clear his mind. Even so, there’s nothing but you right now.

Those eyes of yours look up at him, smirk on your full lips. Your tongue languidly runs up the length of him, catching the bead of moisture gathering at his head. His breath stutters and you hesitate.

“Please don’t stop.” He needs this… maybe more than he wants it.

Without hesitation your tongue traces his head before taking the length of him, your eyes never wavering. He hit’s the back of your throat and a growl rumbles in his chest. One hand grips the tub’s edge his other cupping the back of your head.

Lifting up, your hand wraps around his shaft, twisting a touch as your mouth applies the faintest suction to his head. The fingers of your free hand run over his balls and down…

His head falls back. Deft fingers massage the tender flesh just behind his sack while your palm cups his balls, pressing up ever so slightly. After only a few minutes the steady motion… the sound… his exhaustion… everything comes to a peak.

“Y/N… I… I…” The words won’t form. He can’t…

Fingers tangle in your thick hair, his body tenses, and the sound that tears through him is not quite a scream but it’s more than a moan. It reverberates against the tile walls. His body shakes.

When his vision clears he sees you, eye level, brushing a drop of cum from the edge of your grinning mouth. His eyes flutter.

“If you faint on me I swear…”

“No, I… I’m good.” With a shaking hand, he pulls your face to his, kissing you softly. “I am afraid I won’t be able to repay the favor tonight I-”

“Don’t. Consider it a thank you for taking a bullet for me.”

“I didn-”

“Yes, you did.” Your gaze is stern and he knows he can’t argue. He did. He knows he did.

Cleaned up, dressed, and thoroughly spent he lets you lead him to his bed. He winces, as his back meets the mattress.

You sit next to him on the bed, “Do you have anything you can take for pain?”

He shakes his head, “Nothing really works. Perk of being a super soldier…”

“That’s some shit.” He nods. “Are you comfortable enough?”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” your gaze shifts away.

Sighing you stand. For reasons he’s too exhausted to identify, panic grips his chest and his hand shoots out for yours.

“Don’t go… please… I… I don’t…” Want to be alone. Are the words his pride just won’t let him say, even now.

Your fingers lace between his, “I wasn’t gonna leave you, Steve. Not like this.” Relief floods his body. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

He tightens his grip. “You don’t have to sleep out there… it’s a big bed.” A hopeful, crooked smile lifts his lips.

“Ok… but I’m stealing a shirt.” Your smile makes your eyes flash and his heart leap.

“Fine by me.”

He drifts off once you disappear into the bathroom only waking when he feels you slide into the bed next to him. Eyes at half mast he reaches out to you. Carefully you let him pull you close.

This… the feeling of you next to him, your hand over his heart, cheek on his chest… he didn’t know how desperately he needed this. Despite the wound in his side and everything in his head, he sleeps hard through the night.

Morning’s light slowly wakes him. Already the serum in his veins has worked overtime, the pain far less than it was last night.

A rustling next to him draws his gaze and warmth fills his chest. He expected you to be gone by morning… Instead, you’re sound asleep, back pressed to his side.

His smile is so wide it makes his cheeks ache a bit. Worried that he’ll wake you if he moves he contentedly dozes, opening his eyes here and there to watch the steady rise and fall of your breath or study the colors of your hair in the sunlight.

He wants to paint you… just like this… He closes his eyes, imagining the canvas.

“Good morning,” your voice sounds petal soft. His eyes open to see your face in the warm light, a soft smile on your lips.

“Morning.” Neither of you says more. Somehow you’re content to study the other… Until your phone begins to blare a song from your pants pocket.

“Shit!” Frantically you scramble up and fish the phone from your pants.

“Hey!” Your tone is forced. Someone screams something on the other end, he can’t quite make out the words though. “Not dead. Sorry… I… I know… I… Wade… Just…” He sees your features shift, “Yeah… Yeah, I got it. Love you too.”

You toss the phone on the end of the bed and rub your hands over your face. The last bit of that conversation had him burning though…

“Boyfriend?”

“What?” Your brows knit. “Oh! Fuck no.” You laugh a little and he feels himself cool. “Best friend. He tipped me off about last night, told me not to get involved…”

“And he’s pissed you didn’t listen.”

“Something like that…” You look at him, eyes… sad.

“Y/N?”

“I have to go…” You catch your bottom lip in your teeth.

He shoots up from the bed, wincing at the pain but not stopped by it. “Why? Do they know you-”

“No,” you hold your hands up, resting them against his chest when he stops in front of you. “They suspect though so it’s best I get the hell outta dodge before they can confirm anything.”

“You don’t have to go…” His voice holds a twinge of desperation. “I can get you S.H.I.E.L.D. protection,” something darkens your features at this but he keeps going, “and I would… look out for you.” He rests his hands on your shoulders.

Your eyes fix to the floor, “I can’t, Steve. It’s too risky for both of us.” The twinge in his chest is alleviated a touch by the look of longing on your face when he tilts your chin up.

“I need you to promise me something.” Your somber tone chills him.

“Ok…”

“Look out for yourself, watch your back. Don’t trust anyone, even S.H.I.E.L.D. to protect you…”

“Y/N… I’ve got good people, you don’t have to-”

“Promise me, Steve. Even good people can be bought.”

“They couldn’t buy you,” he traces the curve of your brow down to your soft, rose-colored lips.

That smirk again, “I’m not good people.”

“Yes, you are.” Pulling you to him he kisses you, hard this time, hungry. A few steps back and he has you pinned against the wall, he can feel your heart thundering in your chest.

“You could stay and have my back,” his lips graze the tender flesh under your ear.

“I can’t,” your voice is thick with emotion. When he looks at you tears shimmer in your eyes, threatening to fall.

“Please…” A trembling hand cups his face, “Please, promise me you’ll be smart… don’t-” Your voice cracks but you fight to keep your composure. “Don’t run toward death…”

He’s not certain it’s a promise he can keep but… “I promise, Y/N.” One tear escapes the corner of your eye, he thumbs it away. “But you have to promise the same.”

A bitter laugh pops out, “I’m not the one to worry about here but… yeah. I promise.”

He kisses you again, wanting to hold on to the way it makes his chest burn, the movement of your lips on his the… Feeling of being alive, not just angry, for the first time in a long time.

The two of you say nothing else, each seemingly not trusting what may come from your mouth, as you change. He sits on the edge of the bed, watching you, dreading the moment he has to let you go.

“You should definitely get that looked at,” you gesture to the bandage.

“What? Don’t trust your tabletop nursing skills?”

“Absolutely not.”

He slowly stands, “I will.”

Without prompting, you wrap your arms around him, taking care to avoid his injury, and tuck your face in his neck. The two of you stand like that for a while.

There are so many things he wants to say but he doesn’t. He just contents himself with burying his nose in your hair, allowing the warm intimacy of the moment to wash over him.

A heavy sigh tickles over his skin and he knows it’s time to let go.

At the door you turn back to him, eyes glassy once more. “Remember, don’t trust anyone… not with everything.”

“I got it.” One final time his lips press to yours, slow and longing.

Your forehead rests against his, your eyes speaking volumes, as you whisper, “I’ll miss you, Steve Rogers.”

Those three words hit him harder than that bullet had. His mouth hangs slack just a touch.

You smile, “Gonna catch a fly.” Playfully you lift up his chin. “Be safe.”

“You too, Y/N.”

One more kiss… and again… you’re gone.

-

True to form. Steve Rogers surprises you. This time by wheedling his way into your heart and mind so deep you cannot fucking shake him.

To protect you both you don’t call or text, the risk too high. You do, however, send him a letter. There’s no return address and no long written missives. The papers contain numbers, coordinates for a house in Buffalo New York and two words. Love, Zelda With a red lip print over them.

You don’t expect him to come here. All you wanted was for him to know you were safe and that if he needed a place to go he had it.

A few jobs came and went. Winter faded into spring. You began to wonder if maybe you could meet up now if things had quieted enough. Because despite trying desperately to convince yourself otherwise… you desperately missed him.

Then all hell broke loose.

Glued in front of your TV you watch in horror as S.H.I.E.L.D., quite literally falls. You’re blowing up with information from all your contacts. Inbox, dark web forums, everything.

Hours pass that feel like days… No one had reported on Steve’s condition, just that Captain America had been spotted in the fight. A curious numb sensation creeps over you at the thought that he may be gone.

Finally, someone comes through. This time it’s not your usual sources but an old military friend. Rogers was in his hospital, injured but not at risk of death, and no, he wasn’t alone. Someone, a male friend, was with him. Had been the whole time. You nearly sob from relief.

As media attention on the fiasco rises you know there’s no way for you to get close without being spotted. The last thing he needs is to be seen with someone like you. So you allow yourself to be thankful that he’s still here, letting that be enough.

Several weeks later you pass out hard after a long, trying day.

The Hydra files Romanoff released had rocked your world. Nearly everyone you knew had been pinged by those bastards at some point. Including you. This meant everyone was reevaluating their loyalties, cutting ties, and more than a few had already been put down… The fear and paranoia were real and exhausting.  

When a sound from your kitchen hits your ears in the middle of the night you shoot up. Hand already wrapped around the pistol under your pillow. Apparently, this was the day.

Not bothering with formalities like pants, you quietly creep to your cracked bedroom door and nudge it open just enough. Without a sound you stalk down the short hall, breath bated.

All you can see in the dim light is the intruder’s back. Wide, shoulders move as they finish a bottle of whiskey and set it down, not even trying to be quiet. A car passes and illuminates familiar golden hair. Steve…

You lower your gun, “Wanna tell me what you’re doing in my kitchen at three in the morning?”

He turns slowly, the shadows making his features almost sinister. “Did you know?” Voice barely above a whisper.

“Know what?” You set the gun on a side table and move to stand on the opposite side of the kitchen island. “About S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

Almost too fast for your eyes to follow, he rounds the counter, grabbing your shoulders and pinning you hard against the wall. Your breath is heavy from a mix of fear and maybe a touch of excitement.  

“Fuck S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Ok,” your voice breathy as you try to regain composure. “Well for what it’s worth, no, I suspected S.H.I.E.L.D. but I didn’t have anything concrete. Hydra…” Your eyes dart away, “That I did know about…”

“No,” his fingers dig into your upper arms, his breath scented with whiskey. “The Winter Soldier,” he spits the title out, “did you know who he was?!”

You look back to him, brows knit. “Uh… until a few weeks ago I thought he was the bogeyman of criminals… so… no. Should I know him?”

Some of the rage seeps from Steve’s features, “Steve?” You place your hand against his unshaven cheek.

In an instant, his mouth covers yours, warm and whiskey flavored. You almost groan in satisfaction. His massive form presses into you and you savor the sensation.

He runs his hands down your sides as your arms curl around his neck. When he slips his hand in the front of your boy shorts you make a small sound, you already know what he’ll find.

When he feels your moisture, those strong fingers sliding just over your damp folds a grin fills his face but he doesn’t make a move.

“Please,” you echo his request from months before.

That's all it takes. His lips crash against yours, teeth knocking slightly, and two of his fingers slip in, stretching you open. You moan into his mouth, hips bucking, your body hungry for him.

Wanting to touch him your hands move under his shirt, holding his sides as he works your cunt. When his fingers curl up just enough your nails dig into his skin. You feel the tension gather in your abdomen. Wordlessly you beg him not to stop.

“Steve…” Your breath hitches.

His thumb rolls lightly over your clit. Your head would have thudded against the wall had he not cupped it, forcing your gaze to stay on him. His blue eyes burn into you, he picks up the pace, thumb making steady circles over your throbbing clit.

“Fuck… fuck…”

“Come for me,” he growls.

You do. In earth-shattering fashion. Crying out, electricity pulses through your body, your legs tremble, your knees give way. He pulls his hand out of your underwear and catches you, holding your trembling body close.

This lasts only until you feel the length of him move through his denim. That was incredible but you want all of him.

Your unsteady hands reach for his belt. Fingers, that can’t quite obey orders yet try to convince the offending garment to give up its prize. His hands grasp yours, stopping their work.

He kisses you, the distraction enough that you don’t resist him as he spins you toward the island. Strong hands turn you, pressing your back to his chest.

Lips trail down your neck, goosebumps cover your skin. He catches the hem of your tee and pulls it over your head. Not trusting your legs to hold you, your hands brace against the counter and his teeth bite at the soft flesh where your neck and shoulders meet.

“Steve,” you breathe out.

The tinkling of his belt buckle hits your ears and fuck, a zipper going down had never sounded so promising.

His hand wraps lightly around your throat, tilting your head back just under his chin. “How do you want it?” His voice burning velvet.

Your eyes flit to his, “Give me everything. Don’t hold back.” Lust sparks in his eyes and he kisses you breathless.

Moving your underwear to the side with one hand and pressing your chest to the counter with the other he slams the full length of his cock into you. You gasp raggedly, body pressing back to him. This is the best kind of hurt.

Steel fingers dig into your hips holding you steady as he fucks you so hard you forget anything else. Your moans and cries mingle with his low sounds. Everything is this.

His hands release you but he doesn’t stop fucking you. Vaguely, you’re aware of something falling to your side. When he grabs a fistful of your hair pulling you up against him you realize it was his shirt, his burning flesh pressed to your own.

The other hand dips into your sopping boy shorts and effortlessly locates your clit once more, his cock throbbing inside you.

“Look at me,” he says in a gravel tone. You do as he asks and a whimper slips from you, his fingers and cock driving you mad. “You like that, baby?”

Words are lost. He fills your parted lips with a kiss and you fill his mouth with your cries of pleasure as you come once more.

You can hardly breathe now, much less stand. With a self-satisfied smirk on his lips, he lifts you into his arms. Your hungry mouth kisses and nibbles the salty skin of his neck as he carries you back to your room.

Tossing you on the bed he slips out of his jeans and you free yourself of your underwear. For a moment he just stares at you, on your back in the dim space, legs spread, waiting for him to take you.

Moving with the fluidity of a big cat he hovers over you. Your hands trail over the solid muscles of his back, fascinated at the power housed in this body.

This time he enters you slowly. Your legs wrap around him and a low rumble vibrates through his chest.

“Y/N,” he hums next to your ear.

You grab his face, bringing it up so you can see him. His breath is ragged. Intentionally you tighten your walls against him his lids flutter and a soft moan falls from his lips.

His pace quickens and your body responds, hips rising to meet him, demanding evermore.

“Fuck,” he breathes out grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head with one hand. The other lifts your head to more easily kiss you.

“C-can I,” he stutters between kisses.

“Yes,” your legs tighten around him, “god yes.”

He roars, your back arches up, moan raw tearing from some hidden place in you. Then there’s nothing but the soft sounds of your panting breaths.

Steve’s body shakes, the weight of it on you strangely comforting. When he looks at you all the rage and fire are gone, replaced with a mournful sadness. The past few weeks had been hard on you… they had to be hell on earth for him.

Tenderly you kiss him. “Stay here.”

His brows knit, “You sure…? I… I… don’t…”

“Hush,” your fingers try to coax the lines of his forehead into relaxing. “I want you to stay.”

You’re thankful he doesn’t protest more. In fact, he doesn’t say much of anything. He does let you hold him. At times you think he may be crying but his cheeks are dry despite his labored breathing.

You’re drifting off, for now resting your head on his chest, when he asks, “Do you like your bed?”

“Huh?” You aren’t sure your groggy brain understood.

“Your bed. Do you… like it?”

You consider for a minute. “It’s ok. Kinda soft.” Honestly, you could never find the right firmness.

He laughs a little, “Apparently it’s a complaint a lot of Vets have. Bed’s being too soft.”

Leaning up on an elbow you look down at him, “Ya know… You’re right. Friend’s of mine complained about that too. Sometimes…” You shake your head a bit at yourself, “Sometimes I even sleep on the floor if I can’t fall asleep in my bed.”

Steve softly caresses the side of your face, a weak smile on his lips, “Me too.”

“Do you want to?” Hopping off the bed you pull the comforter off, not giving him time to answer. “Grab the pillows. No need to deny ourselves that small comfort.”

“We don’t… I wasn’t…”

You’re already laying the comforter on the ground. “I want to. Now come on.”

He brings the pillows over and arranges them while you grab another blanket for you both to cover up with. Quickly the two of you settle down.

After a while, Steve whispers into your hair, “Thank you.”

“You don’t have anything to thank me for, Rogers.”

“Yeah, I do.” You look up at him, his eyes glassy in the dim light. “You saw all of me… the darkest parts… from the beginning and you didn’t run away.”

“Technically…” You tease.

“Shut up,” he smiles but a tear finally works it’s way free. You brush it away.

“You’re not alone, Steve. We all have our dark sides. I’m right there with you.”

He nods, chewing on his bottom lip. 

Now the tears come. Silent at first and he doesn’t let you brush them away or offer him comfort of any kind. He just hides his face, one knee pulled up. When the sobs start you don’t let him push you away.

You can’t fathom the depth of his grief. Everything and everyone he lost… now he had the one thing that gave him stability ripped from under his feet… You don’t have to truly understand it to anchor him though.

Captain America may look out for everyone else. He may be the beacon and hero the country, hell the world, needs right now… But you, you would look out for Steve Rogers. No matter what.

@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @buckysstar @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @siriuslycloudy2

[leviathan-open-ur-eyes]

Memory 001

Avery is five years old and she has just been left behind at a strange place. Her father walked her up to the door but didn't stay. He was crying. She doesn't know why. Her mother was in the car too busy applying the red lipstick she adored more than anything. She didn't even say goodbye. Her father kissed her head, hugged her and said good bye. Their car is gone now and there is no answer from the door. Avery knocks again like her father told her. Moments later a woman opens the door. She looks tired. She smiles down at Avery and says, "Ah, I've been expecting you child. Come in come in." And Avery does.

Memory 014

Avery now knows her parents are not returning for her. It's been eight months and she asks Oba constantly where they are. Oba doesn't say much about the topic. Oba is a good friend of her father's. He sees her as family and so does Avery. She is Auntie Oba. And she takes care of her. Avery is home schooled, she is taught many subjects by Oba but music and art are her favorite. Oba is a college professor and an online professor for foreign students. She teaches English, Literature, and a Creative writing course at the university. Avery attends those courses some nights and only one class catches her eye.... the one on one music class.

Memory 035

Avery is now 17 and Oba wants to introduce her to the music professor. Oba sees potential in Avery and she wants to show her colleague. The man is in his mid 40s now and he is a stern man. He watches Avery perform, eyes on her like a hawk. When she is done Oba asks what he thought of her. He scratches his beard and nods. A twinkle in Oba's eyes, he likes what he hears. Tells her and Oba that she has talent, with his teaching and guidance he can make her a star. They practice every Wednesday.

Oba had enrolled her in high school. Avery has many friends there. But something happened. She had gotten into a fight. And the pain felt good. It satisfied an urge she always had deep down inside her. An urge for punishment. She had obliviously been bad why else would her parents leave her. Never calling or writing. No birthday cards. No Christmas gifts. Only a check for Oba to help take care of her. And she does. Avery feels guilty for loving the pain. Her life isnt bad. But the need to be punished is greater than the happiness she feels in small amounts. Thinking about the things she has done to herself she knows deep down she would disappoint Oba and she cant do that. Not after everything she has done for her. She cant be selfish no she wouldn't be.

Memory 039

Avery has gotten into another fight. With the school's star quarterback. He was quick on his feet and offered to do detention with her by cleaning the bathrooms and gym. In return he would bring home the trophy the principal has always wanted. Smooth talker Liam was. He took avery down a dangerous road. One she would keep from her Oba and professor. Her parents no longer send money and Oba has been working less and less. She is sick some days and cannot get out of bed. Her trash is filled with bloodstained tissues. And Avery fears the worse. Liam says the club pays well for the winner. He won 200$ the other night. Avery cant pass it up. Tonight they meet at midnight.

Memory 042

Its been 3 weeks and Avery has a broken nose. She doesn't explain to Oba why and Oba hopes she isnt getting into fights at school. Avery assures her she isnt and its left at that. Some night Avery can hear Oba crying. She's scared. She prays to god to help her. To help her for the sake of Avery. Because Avery is troubled and is always in fights. She is lost and god is her guiding light. She hears her cry and tells god she isnt strong enough. With a broken heart Avery heads to fight club. Tonight she will win. She will pay for Oba to get better. And then... she'll never fight again.

Memory 045

Avery won. 12k is hers. She arrives home in the morning. When she opens the door Oba is there in the living room. She doesn't look mad or disappointed. She offers the couch to her. Avery sits. Her back hurts, her nose hasn't stopped bleeding, she has cuts and a bite mark somewhere. Oba's eyes are filled with tears. Avery doesn't know where to begin. Where should she start? She doesn't have to Oba opens a rag and lays it on the coffee table. Dread. Oba has found her box cutter and the bloodied rag it was wrapped in. She doesn't want to look at Oba. But oba opens her mouth, avery prepares for a scolding but instead Oba wraps her arms around her. Holds her tightly and whispers "it's ok baby I got you. I got you. Mama's here angel. She's here." And Avery breaks down and cries with Oba.

Memory 050

Oba is in the hospital. She has stage 3 lung cancer and there is nothing she can do to stop it. Time is racing and Avery is afraid of losing the only person who truly loved her. There are days she cant see Oba and it scares her. Her studies are lagging but her professor understands and offers to continue mentoring Avery when she graduates. He had offered her a scholarship. Full ride to the university. She accepts it. There's a month left before she does graduate. But shes scared she won't make it.

Graduation day and Avery looks to the crowd, a sea of faces she doesn't recognize. She feels alone. But her friends are with her. The ceremony goes on for what feels like forever and when it's over the caps are tossed into the air and the stadium is filled with joy and happiness. And then just like that avery's world had ended. Oba is no longer here.

Memory 055

It's been a year and Avery doesnt feel happy anymore. She doesnt feel much at all. She lives with Marceline, Elias, Toby, Dlyan, Cynder, and Sloth in a large home Marcelines father bought for them. She goes to and from college. Works at the 24 hr diner for night shifts. She has also brought home an opossum and everyone loves him. Shes named him clementine and he means the world to her. But lately music no longer means what it use to. But her professor takes her to the dance hall and tells her she will perform songs for the dancers to perform to. And she sees her... an angel on earth. If shes ever seen one. Her bouncy blue hair, green eyes and beautiful figure. Her name is Bonnie and she knows the gang. Avery is tongue tied when she speaks to her. After the class bonnie takes her to dinner. After that bonnie and Avery spend the night together. And once again Avery is happy.

Memory 057

Avery has dropped out of college. And her professor understands her reasoning. He gifts her his violin. He will always be around if she wishes to come back. She hugs him and they part ways. She was never going to perform for her mother. She could never.

It's been almost 5 months since bonnie and her started dating. Her diner job helps keep her busy. But the urge to go and fight comes back. The sign is there when Liam comes to her diner and they catch up. They've raised the money and steaks. It interests her and Liam knows it. He picks her up at midnight and shes back down the rabbit hole... only this time there is no wonderland.

Memory 059

Coming up in 2nd means she has lost. But she has gotten a lot of money. This time almost 15k. This can help with rent and such. When she gets home she showers and breaks down. She cries and feels so alone. And her skin itches. Begs for the blade. And she listens...

Her day off means doing nothing. But today something is different. She goes to the campus and meets bonnie. But someone's with her. A boy her age, shaggy black hair, tall, looks like a punk rocker. Bonnie introduces him to Avery, her girlfriend, avery sees something change in him but he shakes it off and says his name is ben.

Ben comes around when bonnie does. But when she spends time alone with Avery he leaves. But hes always there and avery doesnt like it. She takes bonnie to the diner and they talk. Bonnie agrees it's a bit obsessive but she waves it off saying hes awkward and he doesnt have many friends. Hes trying for the main role of the prince in swan lake. Bonnie will be the black swan. And Avery loves watching her practice. Swan lake is her favorite because bonnie is always the star no matter what she plays. But this year Avery cant take her eyes off Ben...

Memory 061

Ben has backed off. But only because Avery threatened him. They got into it once the ballet was done, after he kissed bonnie during the bows. The look on Bonnie's face. She was scared and nervous. Not only was the kiss unwelcomed what happened next was what really made Avery go insane. Ben pulled a ring out, got down on one knee and loudly asked in front of the theater for Bonnie's hand in marriage. Bonnie had ran away crying. And Avery snapped. Back stage in his dressing room she cornered him and told him to apologize and back the hell off. He only grinned and sneered at her. She didn't like that. But for his sake she didn't hit him. If she did he wouldn't be alive. She wouldnt be able to stop.

In the summer bonnie and her grew closer and ben stopped showing up. The incident behind them now they look forward to the future. Bonnie is moving to New York and Avery is coming with. They move this fall. And Avery has most of her stuff packed. They're laying in the backyard under the setting sky. Ben appears and says hes going to meet the group he can drive them. Avery knows something's wrong but bonnie has agreed already and they're now in the back of his car heading towards Mariah Falls.

Memory 062

It's all a blur. The walk, the gun, the fight.... bonnie.... where is bonnie? Oh right...bonnie is dead. And now she has ben. Injured, broken, lying on the forest floor under the trees and stars. She looms over him and smiles. Revenge is a best dish served now...

For weeks she tortures him. Makes him pay. But hes losing blood. But she cant go back. She'll get arrested he's already told her that. Promises she'll rot in jail. That is until she shows him what shes recorded. Him killing bonnie. They'll probably consider it as self defense because he also attacked her. If she goes back he isnt coming with.

Ben no longer talks, and she is starving. He is dead. And she does what she has to do to survive. She no longer knows the time or day or month. During a thunderstorm a fog rolls in... The fog is thick. She hears singing. Is it bonnie? She heads towards it. But all she sees is a campfire and woods. No bonnie. No ben. Just warmth... and a new start.

[camillemontespan]

a kingdom divided [part twenty five: crossfire]

Part Twenty Four here if you want to catch up.

This chapter is shorter than the rest, but I think I’ve written all I need to for this part. I’ve taken a slightly different approach for the POVs (you’ll see what I mean).

@jovialyouthmusic @pug-bitch @sirbeepsalot @moonlightgem7 @notoriouscs @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @iplaydrake @be-still-my-aching-heart @carabeth

***************************************************************************************

Camille woke up to the morning sun filtering in through the white curtains. Rolling over, she found herself looking at Drake.

He was still asleep. Camille smiled with relief. Let him sleep. She was just glad he was home safe. Her eyes explored him; the way his chest rose and fell as he breathed softly, his arms which were corded with muscle, his big hands which held onto the pillow. Camille snuggled into him, inhaling him. Was that creepy? She didn’t think so; she had nearly lost him last night. 

‘You’re sniffing me again.’

Camille jumped at the sound of his voice. ‘You’re awake!’

‘Yeah, I woke up from the sound of you sniffing me,’ he mumbled. He stretched out and opened his eyes slowly. His face softened when he saw her looking at him. ‘Hey beautiful,’ he whispered.

She leaned closer and kissed him gently. ‘I’m so glad you’re home safe.’

Drake blinked. ‘Oh god. That wasn’t a nightmare, was it? Escaping the palace actually happened?’

Camille nodded. Drake sat up and ran a hand over his face. His contentment was now replaced with worry. ‘I really hoped I had dreamt it all.. fuck. Fuck.’

Camille sat up with him and took his hands. ‘Drake, it’s going to be okay.’

Drake bit his lip. ‘Camille... you saw the news with the riots. Everyone has gone crazy. Liam and Leo locked themselves in the study. I was threatened at gun point. I honestly struggle to see how it’s going to be okay.’

******************************************************************************************

The palace was destroyed inside. Windows were smashed, curtains ripped down, blood covered the white marble. The bodies of servants and nobles were taken away in the early hours of the morning. 

Liam stood in the ballroom. The large ornate chandelier had somehow been pulled down from its place and now lay in the centre of the room, shattered. The crystals had scattered across the floor and Liam saw his reflection in one of the crystal shards; he looked devastated. 

Leo was slumped down on a chair with his head in his hands. He had a cut lip and bruises on his cheeks after being involved in an altercation with a servant. The servant had tried to attack him with a knife; Leo had acted on instinct and shot a bullet through the servant’s chest. The act itself had horrified Leo to his core. 

Neville had been with the two brothers but they had told him to go his own way; they didn’t want him to be seen helping them. If he was,  they were sure he would have been executed outside for betraying his fellow nobles. As a result, Neville had gone to fight alone.

‘Liam..’ Leo whispered. ‘What are you going to do?’

Liam slowly walked a circuit around the ballroom, taking in the broken fixtures and bloodstained walls. ‘I’m going to be the King.’

*******************************************************************************************

Maxwell had jumped on Drake when he saw him come downstairs. ‘Drake! You’re safe!’ he had screamed. Hana came running through in her pyjamas, hearing the commotion. Tears had filled her eyes and she grabbed Drake into a bear hug, holding onto him tightly. 

‘I knew you would be okay!’ she said, wiping away her tears. Drake chuckled. ‘Thanks Hana. Thanks Maxwell.’

‘I think a hero’s breakfast is needed for you!’ Bertrand called out as he entered the living area. He and Drake hugged, Bertrand clapping him on the back. ‘I knew you wouldn’t leave Camille,’ he said quietly. Drake nodded, not wanting to think about what could have happened if he hadn’t made it home. 

‘Morning everyone.’

They all looked up to see Camille descending the staircase wearing one of Drake’s shirts. Hana rushed forward and gave her a tight hug. Camille squeezed her back and her eyes met Drakes. She padded her way towards him and wrapped her arms around him. He placed a kiss on top of her head, relieved that this was his reality. 

Bertrand turned on the news to see the updates from the palace. 

‘The King has issued an order that every noble in Cordonia, along with every servant, attend the palace today at 1pm for a conference. Citizens are advised to stay at home but to watch the news channels which will be broadcasting the palace. After the uprising yesterday, the king wants to issue a statement; attending this conference is compulsory.’ 

The group watched with bated breath. When the newsreader began to repeat herself, Drake broke the silence. ‘To the palace today, then.’ 

Dread filled each of their hearts. ‘For Liam,’ Camille said after a silence. ‘We have to be there for Liam.’

*****************************************************************************************

The servants in the manor bustled around, getting themselves ready. Magda, the head maid, made sure that she had picked out her best, pressed uniform. She was a proper servant, she felt; not a traitor to the crown. Magda’s family had served past Duke and Duchesses of Valtoria for generations and she was not going to ruin that now. She really liked Drake and Camille; they were the first nobles to actually ask her to call them by their first names and they always made a point of asking how Magda’s day had been going. That, to her, was the mark of a true Duke and Duchess. 

She had watched them try their hardest to be the best Duke and Duchess they could be. She knew that the title wasn’t what they wanted and that they just wanted to be a normal couple, but Magda felt that they had done well with it. 

The servants in the manor were really excited for the baby. The household was small so it felt like the child would be theirs too; Magda, Sarah, Toby and Hector liked to read the baby name post its that were stuck up all over the kitchen and bet on which name would be the winner. 

‘Do you think the king will heal the kingdom?’ Sarah asked quietly as she brushed her hair. Magda nodded briskly. ‘Of course he will. He is the King. He has to.’ 

Sarah smiled weakly. Since Liam had released her from being a spy for him, she had felt much more at peace working in Valtoria. The job paid well enough that she could send money home to her mom and still have enough left over for things like clothes and even drinks with her friends.  She still idolised Camille; even more so now that she could see the Duchess. 

Sarah had been disappointed when she had first arrived and found that Drake and Camille had gone to Texas, but she understood why. She didn’t blame them for wanting to leave. But they were back now, very briefly, but still; Sarah got to see the Duke and Duchess up close.

Sarah followed Magda downstairs to wait by the front door. The chauffeured cars were waiting outside for Drake and Camille. Sarah giggled when the Duke of Ramsford passed her and tilted his top hat at her in greeting.  He was dressed very.. eccentrically today. He had a pocket watch for Gods sake. 

The other servants lined up beside Magda and Sarah. ‘So, are we wearing our bullet proof vests?’ Toby said wryly. Magda elbowed him and Toby let out an ‘oof!’ Sarah sniggered. 

They bowed their heads when Drake and Camille entered the foyer. Drake was wearing a dark grey suit and tie. Sarah blushed when she saw him; the Duke always looked handsome and rugged, even when he was in a suit. 

Camille was wearing a brocade dress embroidered with gold and her hair was pulled up in her signature chignon. She placed a hand over her baby bump and the servants heard her whisper to Drake, ‘Baby Girl’s kicking again..’

‘20 euro they just call it Baby Girl,’ Toby said dryly.  Magda shushed him. ‘I’ll take up that bet!’ Hector joined in. The two men shook on it and Magda groaned. ‘You both are the bane of my existence.’

‘You love us really, Mags!’ Toby grinned. He shot Sarah a wink and she blushed from the gesture. 

‘Right, let’s go people!’ Hector announced. They made their way down to the car and clambered inside, following the Duke and Duchess. The cars left the manor and drove towards the palace where the bodies of their servant counterparts had been taken away just six hours earlier.

*****************************************************************************************

There was a stage set up in front of the steps to the palace. Out of respect for the dead, the Cordonian flag was at full mast and it waved gently in the breeze. The palace security team were assembled and were indicating where nobles and servants were to go. 

They were split down the side; nobles on the left, servants on the right. The security team stood in the middle of them, working as a barrier. 

Drake took Camille’s hand, squeezing it, and guided her to the noble side. ‘Drake, I’m nervous..’ she whispered. 

‘I know, honey. Me too.’

She looked up at him, her eyes wide, and Drake wished he could just take her back to Texas. He swore that once they were back in Texas, they weren’t leaving until this had died down completely.

Hana, Maxwell and Bertrand stood beside Drake. Bertrand saw Camille and gently moved so he could be beside her, so she was now in between him and her husband. ‘You’re doing really well, Camille,’ he told her quietly. Camille looked at him and smiled sadly. ‘So are you.’

The crowd quietened down when they saw the King enter the stage and face the microphone. Camera crews were stationed in front, filming his every action. Behind him, Leo stood, his back ram rod straight, looking out into the crowd. 

The King cleared his throat.

‘Cordonia,’ he began.

‘In the early hours of this morning, the bodies of 30 servants were taken away to the morgue. 50 bodies of nobles followed.’

Silence. 

‘I spent last night holding a gun, hiding and running through the palace. My brother did the same. I spent last night hearing servants screaming, nobles screaming. I spent last night hearing gun shots and breaking glass. For the rest of my life, I will hear those noises in my sleep.’

He looked down at the stand and then back to the crowd.

‘I am sorry. I have tried so hard to not follow in my father’s footsteps that I ended up pushing this kingdom to its breaking point. No, scratch that; my kingdom is broken. I have broken it. I placed my allies in the highest offices and gave them the most noble of titles. I left everyone else in the dust, fighting for scraps. For that, I am sorry. I am so very sorry.’

*******************************************************************************************

The servants listened in rapture, their mouths agape. The King was apologising. He was not acting like his father would have done; everyone had been expecting Liam to drag the rebels out in front of this crowd and execute them right there. 

Sarah was glad that he wasn’t doing that. 

They listened as the King continued. 

‘Cordonia has become Hell on earth. Servants shot their colleagues. Nobles shot their friends. Nobles shot their servants. I did not want this destruction. I did not want this horror. I did not want this rampage to tear apart my kingdom. I saw a kitchen boy shoot a maid in the chest,’ he spat. 

The crowd murmured in shock. Sarah let out a gasp and Toby took her hand, squeezing it gently. 

‘I saw complete and utter horror last night and it will haunt me forever. Hear me now; I will fight until the end. If that end involves me losing the crown, so be it. But I refuse to sit back and watch my people be murdered again. I refuse to watch Hell be unleashed in my kingdom for the second time.  Listen to me; I do not have to be absolute. At this point now, I don’t care about having full power. You could argue I have too much of it.  But I want to fight for my kingdom and make sure that no citizen, be they a servant or a noble, be under threat again. You can raise up and join me, unite with me and we can restore Cordonia to its former glory. We can heal this wound and work together, as we should have been doing before. Or we can continue to rip each other to shreds until even houses are divided; brothers against brothers; generations against generations.  It is your choice. I am not going to decide for you.’ 

The King looked back at his brother and Leo nodded, his face serious. The king turned back to the crowd. ‘For Cordonia.’ 

‘For Cordonia!’ someone screamed. 

The King stepped back in surprise.

‘Cordonia!’

People began to cheer the King and he looked relieved; Sarah saw that a smile passed his features. What he thought had been a rebel cry had actually been a cry of support. He hadn’t been expecting anyone to agree with him, clearly. 

‘Cordonia! Cordonia! Cordonia!’

Everyone was cheering. Magda and Toby joined in, waving at the King. The King nodded gracefully. ‘Thank you.’

‘Republic!’ 

The crowd’s cheering died down. The servants next to Sarah looked around, trying to find the rebel. 

‘Republic!’

Another one. 

Dread filled Sarah’s heart as the chanting for a Republic increased. ‘Toby, what’s going on?’

‘It’s okay, Sarah, just some traitors, they’ll be taken away-’

‘Republic!’

Sarah saw Camille look around, her face set with anguish. Her heart tugged for the Duchess. Camille said something to Drake, who wrapped his arm around her and was starting to lead her away. The Duke of Ramsford followed, including his brother and Hana Lee, who Sarah also idolised. 

‘Republic! Republic! Republic!’

The King looked defeated now, all past relief faded. Sarah felt Toby’s arms go around her, keeping her protected. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ he said. 

The crowd was beginning to break out of its sections. The security team in the middle were in action now, moving to keep the crowd at bay. One servant pushed a guard. ‘Stop keeping us penned in like animals!’ he shouted.

Everyone began to push against the armed guards who were trying their best to keep them contained. 

‘Let us go!’

‘Republic!’

The armed guards were pushed back and some nobles broke free. ‘Republic!’ one noble screamed, his eyes wild. 

Sarah could feel everyone pushing and shoving; in the middle of it all, she lost her grip on Toby’s hand and she was lost at sea. Around her, people screamed and shouted. Panicking, Sarah tried to find the exit. She was quite short; she couldn’t see above many people. Twisting and turning, she managed to get away from her spot but she couldn’t find Toby or Magda or Hector. She couldn’t find her friends.

‘Toby!’ she called out. ‘Toby!’ 

‘Republic! Republic!’ their cries drowned her out. She was jostled up against more people and pushed from behind. The crowd had broken out of their sections and the guards were now ordering each other to take positions. 

‘Toby!’ Sarah screamed, her voice going hoarse. 

She bumped into a nobleman and a guard who were fighting. ‘We want a republic!’ the nobleman shouted at the guard. 

‘Fuck off to France then!’ the guard shouted back. 

The nobleman  suddenly pulled a gun out of his jacket and pulled the trigger. The guard jumped out of the way, leaving Sarah out in the open.

She felt pain rip through her chest, searing pain. Her vision went white and everyone around her blurred. 

‘Sarah? Sarah!’

It was Toby. He had found her. Sarah let out a low moan and fell to her knees; Toby was beside her now and he scooped her up against him, his hand placed over her chest, trying to contain the blood that was now pouring out of her. 

‘Oh god, oh god..’ he whispered, his face white. ‘We need an ambulance!’ he screamed. 

There was now complete silence.  The pushing had stopped, broken by the sound of the gun shot. The only gun that had sounded was the one that had pierced its bullet into Sarah’s chest. 

‘Someone’s been shot!’ a noble shouted. 

‘It’s a servant girl!’ 

‘Someone call a fucking ambulance!’ Toby screamed out, tears falling from his eyes. Sarah saw through her blurred vision that Magda had found them.

‘Oh god, Sarah!’ she screamed.

Sarah could hear the crowd muttering. She heard someone say that an ambulance had been called. She heard Magda cry that Sarah was only seventeen. 

‘Sarah, please..’ Toby whispered, holding her close. His heart hammered against his chest, against her weakening one.

*******************************************************************************************

Drake, Camille, Bertrand, Maxwell and Hana sat on the sofa, staring at the TV. They had gotten back to Valtora quickly after the shouting had begun; Drake wasn’t taking any chances. As soon as he had heard the beginnings of a revolt, he had taken Camille’s hand and lead her away. 

They watched the news which was showing the ambulance outside the palace. ‘A servant for the Duke and Duchess of Valtoria has been killed. We cannot disclose her name for legal reasons but we can reveal that she is seventeen years old and is the only victim of the sudden riot at the palace which broke out after the king’s speech. She worked for the Duke and Duchess of Valtoria.  Her family has been notified.’

The group sat in silence as they watched the news story unfold. There was nothing they could say to make this right. 

[grotesquegabby]

Angel

so some Mafia au in which Billy gives his offer to Maggie

Ama makes another appearance

and everyone has to play princesses at some point.

everyone...

@post-itpenny cause Maggie

Maggie was out of the hospital and had received a letter from Blueblood while she was there. A letter offering her a job seeing as she technically didn’t have one after Peregrine so rudely dropped her like a bad egg.

An address was written on the bottom of the letter. In case she wished to talk. Personally a part of her wanted to say no, as she still held a lot of loyalty to the Blackwoods and of course Magpie. Her sole reason for working for them.

Once the car stopped she heaved a sigh and got out of the car, and almost choked. Before her was a giant iron gate two guards stood outside and inside of it. Beyond it was a large Victorian styled Manor. Of course it was a manor. She could already feel herself growing irritated. The bastard was probably going to show off to her once she was inside. Maybe this was a bad idea, but she still felt herself being pulled toward it. Maggie hesitantly walked up to the gate and was stopped by one of the guards, “Can we help you miss?”

“Um...I’m here for...” She held up the letter and the guard took it from her rather rudely. She huffed, “Wow...rude much.” He held up his hand to stop her there, “I see...” He handed back the letter, “Apologies miss, can’t be too careful these days.” He leaned into a microphone in his suit pocket and muttered something incoherent. The gates opened slowly and Maggie took a step forward. Walking in she could see all the security about the place, and whistled, “woo~ would you look at that.” A guard from the inside of the gate pretty much stayed by her side the entire time. The front door opened to reveal someone she knew well. Always by Billy’s side. “Pierre” the guard from the gate said. Pierre just nodded, “you can go now. Blueblood has a lot to discuss with Miss Brine.” He stared down at her and she looked back at him. She would not let this tall french body guard intimidate her, so she glared as best she could. He was unfazed and raised a brow, “Are you coming in or not.”

She grumbled and walked past him as he moved out the way. The door shutting behind them. “Mr. Blueblood will see you in a moment” Pierre stated motioning for her to sit on one of the lounges in the lobby waiting area. Next to some double doors is what only Maggie could describe as the office area or one of many in the manor. As a secretary and desk were placed near it. She was doing her nails and hadn’t looked up at either of them. Maggie looked at Pierre and put her hands on her hips, “Excuse me? I have to wait..he called me here.” “He’s in a meeting right now.” Pierre said bluntly Maggie started, “Oh yeah? Is he now well I think..”

A gunshot interrupted her. She jumped a bit at the sudden sound. Some shouting was heard in what could be understood as Italian before a lot of breaking sounds came. Then lastly...a thud. Soon enough doors opened and two men drug out a body rather quickly. Billy came out with a gun in his hand, a silencer on it, “Should have put that on before I did the first shot.” He sighed annoyed and looked up. Maggie and Pierre standing a ways away. He smiled, and handed off the gun to another security guard, “Maggie, come in come in, and please pay no mind to the mess. You know how things are sometimes.” He said as if he didn’t just shoot someone dead a minute ago. Maggie was feeling even more hesitant. “I don’t trust you.” She said outright. Billy came to a halt, “Well dear Maggie I don’t trust you either yet here we are. Please come in and as I said....don’t mind...the mess~”  He walked into the office the sound of glass crunching under his heels. Maggie started to follow as Pierre pushed up behind her. She grumbled and walked in. Maids were cleaning up the room. There was blood staining the carpet but they were making quick work of it.

Billy motioned towards a very nice looking armchair and for a moment Maggie wondered if the man who she saw had sat in it. No bloodstains said otherwise.

Maggie took a reluctant seat holding his letter in hand. “I see you got it.” “Why?” She asked glaring slightly. He shrugged with a grin, “Oooh Maggie dear, you mustn’t forget you despite how risky this is for me you are quite the asset.” “Was that a compliment? Risky? I feel there was a compliment somewhere in there...” She said staring at him a little surprised but still on her guard. “Maggie, how much was Blackwood or whoever paying you?” He asked rather seriously. Maggie frowned, “I got paid for every job I did. Some more than others.” “Was it a lot?” his tone staying neutral. Maggie frowned not really wanting to admit how much she got paid, “It was...enough?” He sighed dramatically and somewhat annoyed, “As I suspected. Here you are with your talents not getting what your worth. How about this, every job you do I give you a grand.” Maggie almost choked, “Excuse me?” “And for any bit of special information you bring me I’ll give you the same amount but add a bonus of five hundred dollars. How does that sound?” “You’re kidding...this has got to be a joke.” She laughed dryly, “I don’t believe you.” Billy held a straight face, “Maggie dear, I don’t think you are in a position to really reject my proposal. Besides like I said despite how risky it is for me to take you on, I know a good asset when I see one.” He walked closer to her and bent down to her level, “I don’t think you realize how valuable you really are.” Maggie just huffed, “I still...don’t trust you.” He grinned while standing back up, “That’s fine with me dear, I don’t really trust you either. And you know as they say. Keep your friends close, and your enemies even closer still.” he chuckled and walked towards his desk, “There is the means of your cover for working for me.” Maggie couldn’t believe what she was hearing, “I didn’t say yes!” “I didn’t hear you say no either~” he said as he picked up the phone and dialed. Maggie heard the phone ring outside the office, the secretary going to pick it up. Her voice loud and clear and quite dull in tone.

Billy held an amused and joyful smile on his face, “Hello, yes Beatrice. By the way you’re fired.” He hung up but it wasn’t enough everyone heard the loud screeching “WHAT?!” from outside the office. Maggie watched the door waiting for it to burst open but instead heard the woman screaming angrily as it was clear she was being dragged out of the Manor. “You can be my ‘secretary’” He said while using air quotes.

“You just....” she pointed to the door, “Fired...Beatrice?” “oh yes it’s so hard to find good help these days.” He said in exasperation while sitting upon his desk. “If...If I’m gonna do that I might as well get paid more.” She said as a matter of factly thinking he wouldn’t do it.

Billy sighed and lifted his hands from his desk, “What am I made of Money?” A hundred slightly slipped from his sleeve and Maggie just gave him a look. He noticed it and poked it back into his sleeve, “Ignore that, I’ll up your jobs to fifteen hundred, and any special information to two grand. Now are you going to work for me or not?” Maggie huffed, he was really digging his heels into this, “...fine.”

Billy’s grin came back, “Perfect~ now dear I do have an assignment for you.” He picked up a manilla folder, “It’s about a tr..” One of the double doors opened abruptly and Billy instantly changed subjects, “some files I just need you to organize and put away today. Nothing major it is only your first day after all.” His demeanor changing completely it surprised Maggie but she looked at who opened the door and had to hide a smirk.

That’s why.

Amaranthus stood in the doorway quietly, Mune rubbing up against her purring loudly. Her little white wings were a little crooked, and she had a tear stained face. “Angel, is something the matter?” She ran to Billy and hugged his leg, “I heard a bad noise.” Billy flinched and bent down to her level, but luckily the little girl didn’t notice, “I’m sure it was far from here.” She just burrowed into his shirt while Mune kept rubbing onto her legs. “Angel I know what will cheer you up~” He looked at Maggie with a grin, “Meet my new secretary Maggie Brine.” Amaranthus peeked at Maggie a little and whispered, “That’s the lady with the pretty red hair.”

Maggie couldn’t help but smile a little. “Yes dear that is, why don’t you go introduce yourself. Since she works here now that means you get to play with her too.” replied Billy as he smoothed down his daughters hair. Amaranthus watched Maggie in silence before ever so slowly letting her dad go. She picked up Mune who hadn’t left her side for a moment, “Can.....” She started, “Can I braid...your h-hair?” she asked quietly while staring at the floor. Maggie felt fuzzy, and nodded, “of course.” “And um...” Amaranthus took a deep breath, “Do you wanna...pl-play princesssess?” Maggie nodded again, “Id love too.” Ama shyly held out her little hand and Maggie looked at Billy to see if he was watching.

He was, he gave a nod, “Have fun you two~”

Maggie took Amaranthus’ hand and stood up, “Lead the way.” Amaranthus led Maggie out of the room and Billy waved them off. “Pierre”

“hmm”

“Stay close to them.”

“You don’t even have to ask sir.” with that Pierre was out the door to follow close behind them. Billy heaved a sigh of relief and sat on his desk.

Maggie had been led up with Ama’s room. Pierre had followed despite what Maggie said. Amaranthus had said Uncle wanted to play princesses too and that’s why he followed. But Maggie knew otherwise.

Of course the first thing Amaranthus had to do was braid Maggies hair. And it was no surprise with how gentle she was. Maggie took a good long look at Ama’s room while she did her hair. It was no surprise Billy went all out for his angel as he had called her. “Soo....what are we going to wear?”

“Dresses” Ama said simply as if everyone already knew, “I have some we can all wear.” Maggie held back a laugh looking at Pierre who was sitting in a tiny childs chair, while holding a saucer and tea cup. Also appropriately child sized. He stoically sipped pretend tea while glaring at Maggie. Who never thought she would end up in such a ridiculous situation but hey...she had a job? right?

“Even your Uncle Pierre?” Maggie asked wanting to confirm it. Amaranthus made a noise to say yes but she was too concentrated on braiding Maggies hair. Maggie held back a laugh. Pierre just sighed to himself.

It was a couple hours and Billy hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Maggie, Pierre, or Amaranthus. He was growing concerned. He stood up and went looking for them. He came to Amaranthus’ room and heard giggling and music. He knocked, “Angel?” the music stopped and whispering could be heard. “Amaranthus are you alright, can I come in?” He waited for a reply. “yeah!” It was a quiet yeah but loud enough he could hear it. He opened the door and sighed in relief, “Angel dear I just wanted to...” He paused seeing what stood before him. Amaranthus and Maggie were definitely dressed up like princesses with all manner of ribbons of all colors and types in their hands. While Pierre stood in between them tall and definitely unimposing in his bright pink princess dress over his black suit. A diamond tiara on his head.

Billy stared stoically, “Pierre...”

“Boss...” replied Pierre just as stoically.

“Pink isn’t your color, I’d go with a red or black next time.” stated Billy

“Of course sir.” he replied.

Billy looked at Maggie and Amaranthus gave a nod. Took a sharp breath through his nose and nodded, “Carry on.” before closing the door and leaving.

Ama frowned, “I want daddy to dress up too. He usually does.”

“Does he now?” asked Maggie. “Yeah but it could be cause you’re here he doesn’t want you to see him like that.” admitted Amaranthus. Maggie snickered a bit to herself, “Does he now?” Ama just nodded not getting the joke. She took a deep breath, “May-maybe when you stay long enough. He’ll d-dress up in front of you too and show off.” Maggie turned a bit pink while Pierre actually chuckled. Amaranthus didn’t understand what she said that made the adults act that way but wasn’t it a good thing?

[pandabearisaunicorn]

You Are My Weakness (SPN Fanfic)

You Are My Weakness Chapter 9 Demons

Previous Chapters: Intro Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 

Warnings: Mention of violence, hurt and angst Word Count:  2198

…Theresa’s P.O.V…

 Me and Louise was out on our first hunt together and alone. The boys weren’t happy when Louise told her idea and didn’t get happier when I actually tagged along. Sam was worrying his ass off and called me every 20 minutes. Sure, his actions were cute and all but I sure don’t have time to answer his every damn call. Louise and Dean on the other hand, he had called her once and it wasn’t pretty. I have never seen Louise so mad at anything human before, it sure was a sight to see. I guess he was really mad at her for even going after a demon by herself, yet alone with me, another girl and not him. I did understand his concern but Louise is a good damn hunter, she will make this just fine, we will make this just fine.

“You want to talk about it?” I asked and she glanced over at me. My hands still tight around the steering wheel. “No, he’s a total sweetheart every other hour of the day except when I could be in danger, then he can be a total pain in the ass” She said, I could almost feel her eyes rolling. “He cares about you Lou, I guess he just has a weird way of showing it” I said almost with a laugh. “You can say that” She said and in that moment I thought maybe she would just confess whatever was happening between the two of them but no.

 We sat in silence for a while, not that awkward silence that gets when no one knows what to say or when you dislike someone. No, that comfortable silence you get when you really like the person you spend time with. I like that kind of friendship, I like Louise. She’s such a good friend, a friend that’ll always be by your side, I feel like she’s one of those.

 Soon we were nearing the small town Boulder, Colorado. It has been so many killings in a short amount of time. Brutal killings and sulfur was found on almost every murder sight. It couldn’t be anything other than demons, it just couldn’t. Maybe it was a bad idea for me and Louise to take a demon or more by ourselves but we at least had to try. I mean the boys needed to fight a wendigo in a town in Alaska, I wasn’t sure which town they were in and that sure scared me. Hunting wendigo wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t easy. They could just as easily die as me and Louise. Realizing that I got scared, damn my Sam was in real trouble. I pulled up by the sheriff station, our badges in hand as we walked inside. Louise and I were wearing black suits with white dress shirts. Our hair pulled back by sunglasses as the sun was beaming down. Confused eyes met our bodies as we moved towards the front desk, a young boy maybe in his early 20’s looked up at us. A flirty smile evident on his lips as Louise leaned onto the counter. “We’re here because of all these unsolved murders” Louise said and showed him her FBI badge, I did the same. “Oh, yeah uh what to you want to know?” The boy said and sounding nervous as he spoke. “I want every document about these killings, every single one” She said, saying the last three words slowly.

 And like that, the boy were gone and his scent was still evident. Louise looked up at me, a proud smile and a raise of her eyebrows. I just smiled and laughed at her. Soon the boy was back, a huge pile of files in his arms. He dumped them on the desk and Louise handed me half of them.

 “Thank you so much dear” I said before we walked out the station and I could feel the boys’ eyes staring into our backs.

 We were now back in our car, Louise was now driving as I looked through the files. It was almost ridiculous how similar all these killings were, every man or woman was killed exactly the same way and by the same knife. How stupid could the police be? I mean almost anyone could solve these.

 “It’s almost funny how similar these killings are, it’s like the demon wants us to find him” I said and a shaky breath left Louise’s lips. “That’s almost humoristic, I mean I do have a bad past with demons” She said and I looked over at her, her face looking sad yet tense. Her grip on the steering wheel tightening. “That’s how your parents died wasn’t it?” I said with sympathy in my voice. “Yeah, Sam and Dean saved me. I don’t know what I would if they didn’t” She said, a tear rolling down her cheek and I could tell that this had been tearing on her soul. “Yeah, those two are truly knights in shining armor” I said and continued to read.

 The car feel silence as Louise suddenly stopped the car, it was now dark outside and I light the papers in front of me with a flashlight. I turned it off as I looked outside, a huge family home. The house was painted red with white details around the windows and doors. You could tell that this family once loved to take care of the garden and keep the house looking fresh and clean. Now, it was dead flowers, leaves all over the once green grass. It looked abandoned and I was hit with sadness. I was shook out of me dreams as the car door slammed shut, I followed Louise outside. She stopped walking as she neared me, her arms hanging by her side and her whole body slumped. I had never seen her like this. She started walking again, walking up the stairs of the house like she had done it a million times. I followed her inside, walking past the mailbox who was filled with letters and newspapers. My face turned into a frown as she bent down and took a spare key out from the doormat, her eyes scanning it for a bit before opening the door and walking inside. I hesitated before walking with her inside as the smell of rotten flesh hit my nostrils. I had no idea what I was expecting or why Louise knew all of this. It’s like she had done those actions a million times before, like she knew this house by heart. Then it hit me.

 “This is your family home isn’t it? That’s why Dean’s so mad over this” I said, her face turning to look at me. Eyes wet from tears. “Yeah, I want to be the one who kills the demons who possessed and killed my parents” She said, her eyes darkening and I didn’t like this look on her. “I understand that but maybe we should do some more research on this demon” I said with a shaky voice.

 Suddenly the house got extremely cold and windy, the lights flickering. I could feel panic raising inside of me, I was scared. I could tell Louise was too. Her body standing completely still and jumped as a loud bang was heard in the living room. To my surprise she walked into the room, her shoulders tense and to my dislike I had to follow her. My gun securely trapped in my hand. As I turned the corner of the doorframe I saw a tall man, maybe in his 40’s, standing in front of Louise, his black demon eyes looking harshly on her. I loaded the gun to be prepared for anything that could happen.

 “Louise Chapman, nice to finally meet you” His dark and evil voice spoke up as he walked closer to her. “What do you want her?” I spoke up, surprising myself as I opened my mouth. “Oh, you brought a friend, that didn’t really include in my plan but that could be rearranged” He said and that was all I remember.

 After that everything went black and when I woke up, they were gone. She was gone. I stood up in panic and started to look through every room in that god damn house. Fear taking over my body. If she had killed that demon she would still be here with me. She would never leave me here alone. How long has it been since I passed out? And why did everything hurt?

I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket and I was quick to pick it up. I was hoping Louise’s number would be listed but no, it was Dean. Fuck. I pressed the answer button and held the phone up to my ear, trying to get my breathing under control as I sat down on the porch outside the house. “Finally one of you picked up, what the hell has happened? Are you okay?” Dean’s worried voice triggered my tears to fall, the tears I had been holding in for so many minutes running around looking for her. “Tess, you hear me?” “She’s gone Dean” I whispered out, tears falling uncontrollably down my cheeks. “Who? Where is she?” I could hear his voice getting more and more worried. “She’s gone, it wasn’t anything I could do, when I woke up she was just gone. I have been looking everywhere Dean” I sobbed into the phone, feeling myself panicking. “What happened Tess, tell me what the hell happened!” Dean’s voice was getting angry and the panic inside of me getting worse. “The demon, he took her”

 …Louise’s P.O.V…

 My body felt heavy as I opened my eyes, feeling like I had been out for hours. I looked around the room, it was filthy. Bloodstained carpet and the walls almost falling apart. I tried to move but I was tied against a chair. I moved my arms and legs in panic as my breathing got heavier. Still not able to move them. I could feel my legs hurting, my head hurting, everything hurt. The last thing I remember is the demon throwing Tess into the wall and she passed out and now I’m here. What has he done to Tess? Is she hurt? Fuck, she must be wondering where the hell I am. I took a big look around the room again, trying to figure out anything. To my loss, there wasn’t even a window. It was just a dark filthy room. Soon the door opened, the lights turning on and there he stood. That filthy demon.

 “What have you done to me?” I whispered out, not being able to speak louder. “You my dear, have really pissed us off” He said as he kneeled down in front of me. “How?” I said, my voice weak and my eyes could barely stay on him. “You see, when your lover Dean Winchester killed two of my men, I sure was mad. I wanted you” He said as he dragged his knife against my cheek, I hissed at the sudden pain. “Why me?” I said, a bit more louder as I started to gain more power in my body. “Oh if you only knew. When we possessed your parents we got a huge insight of who you really were. You were chosen to fight us, to beat us Louise. You were chose, just like Dean was once” He said and I looked at him in disbelief. “Why me? I’m not anything special” I said, thinking that he just had a lame excuse to kill me. “Oh, you’re special. Truly. But you know, you’re not even going to have a chance to be anything special”

  …Dean’s P.O.V…

 I stood up quickly from my chair as I heard the garage port close and Tess’ footsteps in the corridor. Sam and I hurried down to meet her. I barely recognized her as she walked towards us, her face scratched, her back hunched and tearstained cheeks. She looked up at us, her eyes getting glossier as she ran into Sam’s arms. I tried to wrap my head around all of this. I was hoping Louise would walk inside with her, that all of this was just some cruel joke. But she never came, I could be standing there all day waiting for her to walk inside that door but she wouldn’t.

 “I have done everything I could to find her. I have been searching the whole town but she’s gone” Tess sobbed out as she looked up at me. Her blue grey eyes looking deeply into mine. “I know you did” I whispered out, trying not to take my anger out on her. This wasn’t her fault. “I can barely live with myself, what if she’s dead” She whispered out and something inside of me snapped. “SHE ISN’T DEAD, I WILL FIND HER” I screamed out making them both to look at me in fear. “We will find her Dean, I promise” Sam said as he held my head to look at him, my eyes watering as the thought of losing Louise hit me. “We will find her”

[tentwars2k21]

1940's Beige

Hawaii x Maui x Fiji || 1940s Detective AU || Hawaii POV Only

Warnings: lots of swearing and smoking.

Rating: NR

Chapter 4:

“How do I look?” Fiji asks, stepping out of the bathroom in a brunette wig with perfect pin rolls.

  I’m blindsided for a few seconds. “Like shit, but it’ll do.” I chuckle, letting him know it’s a joke. He rolls his eyes at me and begins putting on lingerie (handpicked by Maui, of course.)

  “Who let this foxy dame into my house.” Maui whistles as Fiji sits down in a chair that’s set backwards. Fiji blushes a light pink, and it’s kinda cute. However, the can of chewable tobacco on the vanity reminds me what my feelings for the prick are: hatred.

  “Need me to help you put the corset on him?” I ask Maui as I adjust my own wig, in the monroe style, and fix up my dress.

  “Nah, I’ve got it,” she says before she pulls the strings, startling Fiji. It takes about 10 minutes, she’s got practice as a ballerina, but in the end Fiji has a perfect hourglass figure.

  We then help Fiji put on a mustard yellow shirtwaist dress with embroidered flowers on it. I then put on a navy colored full skirt and a puff sleeved blouse with butterflies embroidered into it. Maui put on a beautiful white maxi dress with a baby pink lace overlay.

  We all then did our makeup, starting with Fiji because he had never held a makeup brush in his life. He would ask questions about it, and we would answer them. It was kind of odd, but we didn’t question his motives.

  Together, after putting on shoes, we march out to the taxi that has been awaiting our arrival, confidence pouring out of our skirts. The sun hangs low in the sky, but tonight we hang high.

  Monte Rao’s is a small joint  in little Italy on the northeast corner of 14th and 6th. It’s got a homey feel to it, but the news articles and bloodstains just outside paint a different picture of the joint; it’s known for its drivebys and mob connections. I heard somewhere that Al Capone himself sat in one of the chairs here, but gossip is gossip and most times it isn’t true.

  It’s warm when Maui pushes open the door and a little bell rings, a bald man turning to see the three of us. A smile finds its way onto his face when he sees the goddaughter of his brother, and it stays as she hugs him and we shake his hand.

  “Cucciolo, it is so good to see you!” He says to Maui as we take our seats at a round, wooden table. “I was worried about you, you know. I saw you in the paper.” He makes a ticking sound. “Zia Dea is going to be very angry, you know.”

  “I do, Zio Lorenzo,” Maui picks up the menus and hands them to him. “But you didn’t tell her, did you?”

  “She was the one to show me the paper, cucciolo.” He takes the menus from us just as a door from upstairs slams.

  “Maui è quello?” A woman, who I assume is Dea, calls down.

  “Sì amore.” Lorenzo says, looking at Maui with a wish of luck.

  “Maui!” A tall, redheaded woman comes tumbling towards us. “You got arrested!”

  “Dea, don’t cause a scene,” Lorenzo intervenes as he serves a couple some fish. “It’s bad for business.”

  “Hanging out with mobsters is bad for business,” she interjects in a thick Italian accent. “But that hasn’t stopped you, hmm?”

  They continue their argument in Italian, but I tune it out and look for our suspect as we wait for our food. Not many people are here, and as the seconds tick by I begin to lose hope. It’s only when our pasta comes does the door open to reveal a trio of wannabe mobsters, our suspect amongst them. When they notice our table is staring at them, one waves, so we do as any group of girls that is looking at a group of boys does: blush, turn, and emit a hushed giggle.

  We continue this pattern and things like this pattern until one of the mobsters comes up and offers to dance with Fiji. He blushes, and we insist that ‘she’ go with the man.

  “I don’t want to leave you alone,” Fiji falsely pouts, and the other two ‘gangsters’ get up at the third one’s beckon. I get the suspect.

  “You smell good, doll,” the suspect, who goes by the name of Gabriel, says as we dance to some swing music on the street outside. “What kind of perfume do you use?”

  “Oh,” I blush, as needed. “I don’t use any perfume.”

  He leans down closer to me, so I rest my chin on his shoulder. “That’s your natural smell?”

  “It is.” He moves back to his original position, the beat beginning to pick up.

  “This is my favorite song.” Maui squeals, pulling her partner so that they dance faster.

  “She’s a loud one, isn’t she.” He chuckles, looking towards her.

  “It’s how she gets all the men.” I pout. “I wish I was like her.”

  “What do you mean, doll?” Gabriel uses his hand to lift up my chin. “You’re much better than her.”

  “You’re just saying that to be sympathetic.” I stop dancing. “I bet you wish you were dancing with her, huh?”

  “No, sweetheart, I would never-” He begins.

  “Then prove it.” I slide out of his arms and begin walking over to an alleyway knowing full well that he’ll be following me.

  I duck in beneath a fire escape, being sure the other end is a dead end for the police. Then I lean against a wall and wait for him to enter, pretending to reapply my lipstick. He does, a lustful look in his eyes, and it's then that I flash my makeup mirror to signal the police.

  “What are we doing back here?” He asks cautiously, and I grab his tie and pull him closer.

  “I think you know.” It’s then that I kiss him, distracting him from the rushed footsteps that are coming towards us.

  It’s right before he tries to slip tongue that Detective Kapolei and his reinforcements draw their guns and tell him to put his hands up. I push away, and while he’s delirious, I take a drain pipe that’s sitting next to me and hit him over the head with it, knocking him out. I then take a handkerchief from Oahu and whip away my smeared lipstick and leave with Fiji and Maui.

not really up to reading this right now but here you guys go!! i’m sure it’s great :)

-brook

[whorderofthepheonix]

Sacredly Scarred: Chapter 20 || Erik Killmonger

A/N: *sighs* may or may not be the last chapter. idk. depends on y'all. Enjoy tho. 200+ if you want the next part (and if it takes forever, Imma take forever to post ch.21 lmfaoooo) PLEASE REBLOG INSTEAD OF COMMENT xx

Words: 2k

Warnings: Swearing, Mild Violence, Vomit Warning, Lil Itty Bitty Angst, Cliff Hanger af

Erik’s POV

I pounded on the apartment door, eager for someone to answer.

“Erik, relax,” Yenai gasped. “You seem... Impatient.”

“Sorry, I just... Really want tea,” I mumbled. The door swung open and I was ready to pounce.

“Yenai! Erik!” 1 greeted. She looked fine... Like no sign of any injury or anything. Just an oversized yellow sweater and some leggings. “We weren’t expecting you.”

“Sorry to just barge in like this but Erik really wanted to join us for tea,” Yenai apologized, “and he insisted we come now.”

“Well tea’s not till 4,” she looked down at her watch. “But by all means, come in and join us for brunch! We’re out on the balcony.”

“Glady,” I pushed past them and onto the balcony. The other twin was out there, nibbling  lightly on a piece of toast. She wore an identical outfit to her sister, but with a blue sweater.

“Hi Erik!” She greeted. Yenai and 1 came in soon after. “Yenai too? Are you guys joining us for brunch?”

“Yup,” I said sitting across from her.

“Splendid!” 2 clapped. “Dorota! We need 2 more plates out here please!”

“So, Yenai, I’m sorry I couldn’t talk yesterday,” 1 frowned. “We were at the Marc Jacobs fashion show. They usually confiscate phones but I snuck mine in.”

“Well, it was a good thing you were dealing with fashion because I’m working with Vogue!” Yenai squealed. The twins gasped.

“No!” 2 gasped.

“OMG how?” 1 asked.

“Remember that dress I made with the tribal prints?” They nodded. “Well they saw it and loved it and now they want to add it to the Fall collection!” The 3 of them screamed and held hands.

“Congratulations!” 2 grinned.

“Yeah, we’re totes happy for you!” 1 added.

“Thanks guys!” Yenai laughed as the maid placed plates of bagels and lox in front of us. The moment Yenai saw it, she gulped. “Um... Is this raw?”

“Smoked,” 2 declared. “But very, very lightly. I hate when it’s not chewy.” Yenai started heaving.

“You good baby?” I whispered.

“Um, yeah... It’s just the smell,” she gagged. “And the look... and... I’m just gonna use the restro-” She covered her mouth and ran back into the house.

“Is she okay?” 2 asked.

“Yeah, she just has really bad food poisoning,” I said folding my arms. “So Marc Jacobs, huh? What was that like?”

“Like all the rest,” 1 rolled her eyes. “Been to one, been to them all.” I looked behind me to make sure Yenai wasn’t in ear shot.

“Does Yenai know?” I asked. They looked at each other confused.

“Know what...? About the fashion show? We just told her,” 2 raised an eyebrow.

“Cut the shit!” I hissed. “You know damn well you weren’t at no fuckin’ fashion show last night!” 1 took out her phone and opened her snapchat.

“Look from 7:30 PM until 11:29 PM we were at the fashion show then we went to the after party,” she said. “Am I missing something?”

“Now, I’m confused...” 2 frowned. “Where did you think we were?” Maybe I got it wrong... Maybe it was just a coincidence... But I was sure it was them... I sat back in my chair and look a bite of my bagel.

“Forget it,” I sighed.

“Hey, I LOVE your watch!” 1 gasped. “Rolex Chronograph right? Our dad has the exact same one!”

“Yeah, he’s been collecting since before we were born!” 2 added. “Come, we’ll show you!” They both got up and I followed them through their bedroom and into one of the closest. A giant wall full of watches was right above a smaller case with more watches.

“There are 320,” 1 spoke. “We only take them out to wear as good luck or on Sundays to have Dorota clean them.”

“It is Sunday,” I pointed out.

“Oh fuck! It is!” 2 groaned. “I’ll get Dorota.”

“I’ll go check on Yenai,” 1 said. Then they both left the closet. I looked carefully at each watch. Ther were all accounted for. Well there goes that theory... I looked around the closer which was filled top to bottom with expensive jewelry and clothes. Just as I was about leave, one of the watches in the case caught my eye. I opened the case and picked it up. It looked almost identical to mine, it just had lower case letters instead of uppercase, like most Rolex’s do... I heard footsteps so I scurried to put back the watch, causing me to fumble and drop it on the floor. I bent down to pick it up from under the case, accidentally grabbing something else instead. A brown paper bag. I slowly opened it pulling out a bloodstained shirt and a clown mask. That’s when I heard a clicking sound from behind me and someone clearing their throat. I sighed and raised my hands in surrender, getting up and facing the door. 1 had a rifle pointed to me while 2 had her arms folded across her chest.

“Pardon me sir,” 1 smirked. “You have something that belongs to us. I’d like it back.”

“I fucking knew it,” I laughed. “So you two are the little fuckers who’ve been fucking with my assignments.”

“We haven’t been messing with anything,” 2 pointed out. “We get calls and we go. The same as you.”

“So I’m just supposed to believe that you two, fucking pris and perfect, are assassins?” I laughed.

“You’re damn right!” 1 snapped. “Now give me the fucking watch!” “Fuck no! You gave this to me and I didn’t kill ya ass!”

“You shot my sister!” 1 yelled.

“Twice!” 2 growled. “In the same spot!” “Well, I was letting you go and you threw a knife at me,” I shrugged.

“Enough fucking talking!” 1 hissed. “Hand over the watch. It was my dad’s favorite.”

“Hmm... No. Fuck you,” I dropped my hands.

“I mean it!” She shouted. “Or I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” I walked over to her. “Aside from killin’ niggas I also deal in weapons. You don’t think I know a paintball gun over an actual rifle?” She sucked her teeth and dropped it.

“Fine, whatever. I had to leave our weapons at the warehouse last night to get Ayana to the hospital,” she rolled her eyes. “Just... Please give me back the watch,” she begged. “Despite all the watches on the wall, that was the only one that belong to our dad...”

“Aight, I’ll give you back the watch, under one condition,” I smirked.

“Nigga, we are not having sex with you,” 2 crossed her arms.

“If it means getting the watch back, yes the fuck we are!” 1 glared at her.

“What the fuck? No! That’s not- Never mind,” I groaned. “I’ll give you back the watch if you agree to cut off whatever nigga you workin’ wit and work for me.”

“What?” They asked together.

“You serious?” 1 asked.

“Fuck yeah, I’m serious,” I nodded. “Y’all can fight. Plus we can use y’all for baiting niggas out.”

“He’s actually serious,” 2 gasped.

“How much money you make in a week?”

“I don’t know... 200 maybe 300 grand on a good week,” 1 shrugged.

“I once made 2 mil in one night,” I told them.

“Holy fuck!” 2 exclaimed. “2 million fucking dollars? Alyssa, do we even have to pretend to think about this?”

“Hell no!” 1 laughed extended he hand. “It’s a fucking deal!” I shook her hand and took the watch off my wrist giving it to her.

“We’re in business then,” I smirked. Then Yenai walked in, looking confused and scared.

“Um... What’s going on here?” She asked, warily.

“Nothing,” the three of us said in unison.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll pretend to believe that,” she rolled her eyes. “Girls I’m sorry, but I have really bad food poisoning and I can’t keep anything down. Erik can we go back upstairs?”

“Sure thing, baby girl,” I walked over and kiss her head. “Let’s go.”

***

I’ve had a weird feeling about Yenai since the day we had brunch with the twins. And it wasn’t just from her being sick. Like now, it was day 3 and she was STILL throwing up! She had to call in sick from work, which her boss eagerly gave her. Yenai guessed that she was still embarrassed from dinner the other night. That was the last real conversation me and Yenai had... THREE DAYS AGO! Everything else was all responses and simple questions. And when they weren’t responses or questions, they were bitchy remarks or constant nagging. I came from meeting with the Twins, whose names are apparently Ayana and Alyssa, and walked into the house.

“Baby, you home?” I called out. She walked out of the bathroom.

“Where else would I be, Erik?” She rolled her eyes. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from replying rudely.

“The twins made you soup,” I offered putting the bowl on the counter. “They said it helps nausea.”

“You were down there again?” She scoffed. “You’ve literally been down to see them everyday since brunch!”

“Is that a problem?” I asked, folding my arms.

“If you previously hadn’t tried to fuck them then no, it wouldn’t be,” she snapped, taking the bowl of soup and throwing it in the trash.

“Yo, the FUCK is ya problem, Yenai?” I shouted as she retreated to the bedroom. I followed her and closed the door.

“My problem Erik, is that instead of staying here and making sure that I’M okay, you’re off galavanting with MY friends!” She shouted back.

“Well maybe I’d want to be around her more if you weren’t being such a bitch to me all the fuckin’ time!”

“Oh word?! I’m a bitch now? Riiiigggghhhhttttt! Copy!” She stormed into the closet and started grabbing her clothes off the hangers. I took a deep breath and leaned against the closet door.

“What are you doing?” I groaned.

“Since I’m such a fuckin’ bitch, there’s no use in me staying, right?” She shrugged, opening a duffle bag and stuffing the clothes in.

“So first of all, ya ass don’t got a place to go, so let’s cut that shit out aight?” I took the duffle from her. “Secondly, you gon just pack a bag and leave every time we get into an argument? You gon be doin’ a lot of packin’ and unpackin’ ma, I’ll tell you that.”

“Fuck you,” she spat pushing past me, going back into the bedroom. I grabbed her wrist. “Get the fuck off me.”

“Nah, you not goin’ nowhere till we deal with this shit, Yenai. I’m not bouta keep quiet everytime you snap at me or yell wit ya stank ass attitude. We gon sit down and talk like fuckin’ adults.”

“I have nothing to say-”

“The fuck you don’t!” I snorted. “You got allat mouth when I try to help you and now you got nothin’ to say. Nah.” I wrapped my arms around her. “Tell me what’s on ya mind, baby girl.”

“Get off me,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“No. Talk to me,” I insisted. She looked at me with tears in her eyes. “DId I do something wrong?”

“No,” she sniffled, letting tears fall. “You didn’t... I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch...”

“It’s aight... I’m not bouta force you to tell me what’s wrong, but we can’t keep goin’ like this, Yenai...” I sighed. “When you ready, you gon tell me right?” She shut her eyes and shook her head.

“I can’t! I can’t tell you!” She cried. “I’m scared...”

“Why can’t you tell me? What’s scaring you?” I asked cautiously. She kept shaking her head, sobbing.

“I can’t...”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!”

“Yenai-”

“No, Erik! Just stop! Please!”

“Baby, please talk to me-”

“Erik!’ “Why are you so scared?!”

“BECAUSE I THINK I’M PREGNANT, OKAY?!” She screamed. I heart stopped and my blood turned cold. “...I think I’m pregnant and I’m scared...” She whispered. “I’m so fucking scared...”

~~~

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