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yelena-bellova · 3 years

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Safe Haven: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader - Chapter Two

chapter one -Chapter Two: According To Plan - chapter three

Series Masterlist

Plot: Y/n and Sam leave for Munich, gaining the surprise addition of Bucky Barnes to their team.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader, Sam Wilson x platonic!reader

Warnings: spoilers for ep.2, language, violence, squint for fluff in between all the chaos, Y/n and Bucky ain’t feeling each other yet, protective big brother Sam, nobody likes Walker

Word Count: 7.5k (ya’ll, we had to split episode 2 into two chapters because I use too many words lol)

A/N: OKAY, thank you to everybody for supporting the first chapter. I didn’t really think anything would come of it but I was clearly wrong. Hopefully you enjoy this one just as much, each episode will probably be divided into two chapters if the rest of the season continues on like it is.

----

The government hadn’t just failed Sam, they were rubbing his face in the fact that they thought their knockoff Captain America was a better candidate than him.

I followed my brother down the halls of the New Orleans air force base, trying to ignore the paraphernalia that hung on the walls. John Walker was everywhere you looked; the internet, televisions, posters were plastered all over the city announcing his new appointment. Each time I had to read the words ‘Cap Is Back’ I became a little sick to my stomach. Sam stopped in front of me once we’d reached the hanger to stare at one of the posters. Though he tried to keep his face neutral, the sadness bled through in his eyes.

“Seems like a good guy. You met him?” a man who I assumed was Sam’s military contact asked.

“No,” Sam answered before changing the topic, “Thanks for doing this on such short notice.” “Yeah, no sweat. I’m just finishing up the checklist, you two’ll be all good to go once you land in Munich,” he looked to me and reached a hand for me to shake, “Joaquin Torres.” “Y/n Y/l/n. Thanks for not making any noise about me coming along for the ride.”

“Hey, I trust an Avenger’s judgement on who to bring to a fight,” he smiled, stopping at the top of the steps to allow me to go before himself.

I elbowed Sam as we descended the stairs side by side, “Hear that? You’ve got good judge- why’re you making that face?” Before he could answer, a foreign voice announced its presence. “Shouldn’t have given up the shield.”

My eyes fell to the floor below us and climbed the looming figure waiting at the end of the staircase. I didn’t need to have any history lessons on who he was or why he’d come to talk to Sam about such a subject. James Bucky Barnes, the second 100+ year old man to walk the earth without a single wrinkle. The tragic tale of HYDRA’s bloodthirsty history. The man Sam had fought to protect and been sent to prison for.

“Good to see you too, Buck,” Sam passively greeted the man, swerving around his body to continue on our path to the jet. The hint wasn’t taken.

“This is wrong.”

“Hey, hey, look, I’m working, alright? So all this outrage is gonna have to wait.” Bucky fell into step on the other side of Sam, pointing towards yet another poster of John Walker, “You didn’t know that was gonna happen?”

“No, of course I didn’t know that was gonna happen,” Sam’s tone became more emotional, “You think it didn’t break my heart to see them march him out there and call him the new Captain America?” “This isn’t what Steve wanted,” Bucky pushed. Sam was growing tired of the questioning, “What do you want me to do? Call America and tell ‘em I changed my mind? Huh? Yeah, right. It’s a great reunion, buddy, be well.” “You had no right to give up that shield, Sam.” I could no longer stay silent and let him try and make a good man feel guilty. “Okay, you’re out of line with that one, Barnes.” Bucky finally took a second to register my being there before looking back to Sam, “Who the hell is this?” “She’s none of your concern, but let me tell you what you’re not gonna do,” Sam stood in front of Bucky, “You’re not gonna come here in your overextended life and tell me about my rights. It’s over, Bucky. Besides, I have bigger things to deal with now.” Emotions I couldn’t fully understand took over Bucky’s face, “What could be bigger than this?”

Sam fished his phone out of his back pocket and held it up to the Super Soldier, “This guy. His connections with rebel organizations all over Eastern and Central Europe and he’s strong. Too strong.” “And?” Bucky asked, unimpressed.

“Well, he’s been connected to this online group called the Flag Smashers. Now, Redwing traced them to a building somewhere outside of Munich so that’s where I’m going,” Sam turned to me to signal we were walking again.

“Well, I don’t trust Redwing,” Bucky continued his pursuit, “Hold on a minute.” “You don’t have to trust Redwing,” Sam said firmly as we paused again, “But I’mma go see if he’s right. ‘Cause I have a feeling they might be a part of the Big Three.”

Bucky’s eyebrows lowered in confusion, “What ‘Big Three?’”

“The Big Three.”

“What Big Three?” “Androids, aliens and wizards,” I answered before Sam could. “That’s not a thing,” Bucky shook his head. “That’s definitely a thing,” Sam nodded. “No, it’s not.” “It really is,” I set my bag down on the ground and crossed my arms, there was no indication we’d be leaving any time soon.

“Every time we fight, we fight one of the three,” Sam insisted.

“So who are you fighting now, Gandalf?”

Sam inhaled to continue arguing before snapping his head back in surprise, “How do you know about Gandalf?” “I read The Hobbit,” Bucky answered confidently, “In 1937 when it first came out.”

“So you see my point?” “No, I don’t. There are no wizards.” I pointed to Bucky and tilted my head towards Sam, “Now there, I agree with him.” Sam looked offended that I didn’t automatically back him up, “You both are wrong…Doctor Strange.” “Is a sorcerer,” Bucky finished.

“Aah!” Sam laughed and poked Bucky’s firm chest, “A sorcerer is a wizard without a hat. Think about it, right? I’m right. I just came up with that, it’s crazy.” Bucky’s face read that he was thousand shades of done with Sam’s childish argument, even if he’d fought just as immaturely. I was beginning to see why Sam didn’t recount his brief time spent with the ex-Winter Soldier that fondly but I’d also forgotten how easy it was to push Sam’s buttons sometimes. There was some unwitting dynamic between them that I didn’t want to be in the middle of. “So glad we’re wasting valuable time on arguing over whether or not Harry Potter’s real,” I spoke up, tapping my foot out of impatience.

Sam was the first to snap back to reality, “That’s not the point. These guys aren’t magical, alright? They use brute force just like you, the incredibly annoying guy in front of me with the staring problem,” he reached down to grab my bag and hand it to me, “Let’s move.” “I’m coming with you,” Bucky called, the sound of his combat boots hitting the hanger floor behind us. “No, you’re not,” Sam answered harshly. “Oh my gosh,” I groaned before dropping my duffle bag again on the tarmac and spinning around to face the two men, “I don’t know how you two could have possibly saved the day as much as people say you have if you’re always like this! You,” I pointed to Sam, “Stop trying to do this on your own. You,” I moved my finger towards Bucky, “No more talking about the shield. If anybody needs me,” I wiggled my fingers and let the blue energy lift my bag into the air, “I’ll be waiting in the jet.” ——

Bucky and Sam stood speechless as they watched Y/n march across the tarmac, her bag magically floating behind her. “Who is she?” “My sister, Y/n,” Sam answered, “I didn’t know she could do that till today. She twisted my arm until I agreed to let her come.” Bucky’s eyes hadn’t left Y/n since she took control and ended Sam and his bickering. There weren’t many people who met him for the first time and didn’t give him a second glance. If she was Sam’s sister then she sure as hell knew about his past. Yet here she was daring to order him around and advocate for him to join Sam and her on their mission. It also went without saying that she was gorgeous. But she had proven that she didn’t understand the seriousness in which the situation with the new Captain America needed to be treated with, and that irked him. Still, his feet automatically wanted to carry him to the jet once she’d headed up the ramp and he’d lost his view of her. “Can’t decide whether I like her or not.”

——

Not having a suit to wear, I had changed on the jet from my sweater, capris and sneakers to a black shirt, jeans, booties and my favorite blue leather jacket that matched the blue that flowed from my fingertips.

When I stepped out of the jet’s bathroom, I expected to find Sam and Bucky fighting again. The whole flight so far has been filled with the same tension that had begun in the hanger and we’d been sitting in uncomfortable silence ever since. I was sure that the second I left, they’d be going at it again like children when a parent disappeared. Instead, they were quietly sitting on opposite sides of the jet with their eyes trained on one another.

“Can you guys quiet down for a second?” I sarcastically remarked as I walked across the room, “I can’t hear myself think.”

I deposited my bag in the corner of the jet near where Torres was climbing down the ladder, “One minute to drop off, Sam.”

I expected to turn around and see both Sam and Bucky up and preparing themselves, but the two men were still embroiled in a stare down. Sam and I had always cheesed each other off in a typical sibling fashion, but Bucky and his relationship seemingly consisted of nothing but that.

Sam finally rose from his seat and Bucky quickly did the same, I brushed past him to stand on the other side of Sam. “So what’s the plan?” Sam ignored the question and handed me a small black device, “This is your comm, don’t lose it.” I nodded and placed the small ear piece in my ear, the faint hums of the jet coming through it.

With no direction from Sam, Bucky sat back down unhappily. “Great. So no plan?”

“Thirty seconds,” Torres shouted over the wind coming in from the open hatch.

“Enjoy your ride, Buck,” Sam remarked from beside me. “No, you can’t call me that.” “Why not? That’s what Steve called you.” “Steve knew me longer and Steve,” Bucky tilted his head to Sam, “Had a plan.”

I shook my head to shake off the ridiculousness of arguing nicknames at the moment. “I’m sorry, are we really playing the name game when we’re literally about to jump out of a plane? I get this is my first mission and all but- Bucky’s eyebrows shot up his forehead as he looked to Sam, “This is her first mission? What the hell were you thinking, bringing her?” “She,” I took a step towards Bucky, “Is more than capable of handling herself. First mission or 100th, I know what I’m doing, Barnes.”

“Fifteen seconds to drop!” Torres’ announcement ended any further arguing between me and Bucky.

“Listen to the woman,” Sam smirked as he put on his goggles, probably thinking back to a few hours ago when I’d body slammed him into the roof, “And I have a plan.”

“Really?” Bucky spread his arms out as we watched Sam walk away from us, “What is it?” Sam had already told me that he’d drop in first and I was to follow once he’d cleared the area. Bucky had not been privy to hearing that discussion and Sam had made no effort to fill him in. Without giving Bucky a second look, but winking at me, he dove headfirst out of the hatch and activated his wings, flying gracefully downwards towards the forest. I had never gotten to see him fly and felt a sense of pride as I looked out to see him glide above the trees.

“Where’s the chute?” Bucky called out.

“We’re at 200 feet, it’s too low for a chute,” Torres stated.

Bucky stalked towards the door, “I don’t need it anyway.”

“Neither will I,” I said, taking a step forward to see just how high we really were. I was confidant in my ability to keep up with Sam and wanted to prove my capability, but I was human. It went against every natural instinct to step out into the air and catch myself. Bucky moved to stand next to me, the two of us turning to face each other. This was the first time we’d actually made more than fleeting eye contact and I was finally able to get a good look at him. His features were sharp, his cheekbones and jaw were extremely prominent. Something more than scruff and less than a beard covered the bottom half of his face. His eyes were cerulean blue, just nearly matching the shade of my energy. Complete with a short, scruffy haircut, I wasn’t sure if handsome was a strong enough word for just how good looking James Barnes was.

“Ladies first,” Bucky nodded towards our exit, never breaking eye contact, “Sure you know what you’re doing?” I smiled smugly, matching the amount of sass radiating from his words, “Do you?”

Not wanting to give him the opportunity to think up a come back, I turned away from him and threw myself out of the plane. An unavoidable scream flew from my lips as I free fell, somehow managing in the chaos to threw my arms out at my sides and expel my energy to control my descent. Once I got a hold on maneuvering the winds, the act actually became almost enjoyable. I found myself laughing as I weaved between the trees, until my laughter was accompanied by a fast approaching scream above me. A shower of branches began to rain down around me forcing me to swerve to the side just in time for Bucky’s figure to come crashing through. He landed harshly on his back, limbs spread out and a pained groan escaping his lips.

I floated directly above him, “I stand corrected, you definitely know what you’re doing.” “I have all of that on camera. You know that, right?” Sam’s voice came through our comms. Redwing flew up from behind us and zoomed in on Bucky’s face.

“Get out of my face, Sam, or I’ll break it,” Bucky uttered, exhaustion filling his voice.

“Okay, head north. Come on.” I snickered at the exchange and lowered myself to the ground close enough to Bucky to extend him a hand. He accepted it and I helped pull him to an upright sitting position, trying to hide the fact that I struggled with his weight. “Thanks.” “Well, my mom taught me to always help my elders,” I said with a smirk, earning myself a scowl in response. “You’re as bad as Sam, aren’t you?” he moaned as he rose to his full height.

“Okay, okay,” I ceased my soft laughter, “I’m sorry. Seriously, are you okay? I know you’re a super soldier but still-” “I’m fine,” Bucky confirmed quickly, brushing the dirt from his jacket and turning north, “Let’s go.”

The two of us fell into a silence that wasn’t necessarily uneasy but certainly not relaxed. We weren’t enemies, we weren’t coworkers and we definitely weren’t friends. We’d spoken all of about five sentences to each other since meeting and none of them had been particularly chummy. “Sam only mentioned one sister,” Bucky broke the non-verbal spell.

“Sarah,” I stated, “We’re not technically related but they’re family. Sam told me he reached out to you and never got anything back. I think he was wondering how you were doing.” “Yeah, well…” he mumbled, stepping over a particularly large boulder and avoiding my gaze.

I decided not to push the subject, not only were we nearing the warehouse, Sam could hear us through the comms and Redwing. But I made a note of the lightning quick wave of emotion that crossed Bucky’s eyes. Sam was definitely a trigger for him, but I had a feeling this was something much more complicated. Something I didn’t have time to get too curious over.

We made it out of the forest and Redwing led us to the back entrance to the warehouse. The graffiti and wrecked roofing made me want to believe that nobody had been there in ages, but Sam’s intel contradicted the setting. My brother, the esteemed military man, was also contradicting his age as he maneuvered Redwing just above us to provoke Bucky into taking a swing at him. “Oh-ho-ho, don’t hurt him,” he teased as Redwing quickly avoided the assault.

Sam stood in the next room staring down at the screen on his wrist, scanning the building through Redwing’s camera. He took a quick look at me to assess that I hadn’t been injured in the fall before turning back.

“You’re doing the staring thing again,” he commented without looking up. That one I’d give him, Bucky’s smoldering stare game was intimidating especially when he wasn’t saying anything. “They’re in there,” Sam tilted his head towards the nearest open doorway and stretching his arm out so Bucky and I could see what Redwing was seeing. There was a truck with two people loading in containers of something.

“Where’s the guy?” Bucky asked.

“I don’t know. I think they’re smuggling weapons though.” “Well, I think you could be right,” Bucky’s voice lowered. “Hmm,” Sam nodded.

“But there’s only one way to find out,” Bucky turned towards the doorway, “I see a clear path, I say we take it.”

As soon as his boot hit the ground in its first step, Sam reached for his arm. “We’re not assassins.” “Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, observe from a distance rather than attack straight away?” I offered.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to me when I spoke and promptly back to Sam, throwing away my suggestion. He probably thought me naive. “I’ll see you inside or not.”

He pulled his arm out of Sam’s grip and went ahead, leaving Sam chuckling to himself. “Hey, come on, man. I’m just messing with you, come back,” he called softly. “‘I’m just messing with you,’ the Avengers’ official slogan,” I dryly jested, “Here I was thinking we were doing serious work. Is Redwing still surveying?” “Yeah,” Sam was still smiling to himself as he turned to watch Bucky stalk down the hallway, “Look at you. All stealthy. A little time in Wakanda and you come out White Panther.”

“It’s actually White Wolf,” Bucky responded in our ears.

“Huh?”

When we lost visual on Bucky, Sam snapped his fingers and nodded towards the hallway. We made our way through the various openings until we’d caught up, Sam held up a finger to his lips as we caught sight of Bucky and our steps became even softer.

“All right, I’m inside. Therefore way ahead of you,” Bucky bragged, turning back to where he thought we waited, “It’s not great but very doable.” His peripherals must have caught the red and white of Sam’s suit, he turned to see the two of us at his side. “Hello. How are you?” “Good. What did we miss? Nothing,” Sam replied.

“All right, let’s go,” Bucky moved to step forward again.

“No, wait,” Sam protested.

Bucky held up his prosthetic vibranium arm I had heard so much about. “I got a vibranium arm, I can take them.” “And I can fly, she can make things float, who gives a shit? Wait. I want to see where they’re going.” Bucky pointed towards the truck that was still being loaded, “There’s two people.”

“You only see two?” Sam started. “That’s what I saw,” Bucky confirmed.

“Let me see what Redwing sees.” “All right…” “Let’s see what Redwing sees…”

I held two fingers to my temple and rubbed, “My gosh, it’s like working with children.”

Sam fiddled with a few controls on the screen and activated the x-ray feature on his beloved drone, “Oh, look at that. How many people you see now? One, two…Oh, here it comes again.” Bucky sighed, unhappy to admit he was wrong, “Four. Five.” “Yeah, five.” “So they’re strong, whatever,” Bucky brushed off not only the math but our group’s capabilities. “Let’s go.”

“Barnes, wait,” I hissed as Sam reached out and took hold of his arm, his elbow hitting the metal shelves we were hiding behind and rattling something.

“Shit!” Sam whispered, he pulled me to his side to block me while Bucky ducked down. The group turned to investigate the noise but disregarded it at the lack of visible culprits. The trucks started and their doors were closed, each person getting into their designated vehicle. Sam started tapping on Redwing’s controller again, “There’s an eighth person. I think they have a hostage.”

With one look from Bucky, the three of us snapped into action. I raised myself into the air ahead of Sam who took off slightly behind me, looking down to see Bucky running impossibly fast. “Y/n, with me,” Sam called through the comms, I listened and hung back until he’d caught up. Bucky continued on his way until he’d climbed onto the back of the truck. I followed Sam’s lead as we flew to the side of the road.

“Shouldn’t we be helping him?” I asked as the two of us landed.

“They’re stealing medicine, vaccines,” Bucky’s voice filled my comm.

“He’s got it, we’re staying here and waiting for him to come back with the hostage. Then you and I are gonna keep following the trucks and see where they’re heading,” he explained, “I’m trying to keep you out of as much of the fight as I can.” “That’s the whole reason I came, Sam,” I argued, gesturing towards the road, “To help, to fight.”

“Bucky, talk to me,” Sam favored to ignore my desire to do dirty work, “What’s goin’ on?”

“Found the hostage,” he reported, followed only seconds later by a loud exclaim of “Shit!”

Adrenaline set every nerve alight in my body, something had gone wrong. Without asking for Sam’s permission I took off running down the road. I used my energy to lift towards the sky and flew the same way the truck’s had gone. Distantly, I heard Sam yell my name but made no effort to stop. “Barnes, talk to me,” I yelled over the winds I was flying against. As I spotted the trucks I saw the small silhouettes of figures standing atop one of them. Once I got closer, I could see that the one being aggressively pinned by two of them was Bucky. I landed on the vehicle’s roof just in time to see someone leap into the air, grab Redwing and break him with their knee. Between my want to help Bucky and my second hand protectiveness over Sam’s gear, I was pissed. The masked figure looked up at me, two brown eyes peeking out of eyeholes and marched forward, making me their next target. I created a ball of blue energy and aimed it at her, knocking her down but only for a second. She leapt towards me and landed a punch across my cheek, I went down with a groan and cradling my cheek. Now I was really pissed…

I opened an eye to see the shadow of Sam’s Falcon suit above me, he touched down on the truck and landed a kick to my assaulter’s abdomen. He quickly helped me to my feet as our enemy rose again and took a fight stance.

“Good of you to join the fight, Sam,” Bucky yelled before kicking one of his captors in the leg.

The person who had given me the shiner threw Sam aside to the second truck like he was weightless. She was far too small to be that strong, it was inhuman. I decided to hold back a little less and raised my hands toward her, extending waves of the blue energy and raising her up into the air. She struggled to try and escape my hold, grunting and groaning as she flopped around in the air. I was about to throw her into the trees when I was tackled from behind. We skidded towards the front of the truck till the boot of one of the thugs holding Bucky down hit me in the shoulder. Another masked figure, this one I suspected to be a man, had his arms wrapped tightly around my abdomen. He flipped me over and raised his head to slam into mine. Luckily he hadn’t thought to pin my arms down and his mistake allowed me to throw them in front of my face and create a force field that even the thickest of skulls couldn’t penetrate. I looked briefly to see Sam being pinned down as well on the second truck but couldn’t free myself to go help him.

And then, in a conflicting twist of events, a red white and blue shield came flying through the air.

As I struggled to keep the force field up and my arms locked, I made out an equally patriotic suited man throw the shield at the one who had punched me earlier. A second figure swung in from a helicopter and kicked her off the truck, leaving her clinging to the edge of the roof. The shield flew in the direction of the people holding Bucky down and hit one square in the back before bouncing back to its wielder. The guy holding me down was struck next and rolled right off of me, I sent a significantly bigger blast towards his chest that sent him flying off the back of the truck. Bucky reached down and helped me stand up, he pulled me out of the way when the shield came flying by our faces to hit his other attackers.

“You gotta be kidding me,” I panted.

John Walker stopped briefly to introduce himself to Sam, like he hadn’t been living rent free in our minds since that damned tv broadcast before sending the shield flying past Bucky and I again. As it bounced off our enemies and back towards Walker, Bucky’s metal hand snapped up to grab it only for Walker to retake it. The time for anger or sadness wasn’t now, though the forlorn expression on Bucky’s face said otherwise. I broke from him and launched myself across the gap between trucks to land near where Sam was being attacked. Bucky followed suit and we began taking out each person one by one till Sam stood and turned too fast, hitting and sending Bucky plus one of the masked thugs over the side of the truck. Sam and I turned to face our last attacker who was stalking toward us, Sam glanced over his shoulder quickly before looking back ahead. “When I say ‘now,’ you shoot up,” he ordered, “Now!” I blasted upwards and over the overhead road sign he’d known would hit our attacker. I was too high to drop down suddenly but watched as Sam touched back down on the truck to be punched off the truck, activating his wings and catching himself in the wind. I flew downwards and lined up with the side of the truck, searching frantically for Bucky while trying to dodge the cars to my left. Bucky was clinging for dear life to the underside of the truck. His attacker stomped his metal arm with his boot till Bucky lost his grip with it and it dragged along the road creating a flurry of sparks.

“Sam, what do we do?” I yelled into my comm. “Now when I say ‘drop,’ you drop.” “Are you insane?!” I screeched, looking down at the asphalt and trying to calculate how fast I may be going. “DROP!”

Putting the most trust I ever had in Sam, I stopped the energy flow and was tackled mid-air by him. I twisted in his arms to wrap my legs around one of his and my arms around his back. Without warning, he flew us under the nearest truck before letting go of me with one arm and tackling Bucky. I readjusted my grip to have one arm around both of them. We dropped out of the air and crash-landed, rolling like a grunting and groaning wheel through a field of yellow flowers. Eventually we ceased our tumbling with Bucky on top of Sam and me to the side still clinging to both of them.

“Could have used that shield,” Bucky ground out tauntingly in Sam’s face.

“Get off of me,” Sam strained, shoving Bucky off with another loud grunt. I rolled to his other side and coughed loudly, having had the wind knocked out of me during the crash. The three of us lay on our backs trying to regain our breath, Sam and I more than Bucky but I chalked that up to the fact that he was just as strong as the people we’d just gotten our asses handed to us by. “Those were all Super Soldiers, Sam,” he stated in awe.

“I know,” Sam confirmed, “You’re welcome, by the way.” He pushed himself up painfully on an elbow to lean over me, “Are you okay?”

I was finally starting to feel like I could get some semblance of a normal breath in. I’d have wished it was running around with AJ and Cass that would have showed me I was out of shape and not losing a fight to Super Soldiers. “‘Big Three’ my ass, Wilson,” I wheezed, making no effort to sit up yet.

“I said ‘might be’,” Sam weakly fought, “‘Might be.’ Clearly I was wrong.”

“Will wonders never cease?” Bucky winced as he sat up, “We need to get to the airport and reformulate.” “Oh, do we now? Do we need to reformulate?” Sam mocked from the ground, “I hadn’t thought of that yet, Bucky, what an incredible-“ I groaned loudly and forced my torso up, “Dear God above, if you two don’t stop acting like twelve year olds, I’ll catch a Delta flight home.” “Good, that’s where I wanted you,” Sam reprimanded as he rose to join me, “I told you if you took some stupid risk, you were going back home and what did you do? You took off on your own towards those trucks!” “I was trying to help him,” I threw my hand out towards Bucky, “One way or another I would have gotten hurt, Sam, whether I’d have waited for you or not. And now that I’ve actually seen what we’re dealing with? No way am I going home.” I rolled onto my knees and got to my feet, my muscles aching with each movement I made to stand in front of the two men. “When you two decide to start acting like adults, I’ll meet you back at the jet.”

Holding in each groan that wanted to escape my mouth, I started my trek back towards the road, not making it very far until I heard two pairs of footsteps behind me.

We walked that way for most of the way, Sam and Bucky muttering something every once in a while to each other and me ahead of them trying to wrap my head around the situation. I had gotten myself tangled in the world of super soldiers, ones who weren’t using their advanced capabilities to save the world from one of the actual Big Three. Not only that but we’d had the displeasure of being rescued by the person the three of us had wanted to see least in the world. I had started the day out having coffee with Sarah on our back porch and by eastern standard time zone’s definition was ending it in Germany mid-afternoon with a killer bruise developing on my cheek. Whatever I had expected to come from joining Sam, it sure as hell wasn’t this.

A car honk summoned me out of my thoughts, an open roofed vehicle came up beside me and I was quick to identify the passengers. John Walker and the helicopter soldier.

“So that didn’t go as planned, huh?” Walker attempted to make friendly conversation, specifically with Sam and Bucky but I could sense I was also welcome to answer. I didn’t cease my movements and neither did Sam and Bucky which only caused Walker to instruct the driver to get ahead of us again. “Look, at least we know what we’re up against now, huh? And we’re pretty sure it’s one of the Big Three, so…” “Aliens, androids, or wizards?” the unnamed soldier double checked with Walker, who responded that he was still almost certain.

“There’s no such thing as wizards,” Bucky grumbled from behind me, sounding like the old man he biologically was.

“Then it’s aliens, or androids,” Walker shrugged. “Or Super Soldiers,” Sam corrected.

“Shit, Super Soldiers, for real?” Walker’s sidekick asked before turning in his seat to face, “Do you believe that?” “I believe that you two don’t know how to take a hint,” I frustratedly smiled at him, “But yes, I do.”

“Wow. All right, well, then we gotta work together,” Walker said. Bucky scoffed, “That’s not happening.”

“I think we stand a much better chance if we all just-“ Bucky finally lost his patience and said the thing we all were thinking, “Just ‘cause you carry that shield, it doesn’t mean you’re Captain America.”

Walker was quick to defend himself, “Look, I’ve done the work, okay?”

Bucky was equally as quick to prove him wrong, “You ever jump on top of a grenade?” “Yeah. Actually, I have. Four times,” Walker explained, “It’s a thing I do with my helmet. It’s a reinforced helmet. It’s a long story, but, look…It’s 20 miles to the airport, you guys need a ride.” A sudden cramp tore through my shin causing me to sharply inhale and grab the leg. Through the pain I managed to exhale and begin limping back along the path, “We’re good, thanks.”

“At least let us take her, she’s injured,” I heard Walker attempt to convince Sam and Bucky, knowing that I was probably a means to an end to get them in the car.

I didn’t get very far before I felt Sam’s arm wrap around my waist, “C’mon…” As much as I wanted to fight him on it, I knew I wouldn’t make it more than a few steps before I was bent over again in pain. The adrenaline had worn off and my whole body was starting to ache deeply in a way that made even breathing hurt where it shouldn’t. I dropped my head in frustration and nodded, putting my arm around Sam’s shoulder to let him brace me. He helped me limp back to the car where Bucky gently handled my other side, the two of them lifted me into the vehicle where Walker and his friend tried to help me sit down. I shrugged off their unwelcome hands and used the roof’s poles to lower myself into a seat. Sam jumped in and sat on one side of me, gently lifting the leg that was really bothering me onto his lap to try and massaging my shin. Bucky climbed in on my other side and gave me a once over, trying to assess if I was in any further pain that I wasn’t letting on to.

“Okay,” Walker began as the car rocked to life again, “So we’ve got eight Super Soldiers on a bulk supply run. Why?” “They say their mission is to get things back to the way it was during The Blip,” Sam explained, “Maybe they’re just trying to help.” “They had a funny way of showing it,” Bucky commented.

“That serum doesn’t exactly have a great track record,” Walker quickly looked to Bucky, “No offense.” I tried not to judge people too harshly upon first meeting them, but I had no problem deciding right away that Walker was an asshole.

“We need to figure out where they’re going,” Sam spoke up before an argument could break out, “How’d you track ‘em here? The Flag Smashers?”

“Uh, no, we didn’t track them. We tracked you, uh, through Redwing,” Walker’s friend answered, dipping his head down to avoid Sam’s stony gaze.

“You hacked my tech?” “Sorry,” Walker laughed, “It’s not exactly hacking. It’s government property,” he gestured to himself, “Kind of the government.” My lips parted and I tilted my head, ”Are you kidding me?”

“I’m sorry,” Walker extended his hand out to me, “John Walker, Captain America. And you are?” I glanced between his hand and him, “Not impressed.” He awkwardly retracted it and turned away from me to Bucky, “Does he always just stare like that?” “You get used to it,” Sam replied, suddenly he had no problem with Bucky’s habit.

“Okay, look,” Walker cleared his throat, “You know things have gotten kind of, uh…” “Chaotic,” his friend finished for him.

“Yeah. The GRC, they’re doing the best they can to get things up and running smoothly, post Blip.” “Reactivating citizenship, social security, healthcare. Basically just managing resources for the refugees who were displaced by the return.”

“The Global Repatriation Council does all that, I get that,” Sam said impatiently, “So why exactly are you two here?”

“Well, they provide the resources and we keep things stable,” the soldier answered.

“Yeah, violent revolutionaries aren’t usually good for anyone’s cause,” Walker said. “Usually said by the people with the resources,” Sam looked up from the work he was doing on my leg to look dead at Walker.

“We got a lot of resources,” he stated confidantly, “If you guys, if you joined up with us, we could-“ “No,” Bucky and I said in unison, now having agreed on two things. Walker was a phony and wizards weren’t real.

“I got mad respect for both of ya’ll,” Walker’s friend complimented, “You too, ma’am. But you were kinda getting your asses kicked till we showed up.” Bucky finally dragged his stare off of Walker, “Who are you?” “Lemar Hoskins.” “Look, I see a guy hanging out of a helicopter in tactical gear, I need a lot more than Lemar Hoskins,” Sam commented.

“I’m Battlestar,” Lemar reintroduced himself, “John’s partner.” “‘Battlestar?’” Bucky echoed the ridiculous nickname, snapping his head suddenly toward the driver, “Stop the car!”

The driver obeyed and quickly halted in the middle of the road, giving Bucky the opportunity to jump out of the car. He raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for me to join him but I wasn’t about to leave Sam’s side. I held a hand up to him to which he responded by closing the back door and starting down the path that veered off the main road.

“Look, I…I get it, okay? I get the attitude, I do,” Walker started, he couldn’t come close to understanding how insulted all three of us were for one uniting reason, “You don’t think that the shield was gonna end up here. I get it, Bucky,” even the call of his name wasn’t enough to make him stop, “And I’m…I’m not trying to be Steve. I’m not trying to replace Steve.” “Could’ve fooled me,” I snorted, removing my leg from Sam’s lap as he’d stopped rubbing it long ago. “I’m just trying to be the best Captain America I can be, that’s it,” Walker focused his eyes on my brother, “It’d be a whole lot easier if I had Cap’s wingmen on my side.” Sam scoffed and looked out of the corner of his eyes at me as if to make sure he hadn’t heard incorrectly. He hadn’t, and I was about two seconds away from putting my powers to good use and beating Walker with his own shield that he could never truly hold ownership of. “It’s always that last line…”

Sam climbed over me and hopped out first before helping to lower me to the ground. A defeated Walker ordered the driver to leave and we watched to make sure they actually left for good. “Torres said he’s nice?” I asked sarcastically as we resumed our familiar posture of Sam helping me walk. “Torres is young, impressionable and follows every order he’s given. Guys like Walker have a problem with anyone who doesn’t take their every word as gospel.”

“Well, your mom made us attend enough church when we were kids for me to know that right there,” I pointed back to the car that was now a dot in the distance, “Is a false prophet.”

I trained my eyes ahead of us, Bucky hadn’t gotten too far and it looked like he had actually slowed his pace for us to catch up easier. While I was angry with the government for appointing Walker and the man himself, I knew that the pain Sam and Bucky were feeling was exponentially heavier to deal with. They’d already lost their friend and Walker was the salt being rubbed in the wound.

When we did eventually make it to the plane an hour later, I was biting back tears at how much pain I was in. Sam took notice of how I was trying to conceal them as we approached the tarmac and carried me the rest of the way.

“I gotta check for any internal bleeding,” he said as he set me down gently on the seats of the jet, “And you’re going home.” “No, I’m not,” I moaned. “Yes, you are,” he scolded as he lifted up my shirt to the bottom of my bra so that he could get a clear view of my abdomen, “Sarah’s gonna pound my ass into the ground as it is for bringing you back bruised.” My eyes could no longer stay opened, further fluttering shut as I didn’t hear Sam state that he saw anything concerning. “Get some sleep,” he ordered, “I’ll take care of anything I find.” Just before I drifted off, I heard a second body kneel down next to Sam. “She okay?” “Yeah, she’ll be fine,” he answered Bucky, “I just should have never brought her.”

————

When I did wake up, the plane was dark except for the minimal lighting towards the cockpit. I attempted to sit up, biting back a groan as I did. There was a blanket draped over my bottom half and my jacket was now folded underneath my head as a makeshift pillow. Sam was sleeping upright near my feet, arms crossed and snoring quietly.

“Glad to see you’re okay,” a quiet voice startled me, I turned to see it was Bucky. “A little out of my depth,” I remarked, rubbing one of my eyes, “But yeah, okay.”

Bucky nodded and looked back down at his folded hands, for some reason the contrast of the gold and black metal meeting the pale flesh fascinated me. He must’ve sensed I was staring because he peered up at me through his lashes. I quickly looked away, “I’m guessing we’re on our way back to New Orleans.” “Baltimore, actually,” he replied.

“What’s in Baltimore?” I whispered, trying not to wake Sam. “Someone that Sam needs to meet.” “Okay,” I slowly swung my legs off the seats to properly face him, “Who’s in Baltimore?” Bucky gave me a tired look, “Just someone, you’ll meet him too.” I bristled slightly at his answer, shooting him a half smile. “You don’t trust people, do you, Barnes?”

I wouldn’t call what his lips did was a smile, but maybe a sarcastic knock off of one. “You ask a lot of questions, you know?”

“Only when people don’t give me any answers,” I fired back in a contradictorily easy tone, “Look, you don’t have to trust me. That’s fine, I’m going home after whatever surprise you have for us anyway so you won’t have to deal with me slowing you guys down anymore.” “Sam was endangering you by bringing a civilian to an Avengers level fight,” he quickly said, “That’s on him, not you. And none of us were exactly at our best today.” A supercut of the three of us each getting slapped around silly on top of the trucks played in my mind. He was definitely right, nobody could have predicted that we’d be thrown for such a loop. Not even the man pretending to be Captain America. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about Walker,” I offered as softly as I could, “I’ve watched him parade that shield around on tv for days and I’ve gotten angrier each time. Not saying it’s the same as what you’re feeling but…I’m just sorry.” Bucky didn’t respond, he actually looked away from me and back down at his hands. “You should get some more sleep, we’re still a ways out.” It was clear I wasn’t going to get anywhere with him, not that I felt any burning desire to try to get him to open up. I’d only tried out of politeness and the slight glimmer of curiosity I held when it came to what lay beneath his hardened surface. “Goodnight, Barnes,” I said, laying back down and rolling over so I didn’t have to look at him any longer.

----

A/N: Let me know what you thought and/or if you’d like to be tagged! There’s still a lot of surprises that are coming...

Safe Haven taglist: @tanyaherondale @wanniiieeee @asoftie4bucky @edencherries @i-reblog-fics-i-like @ttalisa @gcfty @withyoutilltheendofthismess @rinaispunk @weirdowithnobeardo @felicityofbakerstreet @godlypotterwhodiaries @eternalharry @voguesir @mizz-kraziii @okayline @smellmymisunderstoodfluff @wanderin-stories @nicklet94 @intricate-melody @aesthethickks @stumbleonmywords @simplybarnes @21bruhs @lostinwonderland314 @superbookishhufflepuff @themaddies-obx

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x platonic!reader #marvel imagine

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cielrouge · 3 years

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YA SFF Books by Latinx Authors

A Fierce and Subtle Poison by Samantha Mabry: Spending the summer with his hotel-developer father in Puerto Rico, 17-year-old Lucas turns to a legendary cursed girl filled with poison when his girlfriend mysteriously disappears.

All the Wind in the World by Samantha Mabry: Working in the maguey fields of the Southwest, Sarah Jac and James are in love but forced to start over on a ranch that is possibly cursed where the delicate balance in their relationship begins to give way.

Beneath the Citadel by Destiny Soria: In the city of Eldra, people are ruled by ancient prophecies. For centuries, the high council has stayed in power by virtue of the prophecies of the elder seers. In the present day, Cassa, the orphaned daughter of rebels, is determined to fight back against the high council. But by the time Cassa and her friends uncover the mystery of the final infallible prophecy, it may be too late to save the city — or themselves.

Blanca & Roja by Anne-Marie McLemore: The del Cisne girls, Blanca & Roja, have never just been sisters; they’re also rivals. Because of a generations-old spell, their family is bound to a bevy of swans deep in the woods. But when two local boys become drawn into the game, the swans’ spell intertwines with the strange and unpredictable magic lacing the woods, and all four of their fates depend on facing truths that could either save or destroy them.

Blazewrath Games by Amparo Ortiz: 17-year-old Lana Torres, who after rescuing a prized dragon, is awarded a spot on her native Puerto Rico’s Blazewrath World Cup team. But the return of the Sire, an ancient dragon, soon threatens to compromise this year’s tournament.

They Both Die in the End by Adam Silvera: Set in a near-future New York City where a service alerts people on the day they will die, about two teens who meet using the Last Friend app and are faced with the challenge of living a lifetime on their End Day.

The Body Market (Wired #2) by Donna Freitas: When Skylar's sister betrays her and opens the Body Market, everyone in the App World is for sale and Skylar resolves to stop her sister and the malevolent market.

Bruja Born (Brooklyn Brujas #2) by Zoraida Cordova: Teenage bruja Lula Mortiz tries to save her boyfriend, Maks, by cheating Death; however, Lady de la Muerte is not so easily bested.

The Buried by Melissa Grey: After disaster strikes the remote town of Indigo Falls. A horrific event drove the residents underground, into shelters that keep them safe from the danger on the surface. Now, a handful of families inhabit this bunker together, guided by a charismatic leader named Dr. Imogen Moran.

Cazadora (Wolves of No World #2) by Romina Garber: In this follow-up to Lobizona, Manu and her friends as they continue to fight for a better future.

Cemetery Boys by Aiden Thomas: Latinx trans teen Yadriel, hoping to release his cousin’s spirit and prove himself as a brujo, accidentally summons the wrong ghost and resident bad boy Julian Diaz, falling in love with him.

Dark and Deepest Red by Anna-Marie McLemore: Summer, 1518. A strange sickness sweeps through Strasbourg: women dance in the streets, some until they fall down dead. As rumors of witchcraft spread, suspicion turns toward Lavinia and her family. Five centuries later, a pair of red shoes seal to Rosella Oliva’s feet, making her dance uncontrollably. They draw her toward a boy who knows the dancing fever’s history better than anyone: Emil.

Dealing in Dreams by Lilliam Rivera: 16-year-old Nalah leads the fiercest all-girl crew in Mega City, but when she sets her sights on giving this life up for a prestigious home in Mega Towers, she must decide if she’s willing to do the unspeakable to get what she wants.

Diamond City by Francesca Flores: Pulled from the streets at age twelve and trained to become one of the most powerful assassins in Sumerand, Aina Solis discovers a conspiracy that could rewrite the kingdom's history.

Dragonblood Ring (Blazewrath Games #2) by Amparo Ortiz: After the Sire’s capture, teen athletes Lana Torres and Victoria Peralta travel to Puerto Rico with their former Blazewrath team. While Lana discovers her roots, nothing fills the void Blazewrath’s cancelation has left in Victoria. But it’s up to their team and the Bureau to protect their dragons.

Each of Us a Desert by Mark Oshiro: Xochital is destined to wander the desert alone. Her one desire: to share her heart with a kindred spirit. One night, Xo’s wish is granted—in the form of Emilia, the cold and beautiful daughter of the town’s murderous mayor. But when the two set out on a magical journey across the desert, they find their hearts could be a match… if only they can survive the nightmare-like terrors that arise when the sun goes down.

Fire with Fire by Destiny Soria: A contemporary fantasy about two sisters, Dani and Eden Rivera, who were raised to be fierce dragon slayers but end up on opposite sides of the impending war when one sister forms an unlikely, magical bond with a dragon.

The First 7 (The Last 8 #2) by Laura Pohl: After leaving Earth, now devastated by an alien attack, and exploring the galaxy, Clover Martinez and her fellow teen survivors return home to find crystal formations in the soil that are threatening to destroy the planet, and a colony of survivors who are not who they seem.

Five Midnights by Ann Davila Cardinal: If Lupe Dávila and Javier Utierre can survive each other’s company, together they can solve a series of grisly murders sweeping though Puerto Rico. But the clues lead them out of the real world and into the realm of myths and legends.

The Grief Keeper by Alexandra Villasante: To have her family’s asylum request accepted, 17-year-old Marisol participates in a risky experiment to become a grief keeper, taking another’s grief into her own body to save a life.

The Healer by Donna Freitas: Manifesting astonishing healing powers that cause some people to consider her a saint, Marlena Oliveria struggles with edicts that prevent her from attending school, having friends and falling in love when she meets a boy who makes her question what she is willing to sacrifice.

Hollywood Witch Hunter by Valerie Tejeda: When a coven bent on retaining their youth must sacrifice the beautiful, and rich women of Southern California, a society of witch hunters will try to protect humans from a great evil uprising.

Incendiary by Zoraida Cordova: As Renata Convida grows more deeply embedded in the politics of the royal court, she uncovers a secret in her past that could change the entire fate of the kingdom–and end a costly war.

Illusionary (Hollow Crown #2) by Zoraida Córdova: Reeling from betrayal, Renata Convida is a girl on the run. With few options and fewer allies, she reluctantly joins forces with none other than Prince Castian, her most infuriating and intriguing enemy.

Infinity Son by Adam Silvera: In the Bronx, two brothers, Emil and Brighton, get caught up in a magical war generations in the making.

Infinity Reaper (Infinity Cycle #2) by Adam Silvera: Emil and Brighton Rey defied the odds. When Brighton drank the Reaper’s Blood, he believed it would make him invincible, but instead the potion is killing him. In Emil’s race to find an antidote that will not only save his brother but also rid him of his own unwanted phoenix powers, he will have to dig deep into his past lives.

Iron Cast by Destiny Soria: In 1919 Boston, best friends Corinne and Ada perform illegally as illusionists in an infamous gangster's nightclub, using their "afflicted" blood to con Boston's elite, until the law closes in.

Labyrinth Lost by Zoraida Cordova: Alex is a bruja and the most powerful witch in her family. . When a curse she performs to rid herself of magic backfires and her family vanishes, she must travel to Los Lagos to get her family back.

The Last 8 by Laura Pohl: After an alien attack devastates the Earth, pilot and future astronaut Clover Martinez bands with seven other teens to survive.

Lobizona by Romina Garber: As Manuela Azul uncovers her own story and traces her real heritage all the way back to a cursed city in Argentina, she learns it’s not just her U.S. residency that’s illegal… .it’s her entire existence.

Lost in the Never Woods by Aiden Thomas: When children start to go missing in the local woods, eighteen-year-old Wendy Darling must face her fears and a past she cannot remember to rescue them in this novel based on Peter Pan.

The Mind Virus (Wired #3) by Donna Freitas: Skylar Cruz has managed to shut down the body market that her sister Jude opened, and to create a door to allow App World citizens reentry into the Real World. But as tensions between the newly mingling people escalate, she s not sure if it was the right decision after all. Still reeling from Kit’s betrayal, she s not sure of anything anymore.

Miss Meteor by Tehlor Kay Mejia & Anna-Marie McLemore: Two friends, Lita Perez or Chicky Quintanilla, one made of stardust and one fighting to save her family’s diner, take on their small town’s 50th annual pageant in the hopes that they can change their town’s destiny, and their own.

The Mirror Season by Anna-Marie McLemore: Graciela Cristales meets Lock, a boy who was sexually assaulted at the same party as her, and they find their fates unexpectedly intertwined during a month of vanishing trees, enchanted pan dulce, and inherited magic.

More Happy Than Not by Adam Silvera: After enduring his father's suicide, his own suicide attempt, broken friendships, and more in the Bronx projects, Aaron Soto, sixteen, is already considering the Leteo Institute's memory-alteration procedure when his new friendship with Thomas turns to unrequited love.

Never Look Back by Lilliam Rivera: An Afro-Latinx retelling of Orpheus and Eurydice set in the Bronx. Pheus is a bachata-singing dreamer who falls in love with Eury, a girl who lost everything in Hurricane Maria and is haunted by the trauma—and by an evil spirit.

Nocturna by Maya Motayne: In the Latinx-inspired kingdom of Castallan, face-changing thief Finn Voy and grief-stricken Prince Alfehr must race to vanquish a dark magic they have unleashed.

Oculta (A Forgery of Magic #2) by Maya Motayne: After joining forces to save Castallan from an ancient magical evil, Alfie and Finn reunite once again to preserve Castallan’s hopes for peace with Englass. But will they be able to stop sinister foes before a new war threatens their kingdom?

Pitch Dark by Courtney Alameda: Tuck Durante, a shipraider, and Lana Gray, a curator, must work together to try to rescue a space capsule hijacked by nightmarish creatures who kill with a scream.

Rated by Melissa Grey: For the students at the prestigious Maplethorpe Academy, every single thing they do is reflected in their Ratings System. But when an act of vandalism sullies the front doors of the school, it sets off a chain reaction that will shake the lives of six special students – and the world beyond.

Sanctuary by Abby Sher & Paola Mendoza: In a near future dystopian America set 2030, 16-year-old Vail and her brother must escape a xenophobic government to find sanctuary in California.

The Savage Dawn (Girl at Midnight #3) by Melissa Grey: A darkness has entered the world and the Dragon Prince is wreaking havoc wherever she goes. With the war upon her, Echo must use every bit of her firebird powers or risk losing those she holds dear.

Seven Deadly Shadows by Courtney Alameda & Valynne E. Maetani: A contemporary fantasy set in Japan, about Shinto temple priestess Kira Fujikawa, who must seek the aid of seven demons in order to protect her village and the world from an ancient evil.

Shadow City (The City of Diamond and Steel #2) by Francesa Flores: Aina Solís has fought her way to the top of criminal ranks in the city of Kosín by wresting control of an assassin empire owned by her old boss, Kohl. But Kohl will do anything to get his empire back.

The Shadow Hour (The Girl at Midnight #2) by Melissa Grey: With the firebird awakened, the war has become even more dangerous for Echo and her friends. There is a darkness spreading too and staying in hiding might not be enough to keep them alive.

Shadowshaper by Daniel Jose Older: When her summer plans are interrupted by supernatural phenomena, Puerto Rican teen Sierra Santiago finds herself in a battle with the killer targeting her family of shadowshapers who believes she is hiding their greatest secret.

Shadowhouse Fall (Shadowshaper #2) by Daniel Jose Older: While working on her shadowshaping skills, Sierra Santiago is beginning to think she may need all the skill she can summon because it seems that when she channeled hundreds of spirits through herself in order to defeat Wick, she woke up something very powerful and very unfriendly and put her family and friends at risk.

Shadowshaper Legacy (Shadowshaper #3) by Daniel Jose Older: Sierra Santiago and the shadowshapers have been split apart, but a war is brewing among the houses. As old fates tangle with new powers, Sierra will have to harness the Deck of Worlds and confront her family’s past if she has any hope of saving the future and everyone she loves.

Shutter by Courtney Alameda: When a routine assignment goes awry, 17-year-old ghost hunter Micheline Helsing is infected with a curse and on the run, pursued as a renegade agent by her monster-hunting father, with only seven days to exorcise the entity or be destroyed body and soul.

Sia Martinez and the Moonlit Beginning of Everything by Raquel Vasquez Gilliland: A Mexican American teenage girl discovers profound connections between immigration, folklore, and alien life, when a spacecraft crashes in front of her car…and it’s carrying her long-lost mom, who’s very much alive.

Tigers, Not Daughters by Samantha Mabry: Loosely inspired by the story of King Lear and his daughters, set in San Antonio, Texas, following the Torres sisters, struggling to escape their tyrannical father’s claustrophobic world while dealing with the loss of their eldest sister, whose troubling death continues to haunt—perhaps even literally—the loved ones left behind.

Undead Girl Gang by Lily Anderson: While investigating the supposed suicides of her best friend, Riley, and mean girls June and Dayton, 16-year-old Wiccan Mila Flores accidentally brings them back to life.

Unplugged by Donna Freitas: When she moves from the Virtual World to the Real one, Skylar Cruz discovers that her body is both exquisite and valuable -- a dangerous combination in a place where bodies are sought after in sinister ways.

Wayward Witch (Brooklyn Brujas #3) by Zoraida Cordova: Rose Mortiz begins to discover the scope of her powers, the troubling truth about her father’s past, and the sacrifices he made to save her sisters. But if Rose wants to return home so she can repair her broken family, she must figure out how to heal the land of Adas, a fairy realm hidden in the Caribbean Sea, first.

The Weight of Feathers by Anna-Marie McLemore: Although Lace Paloma knows all about the feud between the Palomas and the Corbeaus, she finds herself falling for Cluck Corbeau when he saves her life while both families are performing in the same town.

We Set the Dark on Fire by Tehlor Kay Mejia: When she is asked to spy for a resistance group working to bring equality to Medio, Daniela Vargas, a student at the Medio School for Girls, questions everything she's worked for.

We Unleash the Merciless Storm (We Set the Dark on Fire #2) by Tehlor Kay Mejia: La Voz operative Carmen Santos is forced to choose between the girl she loves, Dani, and the success of the rebellion she’s devoted her life to.

When the Moon Was Ours by Anna-Marie McLemore: As odd as everyone considers Miel and Sam, even they stay away from the Bonner girls, four beautiful sisters rumored to be witches. Now they want the roses that grow from Miel's skin, convinced that their scent can make anyone fall in love. And they're willing to use every secret Miel has fought to protect to make sure she gives them up.

Wild Beauty by Anna-Marie McLemore: A novel of magical realism, the Nomeolvides women have tended the lust estate grounds of La Pradera which they’ve grown for generations, until the reemergence of a family curse starts to makes the men they love disappear, again.

#authors of color #latinx authors #booklr #book recs #book recommendations #yalit

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capsized-heart · 4 years

Text

l’ incendie

Pairing: Hal x Reader

Summary: You grew up as witness to the atrocities committed under the British crown. Lord Grey is your father and newly pledged councilman of the royal court. Now, England has a new boy king, one who is set on keeping peace in Europe. You are determined to see England burn, even if it means corrupting the lionhearted boy of Eastcheap.

Word count: 10k+

Warnings: explicit smut, strong violence, sacrilegious imagery a blowjob in a chapel lmao

A/N: l’ incendie ; French translation for fire

..so..I watched The King back in November and have had this idea in my brain for the past 2 months now?? It literally consumed me. All throughout my last few weeks of classes and final papers, this is honestly all I could think about, like I’ve been bumping the soundtrack and rewatching the film to plan this, I looked at Lord Grey’s true lineage (he aint Scottish btw I made that up..but he really was related to King Edward lol).......I’ve just had to get this out of me for so. long. and I’m so happy that I finally have! It feels like this huge weight is gone, but I’ve enjoyed this creative process so much, like it’s so exciting when you hyper-fixate find a new piece of media that you enjoy so much that you dive completely and utterly into everything about it that you can get your hands on, and this is my piece for this!

And my boy Timmy?? Had no fucking clue who this guy was before I saw the film, now I’m writing fics about him a;sdkfjskj but you’re here reading this so. we’re both guilty.

I love story arcs like this where you see a character’s slow descent into corruption and having it revealed that someone was talking in their ear the whole time....i eat that shit right up. Reader’s character is heavily inspired by Lady Macbeth. Using wiles, using sex, etc. Ooh baby. I had fun with this.

gif credit to @michonnegrimes

Scotland was once your true home. Moors, lochs, rugged mountains, biting cold, all. You remember the endless mist and gloom, the wet winters of your childhood that made the creaking wood of your cottage whistle and moan. Summers were warm and mild and the highlands bursting with rich green and sunlight, running through fragrant fields of heathers, bluebells, myrtle with your skirts damp with dew, shrieking and choking on laughter as your older brother, Callum, chased you all throughout your little village of Kirkcaldy. Laughing himself, grabbing at you and wrestling you down into the mud, blossoms, and river water.

“Yield! Yield to the English crown or perish, wretched witch!” Callum would boom in mock play, tickling your sides until you’re gasping for air and tears stung your eyes.

“Aye! I yield!”

“What? You mad girl! Take it back! We are Scots!”

And then Callum would descend on you with all the wrath of England and you’d be howling with giggles and screams.

Returning home at nightfall smelling of wind and rain with vibrant wildflowers tangled in your hair and dirt streaking the skin of your cheeks, still plump with baby fat. Scarce food, but stomach full of adventure and blissful naivete. You were happy.

Your father would scold you promptly before his voice would soften a touch, smoothing back your hair from your face. Round, curious eyes and missing teeth. A feral, untamed child.

Daughter of Lord Thomas Grey. His precious girl. So much of your mother in you, the same fight, the same spark and love for life. Until you had ripped her body from the inside out and she had lost too much blood, the wet nurses unable to stop the bleeding and she had given her last breath cradling you lovingly against her naked chest.

You had killed your own mother.

In your early years, Callum and your father gave you nothing but warmth and protection, the sole surviving daughter of Grey lineage. But a child can only be sheltered for so long. Your world is a man’s world. Your country is no stranger to bloodshed.

The Anglo-Scottish Wars have endured for as long as you can remember, rebel leaders beaten down by English captains and more Christian blood staining the lush lowlands with every day. Robert the Bruce. Percy Hotspur. Blood all the same.

You are bleak, wild, uncivilized in the eyes of the English.

It’s all your people have ever known. Weary, resilient Scotland.

You have no memory of your mother, your earliest memory being the image of William Wallace’s torso strung up in the village square and the ensuing riots that had truly put the fear of God in you, mounted soldiers and civilians clashing in a fury of slick, gory steel, longswords and blacksmith daggers, a fear so raw and primal it struck you frozen and you’d soiled yourself in the midst of chaos. Callum had grabbed you and raced the four miles home as you bellowed atop his back with great, ugly heaves, snot and tears dribbling down your chin.

You didn’t need to understand the politics of rebellion or Wallace’s stake in it all to understand a massacre.

You have no memory of your mother, only murder in the name of the English king.

But you’ve learned to nurture that little glowing kernel of survival, of the fighting spirit and grit inside you that had evidently cost your mother her life. You’ve kindled it, watched it ignite with every passing year of war, your body flourishing into the figure of a young woman with embers in her soul. A stable simmering of flushed coals beneath your skin, glistening in the pools of your irises, ready to flare up and burn all you touch should you choose to.

You feel it now as a jostling carriage takes you to Northumberland, England. You sit quietly, watching the hills of Scotland tremble by, eyes hungrily drinking up as much of its strong landscape as you can.

Your father and brother have already gone ahead to England to make arrangements for Callum’s recent engagement to Isabel, Countess of Essex and only daughter of the Earl of Cambridge. You are reuniting after a lonely week, perhaps your last, to ever see your homeland.

Callum’s betrothal didn’t come as much of a surprise, rather, you’ve been counting down the days until your village lifestyle was doomed for inevitable change; for years, your father has been preparing the two of you for noble life outside of Scotland. Son and daughter subjected to the arts of chivalry, proper etiquette, gentility. The best that your little village could accommodate.

Your father and his maternal ancestry have interestingly long influenced the English courts, as his title of Lord would suggest. Through his grandmother’s side, you are distant descendants of Margaret, Duchess of Norfolk.

King Edward himself. Now cold and buried in London’s Westminster Abbey.

The coals jump, flames twisting at the idea of relatives long dead sitting idly on the opportunity and resources for a coup d'etat, instead choosing to line their own pockets and watch your country crumble from the comfort of their English estates.

The carnage and murder of monarchy feel that much more personal to you.

With your brother’s new marriage, Callum will acquire lordship and be gifted property in Essex. Your father will be secured a seat in the king’s council. You will be given rooms and hospitality in the castle as a noblewoman available for marriage. As Lady Grey.

A lick of fire coils up your throat.

God save the king.

The switch cracks so hard against the skin of your knuckles that your lip draws blood when you bite back a scream. Pain diffuses up your arm in fractured, ringing jolts and your eyes flood with hot tears. You hazard a look at where an angry welt has already started to flush, red and pulsing on the back of your hand.

“Again.” Says Miss Hunt.

Your gaze falls to the open manuscript in front of you, to the passage that you’ve rehearsed aloud for the past two hours. Your tongue works nervously in your mouth, swallowing. Sweat glistens your brow. You think you may even be trembling.

You draw in a quick breath and begin again:

“Time and tide wait for no man.

The life so short, the crafts so long to learn.

People can die of mere imagination.

And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche-”

Another crack and this time you can’t restrain the cry that leaves you. You blink back the heat blurring your vision, set your jaw when Miss Hunt clasps her hands coldly behind her back and looks down at you over her hooked nose.

“Your voiced consonants are absolutely horrid, girl. Don’t close up your mouth. If you are to perfect the King’s English, you are to completely forget that savage dialect before I cut out your tongue. Am I understood?”

Miss Hunt gives you a smart swat to your cheek.

You nod quickly.

Another stinging swat.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, Miss Hunt.”

Satisfied, she turns on her heel, granting you a few precious moments of quiet, of rest. Afternoon light filters into the chamber in dusty, silvered shafts, hueing the book’s pages in a drab of diluted grey. The inked words of Chaucer bleed back up at you as you settle your breathing.

This English sits like gravel in your mouth, low and rough and choking up your throat. Sharply iambic, as if everyone is talking down to the other.

England’s English sounds slow and stupid.

You wonder if Callum had this much trouble mastering the accent. You wonder if Callum, as a Lord, has ever been slashed with a switch.

Since your arrival to England and for the better part of a year, Miss Hunt has dissected every syllable of your speech through bodily punishment and repetition, ripped out any trace of Gaelic, any remaining trace of Scotland on your tongue and sutured it back together with mouthfuls of Chaucer and pompous, exaggerated vowels.

But pain, degradation, and humiliation are wonderful motivators. And to your horror, it has worked.

Your father recently introduced you to a few councilmen out of courtesy and as the sister of the soon to be Lord Grey of Essex. You politely discussed politics, entertained banter and jests of marriage proposals. None questioned your status as an English noblewoman.

Masquerading with voice and poise.

But that hasn’t stopped your secret, unseen resistance.

Miss Hunt may have taken your language and cadence, but her practices have only shown you the true powers of speech, knowledge, shown you just how intimidated and afraid all of England is of the bold north, of any European empire threatening its legitimacy.

A cowering dog with raised hackles and snapping teeth, but only so out of mad fear.

The harder Miss Hunt pushes, the deeper you dig into your own studies. By day, you are her sole pupil. By night, by candlelight, you are the pupil of Cicero, studying rhetoric and the power of spoken influence. You’ve also begun to study French as a means to bolster your wiles and mental arsenal.

You are already a so-called savage by blood. Learning the language of England’s arch rival will do nothing to hurt your reputation.

You feel a bead of sweat slide down the base of your spine as the switch swishes impatiently in Miss Hunt’s clutches. Oral recitation and the simultaneous reduction of your accent demands every ounce of your concentration. You know already that if you are hit again, the skin will break and you’ll only be reprimanded harder. Miss Hunt is sadistic and cold with her beady eyes and that ugly high starched collar.

“Again.” Her voice clips evenly.

So, you inhale a strong, supportive breath and begin again, pushing down the smolder in your chest.

The day of the wedding is cloudless and full of sunshine, a rarity for England. Callum has been bustling about the chapel’s back rooms in nervous energy all morning, fixing his hair and dress shirt over and over. You send your father to go and calm him down as you tend to Isabel, shooing him away quickly so your father’s mirrored jitters won’t affect her before the start of the ceremony. She gives you a small smile of thanks.

Isabel looks beautiful sitting in front of the mirror as her maids finish arranging her hair. Back straight as a board, plump lips and cheeks the color of a rosy, coral pink. You help to pull the veil over her face and the thin fabric does nothing to mute her radiance.

You see the flickering range of emotions in her eyes as she sees her own reflection. The life that all women are fated to live. Her last moments of true freedom, uncertainty for the future, and that small, significant trickle of vanity at having a perfect day of her own.

You see it all. After all, you are a woman.

She relaxes a bit when you lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her gaze finds yours in the mirror.

“You and I will soon be sisters,” she laughs softly. You give her a pleasant smile.

“I would want nothing more.”

Her throat works as she swallows tears, gives you another radiant laugh. “Someday, you will be sitting here, too.”

The truth of her words causes your smile to weaken, but you quickly hide it by busying yourself with her skirts and lace. Your world is a man’s world, even outside of war-torn Scotland. One man’s world, to be exact.

King Henry IV.

“And I expect you, my dear Isabel, to be at my side when that day comes.” You say to her. She nods kindly.

Your brother and Isabel are married a few hours later beneath the rainbowed, iridescent wash of stained glass and chiming church bells. And as the newly wed couple beam at you and their close company of friends and family, as you see Callum hold his wife proudly on his arm, you think that the bride and groom may truly love each other despite their arranged marriage. The possibility of such a happiness makes you grin wide and the familiar coals to simmer down ever so slightly.

The reception then moves to the chapel’s outdoor gardens. Ornately trimmed hedges, chirping birdsong, bubbling marble fountains, and the sweet fragrance of daisies and roses perfume the budding spring air.

The sun is warm on your skin, the air brisk and comfortable. You keep your fur lined mantle draped around your shoulders, your embroidered sleeves catching hints of daylight, the jeweled metalwork glittering about your waist. And with your hair twisted with ribbon and pinned back with a light linen caul, even Isabel herself murmurs that you look as refreshing and incandescent as the flowers surrounding you. You smile back teasingly, whisper that no one could possibly compare to the blushing bride.

As sister of the groom, you mingle politely, accepting congratulations and kind regards.

You see familiar faces, lords and fellow council members alike, and some of those not yet well acquainted. You meet Cambridge, Isabel’s father and a bird of a man. Gangly limbs and a flittering that accompanies his quick movements, but cordial and gentle. He tells you the union of your families will be prosperous, benign. You agree.

Then, Cambridge is pulled aside by a young man. Cambridge seems to recognize him instantly and clasps him into an embrace, chuckling heartily.

“Hal! You made it!” he exclaims. The two talk together briefly before the young man turns to you.

He’s tall and lean, broad chested with sloping shoulders. The angular planes of his face are undeniably handsome, a strong nose, full dark lashes and brows that frame his bold complexion. Black, unkempt curls and soft, hooded green eyes that hold an undertone of vigor, like his very gaze has commanded attention his entire life. They flicker over you quickly, as if you’d imagined it yourself, a trick of the light.

You don’t miss the way they linger at the exposed dip of your neckline, however.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” He then asks of Cambridge, his voice a soft murmur and his eyes never leave you.

Cambridge looks quickly between the two of you, as if acknowledging your presence again for the first time since this young man’s interruption. He burns bright red, stammering, then gestures to the stranger beside him.

“Of course. My lady, may I present my cousin, Henry. Prince of Wales.”

The suddenness and sheer absurdity of it all almost makes you burst out in laughter.

Cousin? King Henry IV’s eldest son is the cousin of your father-in-law?

With this marriage, you realize your family is now tied to the most powerful family in all of Britain. Yet, no one in the wedding party seems to have even acknowledged the presence of the boy prince dressed simply in dark cloak and tunic.

And then you remember. Prince Hal is a drunk, a dangerous playboy from Eastcheap. His claim to the throne is as illegitimate as the probable dozens of children from his bedded girls.

And asking for a formal introduction from his cousin? It’s utterly laughable, pathetic even.

Hal’s gaze is unwanted, skin prickling from where his eyes trace the curve of your chest in a way that makes you feel vile.

So, you wet your lips, pretend to wordlessly accept his flirtations and give him a slow flutter of your lashes. The reaction he so craves from you as his chin tilts back in delight, hungry to see more.

“Your reputation precedes you, my lord.” Your words drip with venom. Flowery girl with a serpent’s sharp tongue.

The barb makes Hal’s features tick in surprise, shock before settling back into a cool demeanor.

“Then you’ve heard of me.”

Your mask of amour stays firmly in place.

“It is hard to be deaf against such defamatory gossip.”

Hal hums softly with a hint of a smile, breaking his gaze to look out over the reception, ego obviously bruised. Cambridge goes pale as a sheet.

Isabel suddenly swoops in with the apology of wanting to introduce her father to a newly arrived guest and excuses him, hauling him away by the arm. Cambridge looks relieved to go.

And then it’s just the two of you beneath the halo of rose-tinted light.

“Beautiful ceremony.” He says simply. Hal is incredibly soft spoken for a prince and you find yourself unconsciously leaning in to hear him speak. Part of the intimate charm that makes him so alluring to women, you think. A whispered promise only for you.

“I thank you, sire.”

He takes a step forward. It startles you, enough for him to crowd you against the garden trellis wall. Ivy and lavender press into your back, dancing in the same breeze that peppers goosebumps down your spine. You shiver softly. Hal steps closer.

“I pray this is not the last of today’s festivities?” His words ghost over your throat, tickling the shell of your ear.

“No, sire. There will be a dinner tonight,” you reply just as quietly. You understand the game perfectly because it is the same one you have been playing your whole life. You indulge him, fire sparkling behind your fluttering eyelashes. “Surely your cousin will be expecting your attendance.”

Hal leans over you, hair tickling your face, green eyes glimmering. Up close, you see that freckles and beauty marks dot his skin. “I’m sure he will.”

You think you see him incline his head as though to kiss you. For a moment, you’re frozen, entranced.

You turn your cheek and his lips brush your temple. He hesitates with a low chuckle, keeping his close proximity.

“Then, I will see you tonight, my lord.” You whisper. Your fingers graze his arms as you sidle out of his reach. You can feel his eyes on you as you go and rejoin the other guests.

You leave him burning.

The tavern teems with merriment and the sound of fiddle, fife, and drum. You feast on broiled meats, roasted potatoes, greens, sweet breads and cakes until your stomach is full to bursting.

The glow of candlelight is lush and sensual, throwing shadows over the faces that only hours before you had shared with in prayer and communion in the church of God. Now, every attendant indulges in debauchery.

You’re drunk, blood pounding with mulled wine and spiced ale and cider. Pleasantly warm and head swimming, watching Callum and Isabel and friends and family dance about the room as if possessed, twirling in swirls of colored fabric that make you laugh and clap along in breathless euphoria.

You catch a glance of a figure standing in the doorway. You see the motion of a glass moving to lips, throat working to swallow drink. When the glass falls, you lock eyes with Hal.

You beckon him forth with a crooked finger. He grins wickedly and sets down his cup.

Despite the obvious wine in him, his steps towards you are sure and true and his hands feel good against you when they caress your waist, pull you against him.

You play coy and twist out of his arms. He groans.

He follows you like a dog until you’re in the midst of spinning bodies and then you turn to him. Giving him the permission to finally touch you.

His eyes ignite. He splays a hand on the middle of your back, perfect pressure, authoritative, the other gripping you tight and then you’re both cackling with drunken mischief as he guides the two of you across the creaking wooden floor.

You let him support you, lean against his chest, enjoying the sensation of being held so close. The thrill of feeling wanted.

Even if it is all a charade.

The strings and beat of thumping drums careen to a crescendo that has the entire tavern whooping and hollering in delight. You break apart from Hal to join in as the music flows through your limbs, absolutely enchanted, throwing back your head like that feral child from girlhood.

Hal looks just as wild, the rumored wayward prince. Long, dark locks falling in his eyes, tunic unbuttoned and disheveled. Light and shadow dancing across his face in a manner that makes him look devilish.

He pushes a glittering goblet into your hands, eases his strong fingers around your own to help bring it to your lips. You see the unmistakable red slosh of wine and wordlessly drink. He watches you tip back the goblet, watches rubied jewels of crimson spill down the sides of your mouth and down the skin of your throat.

“That’s it. That’s a good girl.” He cooes.

The flames feel desperately hot, flushing your skin and cheeks, burning bright behind your lips. Or perhaps it's the alcohol? Or the prince’s wandering touch that now seems to be cupping your breast, tongue lapping at the trails of wine…

The heat is suddenly too much and you push away to a secluded corner filled with empty tables to catch your breath. Hal slumps beside you. His head lolls, dipping to press another whisper of a kiss to your jaw and his weight feels comfortable against your side.

You don’t know what comes over you. Perhaps you truly are possessed.

You turn into him and then your hand is reaching between his thighs.

Hal exhales sharply in your ear. You harden your touch, feel him widen his stance to accommodate you. He braces an arm behind the small of your back, supporting himself on the space of the wooden bench as your fingers slip below the waistband of his trousers.

He gives a strangled sigh when you grip him tight and begin to coil your hand. His head lolls once more, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, panting, bursts of hot breath fanning over your throat. You feel your own breath quicken, feel yourself getting excited.

You mesh your other hand into his curls and pull him closer, press your body flush against his. Hal moans, keening, his arm now around your waist. You shush him quietly, tightening the hold in his hair.

To any patron, you look as though you’re only consoling a drunken boy, simply talking in the muted light. The shadows hide you both but the flames shine in your eyes.

“Enjoying the festivities, my lord?” You sigh into his cheek.

“Please don’t stop..” Hal whimpers.

You chuckle through a half-lidded gaze and work him harder. It’s delicious, erotic.

You hold all power, all of England in your delicate grip.

You watch his mouth fall open, dark brows furrowing, feel him tense against you before the eldest son to the crown spills himself onto your fevered palm with a sharp gasp, chest heaving.

“Good boy..” you murmur with a cheshire smile, running your fingers soothingly down the line of his jaw. Hal shudders with aftershocks, eyes closed, forehead glistening with sweat.

Before he can attempt to try and reciprocate the favor, you wipe your hand on his cloak and stand to fetch another drink.

You avoid Hal afterwards and don’t see him again for the remainder of the night. You think he must have gone home with another girl to satisfy himself and it makes you smile knowing you are responsible for laying that trap, for letting him taste pleasure, driving his desperation and taking it all away just as easily.

Your brother and Isabel spend their honeymoon in London before returning to her home in Essex. They write to you, informing of their safe arrival at the new estate and that you will have to come visit in the very near future. It warms your heart. You already miss them terribly.

Soon after, your father is awarded the scarlet, fur-trimmed peerage robes of the House of Lords and with your new rank, you experience the privilege of wealth for the first time.

Rich foods, dresses and flowing silk skirts, cosmetics, more books and manuscripts than you can imagine. You glow with health, beauty, pride, and sharpened wit.

But you have not forgotten your burning flame. Aided by money and status, your little light only grows stronger.

King Henry IV dies of sickness on a warm March morning. It had only been a matter of time, the stubborn man had been calling your father and the other lords to his bedside for the past several months to continue to discuss the politics of his own wars. In his dying breath, Henry IV saw that his empire had fallen to civil strife.

Court and kingdom are called to witness the coronation procession and as you stand with the lords and ladies of the crown inside Westminster Abbey, inside the church containing the tomb of your distant descendant King Edward and the generations of his forefathers, the same Gothic abbey where British monarchs have turned men into rulers and tyrants, you watch the archbishop anoint Prince Henry of Wales with holy oil.

His curls have been trimmed clean, his bare skin and body presented to be blessed with the sign of the cross. All old ritual, old prayer and Latin incantations that have been performed for over a thousand years.

So what is a new boy to wear the crown?

Beneath the arched stone cloisters, baptized in the sunlit streams of stained glass, you watch that same ceremony unfold again with burning heart. And harmonized by the tolling of bells, Hal is dressed in royal robes, regalia, scepter and all, shedding the title of prince as you all pledge homage to your new King of England.

“All hail King Henry.” The archbishop calls out to clergy, God, and country.

“King Henry!”

Neither you nor Hal feel the heat of embarrassment when the court is ushered into the dining chamber and you meet again in candle and firelight. The feast is an intimate setting, shared by the company of Hal’s new council, clergymen, and close family. Your father is seated alongside Cambridge, Chief Justice William Gascoigne, and the archbishop; even his sister, Queen Phillipa of Denmark, is in attendance.

Hal’s appearance and demeanor is surprising to you.

He looks striking, handsome as ever in his new robes and you can sense that familiar aire of charisma and confidence you remember from the wedding as Lord Chamberlain presents gifts from the monarchs of the world. A jeweled vase from King Wenceslas of Bohemia, a trinket of a mechanical bird from the Doge of Venice. Hal is jovial, good humored and merry.

The presence of his cousin and sister seems to comfort him greatly. And rightfully so, considering he now sits on the throne of his dead father. Dead as well is the alter ego of the delinquent prince.

Like a spoilt child opening wrapped packages at Christmas. The privilege of royal blood.

When the final trunk is presented, a gift from the Dauphin, you quite nearly let out a low snicker.

A ball for the boy king.

You see Hal hesitate before picking it up and the silence throughout the chamber is long, uncomfortable. The entire court seems to be holding its breath. Yet, you know there is an aspect of truth to the Dauphin’s gesture.

A boy indeed. You recall Hal’s touch and him gasping into your neck, his muffled begging, how quickly he had finished in your hand…

Then, the cool magnetism returns to his features. He locks eyes with you and you wonder if he is thinking of the same moment. You are both proud challengers, wielders of personal charm.

You wonder how long it will take to break him completely.

There’s a glimmer in his gaze you think to be from the blazing hearth as he tosses the ball once against the chamber’s stone wall, then catches it deftly with youthful poise.

After the coronation dinner, the court is dismissed and you find yourself to be one of the last remaining patrons as guests trickle out into the adjacent hallways and disperse through the rest of the castle. You deliberately hang back, watching your father, Cambridge, Phillipa, and William slip through the doors, slowing your step so that Hal can catch sight of you.

“Lady Grey,” you hear. His voice is galant, hushed with that same temptation of seductive promise. With your back still facing him, you can’t help but smirk.

You feign surprise and turn.

“Yes, my lord?”

Hal beckons to where he stands by the fireside. You gather your skirts and join him in the welcoming nimbus of light and warmth. When you bend to curtesy, his fingers find your chin, tilting your eyes to his own and forcing you to rise to your feet.

“None of that is necessary, my dear,” he whispers. He keeps your face cradled between thumb and forefinger, a delicate pressure, one that makes you feel precious as he holds you close. “Tell me, did you enjoy tonight?”

“Immensely.” You smile. Indeed, you have. The Dauphin might as well have spoken on your own behalf.

Hal hums, pleased. His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, then eases in between the petals of your pink lips. You purse them ever so slightly and watch his self-control start to simmer. The candles burn low around the two of you, the only source of light emanating from the hearth itself. You are reminded of how the shadows flickered on the planes of his face the night of the wedding. Now, you see the same shadows again, but as king.

“I want you to have something.” He says finally.

He looks reluctant to break his touch from you, but you see his hand disappear within the folds of his robes. He then produces a glittering pendant with a golden chain, a necklace that looks ablaze.

Amber, you realize.

The surprise that crosses your features is genuine. Baltic amber set into teardrop sterling silver and gold, a gift from Rupert of the Palatinate and the kingdom of Germany. An extraordinary piece.

Hal’s hand finds your waist and you turn to offer him your bare neck, pulse pounding. You have no say, no power to even deny this token of affection.

His caresses against your skin as he fastens the chain are soft and featherlike and you can feel his breath on the top of your spine. The pendant is heavy, rich with precious stone and gilded metal, settling between the valley of your breasts. It feels cold, but shines like an inferno.

He lingers, tracing your shoulders when his mouth presses to your ear.

“Turn. Let me look at you properly.”

When you do, the weight of Germany itself, of foreign and fallen kingdoms and countries, conquered and pillaged and burned, simultaneously settles between the tender skin of your sternum.

Hal’s eyes cloud with dark delight when he sees the flaming amber. He takes your chin back in hand, angling your face every which way, studying how the firelight glints off the pendant with a sensual curiosity.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs.

Your body begins to react on its own accord, chest rising and falling with faster breaths, your cheeks blooming.

“I thank you, my lord.”

Still cradling your jaw, he brings himself closer with only a whisper between the two of you. His crimson robes seem to swallow you completely, like the gaping maw of Britain’s lion, a mantle of blood. He speaks into the gap between your mouths, yet you feel every word upon your lips.

“With this gift, I expect to see you more around my court, Lady Grey. Am I understood?”

The tension he commands is unbearable. He watches you carefully, dark eyelashes fluttering. Trapped like a pinned butterfly. Then, you understand he’s waiting for a verbal response.

“Yes, my lord.”

He releases you.

The pendant suddenly feels more like a collar.

You’ve underestimated Hal. He is just as much the player as you.

You keep your promise. You see Hal daily in passing, often dressed in full regal attire as he comes from the council chambers, your father, William, and the rest of his train tailing close behind. The twinkle in his eye when he sees you is discreet, reserved only for you. The amber pendant remains fastened around your neck at all hours of the day, even while you sleep and bathe, like fire and ice between your breasts. A piece of Hal always with you.

The two of you are a queer, twisted pair of sweethearts. You’ve yet to be fully intimate since that wedding night, but the pressure that ripples with every fleeting glance, every grazing touch of lips and skin is enough to prove your attraction for each other. Or rather, the attraction to the game.

You keep Hal on his toes, never fully give in even when he invites you out for evening strolls in the palace gardens and the safety of darkness envelops you both. It is your nightly ritual to walk the grounds together amongst hushed breezes and chirping crickets, you as a means to unwind before bed, and a way for Hal to clear his mind of the day’s tolling demands.

And tolling they are. Despite his bravado, he is easily irritable, tense. You listen when he speaks to you plainly about his frustrations for the court and archbishop, how they all expect from him the same swift retaliation of his father.

You find Hal’s consciousness of this want to break tyranny quite curious. Sons are typical to idolize their fathers and see past faults. It is why you know how cruel kingship has endured in Britain for generations; learned behaviors become expected and change more difficult. You’ve even seen that same behavior in your own brother.

And Hal’s trust in disclosing even this to you is telling. The thread to unravel the boy king.

Tonight, you dare to pull at it, heighten your girlish wiles and offer him a lingering kiss and soft words. You tell him that Christendom is damned and tease that it’s his own fault his council is made up entirely of old, graying men, your father included, when he could have anyone else.

Hal’s spirits seem to lift a little with a ghost of a smile, understanding you perfectly as his arm snakes around your waist. He pulls you into a secluded labyrinth and settles into the stone seat of a fountain, pulls you atop his lap. The kiss he returns is fierce.

Without the burn of alcohol to subdue your senses, every touch is intensified tenfold. Hal feels it too, his breath coming ragged as he breaks the kiss to mouth down the skin of your neck, the dip of your collarbone, your chest. His hands wander beneath your skirts.

“It is only polite that I return the favor..” You hear him say.

Your mind is reeling. You knew this moment would eventually come, yet you feel ill-prepared when his fingers brush your core, his other hand gripping the back of your neck. You gasp, finding his lips in another tangled kiss, straddle him completely.

It’s strange, exhilarating to be on the receiving end of your little game.

If you are to truly break Hal, you are to first make him believe that he holds any sort of power over you, to reverse that dynamic you had set the night of your brother’s wedding.

You are to let him touch you.

And like the flaming sword of Raphael, Hal’s pendant, it is time to finally draw upon your fire.

You hate how good Hal is at this. He knows just where to caress inside you, the right amount of pressure, the weak spots at your throat and just below your ear. Your competitiveness takes over and you push him back against the fountain, start to circle your hips, grind yourself down on his hand and grip at the rich fabric of his tunic to better anchor yourself.

His eyes pool with lust with every sigh from your lips, watching you closely. He rolls his thumb, picks up the tempo of his fingers, relishing the sight of you slowly falling apart on top of him.

But it isn’t enough. You lean in and wrap your arms around his neck. He responds in tandem, gathering you close as you rock against him, the friction of his thighs sending you closer and closer to that threshold of pleasure.

“Please..I need t-to…” you whisper into his neck, into his mouth.

Words of magic. Hal’s expression flares with masculine pride, the delight of pleasing a woman.

The last of the day’s golden hour spills over you both in glowing, peached splendor and with the sound of the fountain’s rushing water as your only witness, you muffle your final moan with a desperate kiss, bliss pulsing behind your eyelids. Hal keeps his fingers where they are, coaxing the last waves of your orgasm out of you, cradling your chin with his other hand as his lips part yours, slipping tongue as you come floating back down to earth.

You’re dazed, flushed, lazily kissing when he removes his fingers. Slick when you suck them into your mouth and taste yourself. The velvet of your tongue makes him shiver.

“Now, what ever are we going to do about your council, my lord?” You murmur once you catch your breath. You gently kiss his fingertips.

Hal only smirks and pulls you to him.

Your plan begins to take motion. With each passing month, you worm your way deeper into Hal’s heart with honeyed words and empty promises. He confides in you more and more as he grows wary of his councilmen, trusting only the pretty face he sees in the privacy of his bedchamber each night. Graced against silk pillows.

You sense the crushing pressure upon him, his own doubts and fears. You slowly leech away his magnetism, his charisma, and take it for yourself. His eyes dim, harden with resolve. Gone is the assurance for peace. Hal instead grows cold, timid, questioning his every move.

You only burn brighter.

There is talk that a French assassin has breached the castle.

You hear the conversation for yourself when your father and William are called down to the dungeons, hear Hal speaking directly to this assassin as you linger at the top of the stone staircase.

“Qui êtes vous?”

“J'ai été envoyé par le roi de France pour vous assassiner.”

Hal’s voice is cool, calm as he pries for details. The assassin’s responses are noticeably vague. You infer it to be out of his own self interest.

Then, nothing. Days go by with no direct action from Hal.

You grind your teeth. War with France would be the perfect fruition of your schemes, the final act in a tragedy deemed to be an epic of British monarchy. War with France would show Europe and the rest of the world the extortion and murder of the English crown; not that these neighboring countries needed such a reminder. But England and her king have been blind for too long.

Previous attempts at quelling war had caused Percy Hotspur to rebel, Prince Thomas of Lancaster to push on and die alone on foreign soil.

Is Hal not trying to prove himself in this same way? Proving he is not like his father? Just as Thomas had wished for his peers to see him as a commander and better equipped to bear the crown despite being the youngest son, is Hal not guilty of this same charge of public approval?

And having the privilege to sit idly atop a throne amidst all this makes your blood boil. Idleness is instability, you’ve learned this years ago.

You will be the one to push Hal to war.

You are sewing one afternoon in an empty chamber when the strained voices of your father, Cambridge, and William reach your ears. Hushed and argumentative, it draws you to your feet, possesses you to lean against the frame of the door and just out of sight.

You hear the disgust in your father’s tone when he speaks of the king. The weakness in forgiving France, the lunacy of Hal’s ascension. It amazes you, grips you tight at hearing such passion and loathing; you’ve never heard your father speak this way about anyone, let alone the head of England’s monarchy. Slander and defamation carry swift punishment.

You learn that he and Cambridge have been approached by French agents. The three men debate quietly as you stand against the door, nearly panting. A coup d'etat? The idea excites you more than it should. But you perish the thought quickly before you can get ahead of yourself.

Why only approach the two of them? Surely to turn England’s people against their ruler, a greater number of conspirators would prove to be more efficient? You know distrust is not uncommon among Hal’s council, so possible traitors would not be hard to find.

This approach means your father and Cambridge have been judged weak in character by the French. Insecure, lacking, most likely to bend at the knee for candied prospects in exchange for loyalty.

And now as you eavesdrop on your own father, you know Lord Grey does not have faith behind his king and is too afraid to do anything with it. You know that if you had not gathered this knowledge for yourself, you would never have been told so, unseen as all women are expected to be.

These French agents and councilmen think they hold all power with their debates and their meetings in private, oblivious to the fact that it is women who move the world. Women like you, wielding their very sex to push these men as pawns.

Are men not born into this world by women? Do men not seek a woman’s tender embrace for love and comfort and to carry on long, unbroken lineages of royal blood?

Your own father, as all his peers, are blind to the influence you bear over Hal. Even Hal himself.

You find yourself in the king’s private quarters one cold night, sitting in front of the hearth and watching the crackling, shimmering flames that warm the room. The soft silence is comforting to you as you sit bathed in orange glow, wrapped in furs and waiting for Hal’s return.

Your mind wanders. You think of the French assassin still held captive in the dungeons beneath your feet, how the man had been granted asylum in exchange for a confession.

“Quel était le l'ordre?”

“Que je devrais tuer le roi d'Angleterre.”

And with the French approaching Cambridge and your father, it is certain, undeniable that tension is thick and stakes high for all of England.

You are standing on the very brink of war, standing flush at the edge of a swallowing cliffside with dragging winds and dark, inky waters swirling beneath you down below. Waiting to embrace you, like the jagged shores of St Kilda, the northern shores of Scotland. Calling you home like a siren’s song.

And Hal only needs one final pull before you both fall together.

The chamber door opens and the king steps inside. His presence is stormy, like a cold wind blowing into the room.

He’s dressed handsomely in a navy tunic and dress shirt, a mantle that drapes over his burdened shoulders. Yet, his hair is mussed and disheveled and you can see the tightness around his eyes. His once youthful glow now gone, but a sharpness to him that you think resembles a pike; diligent, wary, and still capable of hurting you if you’re not careful.

You pretend to quickly wipe away tears before you stand to greet him. Hal sees this and his brows draw together in concern, further contorting his expression into one of pain. He comes to the fireside.

“Good evening, my king,” you say as he takes your hands.

“What upsets you so?” he asks you directly. His voice is strained, sets your pulse aflutter more than it should. You give a small, breathless smile, a shake of your head.

“Nothing of your concern, just innocuous thoughts, my lord. Let us go to bed.”

But you do not move in the direction of the luxurious canopied bed, one you have grown intimately familiar with. You stay exactly where you are and let Hal’s mind race.

His fingers grip your chin and when you meet his eyes, they’re bold and smoldering, the first touch of life in them you’ve seen for sometime. His grasp is strong and a muscle ticks in his jaw.

“Speak freely to me. Please,” he whispers. “Of all people. My dear, speak true.” The last word falls like a plea from his lips. You suppose it is one as he pulls you closer. A boy desperate for truth, constricted and poisoned by a council of vipers.

Unknowingly turning to the girl with the pretty mouth as she pours poison into his ear.

At this, you bite your lips and summon tears that spill forth, pool your vision. You let the familiar sensations take over, the shortness of breath, the depleted posture, and pretty soon you’re trembling, weeping in Hal’s arms.

“This assassin. It frightens me,” you say finally, broken. “If he had fulfilled his order and taken you from me, left me here all alone…oh, Hal. I’m so afraid.”

His thumb circles your cheek, silent. You sense that dangerous cocktail of anger and darkness simmering just beneath his skin. Anger at the world, anger reserved for his dead father.

“France means to have you killed, Hal. Then what of us?”

Us? England?

Tears drip down your neck and onto your rising chest. Where you’ve left the first clasp of your blouse carefully unbuttoned. You press yourself to him ever so slightly, look up through tear-soaked eyelashes and embered iresis.

“Then what of me?” you whisper.

Hal’s lips are crushing against yours. You feel every ounce of his anguish, every bit of tension wound tight in his frame, every doubt, every fear. You feel the restraint as he cradles the back of your neck, his other hand finding your waist as he pushes you flush against him. The dichotomy to feel love, to feel comfort and safety and to relieve and dispel just a hint of the pressure building inside him. The dichotomy to conquer, the urge to channel this animosity in a way he must be familiar, to ravish you completely.

With your bosom rising and falling so sweetly, eyes glittering with tears, looking almost divine with firelight circling the shine of your hair in a golden halo, you watch Hal’s walls collapse. You let him succumb to that mirage of safety and warmth, to ease his conscience. You will both get what you want, eventually.

You break apart to kiss the line of his throat, his pulsepoint, where you know he’s weakest. Hal gasps as you thread your fingers through his curls, bring your lips to his ear in a soft lull.

“May I have you tonight, my king? Completely?”

His response is immediate, yet wordless when he tilts back his head and feels your mouth against his jugular, the hand at your waist tightening.

At last, you lead him to the bed with the intent of christening it.

He pulls you atop him, helps you unthread the bodice of your nightgown. Despite the blazing fire behind you, the air chills your shoulders, your chest as you slowly expose more and more skin, finally letting the thin fabric pool around your waist. The feel of his bare hands cupping your body fuels you, act as your catalyst. Soft, firm.

The amber necklace swings like a golden pendulum when you stoop to kiss him again, his fingers ghosting over the skin of your back. Hal’s desires are plainly stated as you feel him harden against your inner thigh.

There is no time for coy deception tonight. You make quick work of his tunic, leave his trousers and instead unfasten and pull him through, positioning where he wants you most. Hal is already nearly panting.

You arch as he settles inside you, a biting stretch that has both of you sighing when you bury yourself into the crook of his neck. Something long-awaited. You stomach the discomforting pressure and set a rhythm, one that has Hal cursing into your hair.

“You must protect the women of England, my lord,” you whisper. “Who will do so if you are gone?” You punctuate your point with a well-timed swivel of your hips and Hal moans low and guttural. “Your wives and children. Can you protect me?”

Hal’s arms wrap around you, nearly choking on pleasure. “I will. Anything for you. Please...”

Unseen by him, you grin. You can practically hear the crashing ocean waves, to feel the quench of water at long last! You think you could make him do anything in this moment with how enthralled he is in bliss.

You sit back and Hal’s hands glide over the smooth expanse of your stomach, watching his eyes grow dark, the amber pendant swinging between the two of you. The discomfort in your belly is gone and you start to mirror Hal’s pleasure, head falling back, sighs growing louder.

And as the two of you finally fall from the cliffside and towards the waiting waters, Hal gives a soft cry, vision rolling and you feel his heat spill onto your inner thigh. You kiss him until the strength drains from his body, a true succubus as Hal at last descends into sleep, relaxed.

You have the king’s word.

You awaken the next morning to find the bed empty and cold. Surprised, you dress alone and return to your chambers to call for your breakfast. When you send for your father to share his company, the servant returns and tells you Lord Grey is currently engaged and his presence cannot be requested.

“A meeting, you mean?” You ask the servant rather crossly. Why must everyone speak to you in riddles? You obviously did not sleep much the night before and had trouble long after Hal had finished, like a slumbering babe beside you. Typical.

Your mood sours further in that you won’t be able to share this meal with your father. You despise spending mornings in solitude. It seems like it’s been ages since you’ve last seen each other in private, with no councilmen lurking about.

“No, my lady,” the servant stammers slightly, the words stumbling out of his mouth. “Lord Grey is condemned and is forbidden from taking meals before tomorrow morning.”

“What?” You growl at his vagueness. Your anger and irritation rise hot and fast and you’re tempted to hurl the glass cup of strawberries at this blubbering young fool.

“Lord Grey and Cambridge await execution tomorrow morning for treason, by order of the king.”

Your world stops. You send the servant away with a ghost of a whisper.

When the door snaps shut, you laugh mournfully. So the gossip had come to naught. Hal had indeed kept his word. Your stomach turns in nausea. Food is suddenly the last thing on your mind.

You rush to your writing desk, overturning bottles of ink, hands shaking when you retrieve quill and parchment, attempt to pen a desperate letter to Callum with a fevered hand. But before you can draft a single sentence, your blood turns cold.

You have not heard from your brother, from Isabelle in weeks. Have your worst fears already come true?

Glass and fruit explode against the far wall.

You tear out of the room like a bloodied banshee in search of Hal, fingers tinted crimson from cut glass and mashed berries.

And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and

cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee

that one of thy members should perish, and not

that thy whole body should be cast into hell.

One of Miss Hunt’s chosen passages from the book of Matthew comes crashing into your mind. You are like Eve, you think. Bearing the burden of Original Sin with lust and curiosity. You have tasted the fruit and have seen the evils of mankind. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined your plan backfiring so horribly.

Now, hellfire awaits your father, for you when you draw your final breath your last day on this earth. Suddenly seeming to loom that much closer.

You approach Hal like Samuel’s ghost did to King Saul on the eve of war, the Philistines instead of the French. Interchangeable, cycles of warfare that have dawned for milenia and will continue until the end of time.

He looks terrifying, colder and more severe than you’ve ever seen, outfitted in those horrible blood red robes that one coronation dinner long ago you had once thought he looked becoming.

You know with one wrong word you could be joining the two men to die at first light. Your mind races.

“My lord, to think my own father had been plotting against you sickens me,” you speak slowly. The sentence stings like venom in your mouth, damning your father. Hellfire burns brighter. But it is the only way you can protect yourself. Your grisly appearance, your quick breaths, it is all to sell your story. “May I accompany you tomorrow morning as witness?”

Hal’s lips twist into a hint of a smile, the shadow of his former self. “Of course, my dear. Lord Grey may have failed his fatherly duties as protector, but I will not.”

And so, with your hands wrapped in fresh bandages and stitchings, you stand in a courtyard with wind whipping around you, the only Christian woman among councilmen and knights as you watch your father lay his head upon the chopping block. His hair has been shaved off to ensure the killing blow will be swift and true. Shivering, pale, and damp with sweat, he looks like a ghost. Soon, he will be one. You want him to see you in these final moments, for him to know that you will utterly destroy this king, but you cannot risk the danger.

Like the coronation, Latin prayers are recited, only this time they are prayers for your father and father-in-law to find peace in the afterlife. The last time you, Hal, Cambridge, and your father had shared company like this had been at the wedding. You know now that Callum and Isabel are truly dead. In the blink of an eye, Hal has slaughtered your entire family.

Weary, resilient Scotland.

You do not cry. You must show your loyalty.

“Requiescat in pace.”

Weak, fragile as Lord Grey starts to whimper aloud. No daughter should see their father, their protector through girlhood, like this.

The axe glimmers in the sunlight and is brought down with deadly precision. Your father’s head rolls grotesquely off of his shoulders in a wet gurgle. His body is shoved aside and Cambridge is pushed onto the block next, now slick with fresh blood.

Neither you nor Hal flinch.

You are now fatherless, Hal, kinless when you enter the neighboring chapel alone. You sit in the first pew respectfully, head bowed as Hal crosses himself and kneels before the altar. With his back to you, you study the firm line of his spine, his clasped hands with the beaded rosary held firmly between. Unmoving, statuesque. He prays for a long time.

Thou shalt not kill.

You wonder if God is so forgiving.

The images of angels, of Mary and Joseph and flawless purity are what drive you to march up to Hal and kiss him hard. He hums in surprise, brows furrowed, the pressure behind his mouth mirroring yours when you grip the back of his head.

You want to kill him the same way he had murdered your father. But you settle with digging your fingers into the back of his neck and relishing in the way he hisses against your lips. You fumble blindly with the fastening of his trousers.

“What are you doing?” he growls.

“Shut up.” You bite back.

You’ve never been afraid of Hal before today, you’ve had no reason to be. You’ve been so careful to build the reputation and the facade he sees, using words and sex to push him like the chesspiece you had thought him to be. And he’d pushed right back.

You want to hurt him in the only way you can.

He cries out when you suck him into your mouth with teeth and harsh pressure. You’re anything but gentle, taking him as far as you can so that you’re choking and Hal is grunting and pulling at your hair and the lewd sounds of your lips and tongue echo to the tops of the vaulted ceiling.

You’ve both lost family today. You are both selfish and full of quiet rage. The consequence of Hal’s choice is evident in how hard and wet you mold your mouth around him, how his hand tightens and pushes you farther down, wordlessly ordering you to finish him off in this holy church.

Like Christ Himself with bandaged hands, you twist and work at whatever you cannot fit between your lips. His hips snap forward, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes with burning throat, your scalp stinging from where he yanks back your hair, your linen caul disheveled. Saliva dribbles out of your mouth.

When his moans grow high and desperate, you take him out of your mouth and Hal’s release splatters white on the skin of your cheek, mouth still agape. He slumps forward on his knees, panting, as if still in prayer. The rosary dangles between his fingers.

Thou shalt not commit adultery.

The cross looms before you, silhouetted by candlelight. It is too much and you turn away.

If the change in Hal’s nature had not already been felt by all, it is seen in his dress. No longer does he donn the regalia of red cape and sceptre, but dark tunics and jackets that fit snug over the expanse of his chest. No more are the billowing robes, now replaced with tight military clothing and jackboots. A captain preparing for battle.

Hal recruits John Falstaff and countless other marshals for his campaign. It’s truly happening, you think. France will soon feel the wrath of England as your homeland and countless other countries have.

The amber necklace sparkles.

Tomorrow, Hal sets sail across the English Channel. Another crusade to add to the Hundred Years’ War. You wonder if French women are just as lustrous as the rumors suggest.

This is the last night you will be together like this for some time. The thought of Hal with another woman makes you quicken the hand you have around him and he gasps into your chest, spilling onto your thigh like that wedding night centuries ago. You’ve already made love countless times tonight, your bodies fitting together because it is only natural for two corrupt souls to find solace in the other.

Masquerading with voice and poise. A boy from Eastcheap and a Scottish girl.

As Hal shudders against you, kissing your throat and twining his fingers into your hair, he tells you he loves you.

You think you may love him too, in that twisted way of how fire craves oxygen. You need each other to fuel chaos.

You understand better than anyone the burden of a child forced to grow up, the weight of decisions and the toll it takes. Only the strong can endure such hardship, only the strong can triumph and come out on top. It has been so forever, a law as old as the world.

The speed at which Hal is already hard again makes you chuckle darkly. He pins you to the bed, hovering, eyes bearing into you before he enters you just the same.

“You were made to be beneath me,” he rasps, gripping your face with a single hand. His eyes glitter in the low light. The double entendre of his words make you rake your fingernails down his back in angry lines of red. He sucks a bite into the skin of your collarbone.

You know that when Hal returns from France, he will no longer be yours. He will be changed, most likely to marry a foreign princess to ensure peace. You think of Isabel and how she had evidently been the one to put you in this position of status, how a marriage is a man’s means to gain power. A law as old as the world.

Do you want him to be yours? The same way the English crown has raped and pillaged for the thrill of conquering the barbaric? A trophy? A prized kill? Still, the thought makes you bitter.

You say you love him back when he finds the spot below your ear, pushes your legs apart to drive into you that much harder.

There’s a bit of you that prays he will be victorious, that he will return to England and be yours again. But even if your paths do not cross in the future, you know you will see him again where the flames grow hot. Be that in his chambers or down below.

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theshireisburning-so-mordoritis · 3 years

Text

A LOVE RETURNED

Part Three of Philophobia

Pairing: Poe Dameron x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: Angst. Injury Mention.

A/N: I know I said this will be the last part but I once again got carried away and the chapter would of been never ending so I've had to add another part after this. Song rec for this chapter is Wings by Birdy.

PART 2

Days drag by whilst you're essentialy held captive by your friends under the General's orders.

Apparently you've been declared a risk to your own safety aswell as others on the base - deemed too reckless to be allowed to roam free without an escort. At first the assumption had irritated you but then as time went on you had to begrudgingly admit that Leia had you pinned.

You were a flight risk. No pun intended.

Given half the chance you absolutely would dive into your x-wing and go after Poe. And you absolutely wouldn't hesitate to incapacitate whoever stood in your way.

Both which, unfortunately for you, meant house arrest.

Rey and Finn guarded you the most and bless their hearts they tried to make it fun - tried to make it normal. Like you were all just hanging out together as you usually would.

And maybe it would work if you weren't startlingly aware of why they were there. Of precisely why Leia assigned them to you.

They stood the best chance against you should you rebel. The General had known of the closeness of your group and banked on your emotions working against you if it meant harming one of them to escape.

Smart.

They're both absent today though - stuck in some pointless meeting that they'll no doubt come by later to complain to you about.

Instead there's a timid little creature guarding your door - a newer recruit who'd been too scared to even say two words to you when you'd popped your head out in greeting.

Stories of the Captain of Black Squadron turning feral and dangerous over the loss of the Commander had spread like wildfire and it seemed many feared they'd be casualties in the lengths you'd go to rescue him.

Bored, you sit on your floor pouring over old photographs of you and Poe. Fingertips tracing over your best friend's smiling face. It's been a week. Seven excruciating days since you were called to see the General and had your world thrown into chaos and drowned in agony.

When you'd woken from the force induced sleep your rage had been all consuming. You'd screamed. Thrashed, clawed and howled bloody murder whilst Finn had desperately tried to keep you contained, tried to soothe you with soft-mouthed sounds and quiet reassurances.

But you had remained blind to everything except pure unfiltered fury - the sting of betrayal that churned bitter in your gut - and you would've burnt the entire base to the ground had Rey not put you under again.

The second time you awoke the anger had drained from your blood like poison. Replaced by grief that crashed into you in forceful waves that dragged you under and swallowed you whole. Your friends watching helplessly as you'd curled in on yourself when the gut wrenching sobs began to wrack your frame.

Now you sit day after day slowly detaching from reality the longer Poe is gone. An empty husk.

They try to keep your spirits up - feeding you pieces of information regarding plans for a rescue that never seems any closer to actually happening. But rather than pushing it anymore you just nod along dully.

You slowly suffocate from self loathing as you contemplate if the tables were turned he would have you rescued within hours. Yet here you are. Sitting here completely useless, not even involved.

Poe would be ashamed.

It's your fault he's been captured. After all if you hadn't let your fear push him away he would have never gone out alone. He would have took you with him - like always - and you would have kept each other safe. All the pain that he endures may aswell be inflicted by your own hands and if he dies…

No, you can't go down that path.

A heavy sigh blows past your lips as you flick through more photos. There's so many of the two of you - Poe never missing an opportunity to pose victoriously with you wrapped in his arms and his cheek pressed against yours. Beaming with pride after another successful mission.

Your eyes land upon one taken after you'd pulled one of your most ridiculous stunts to date. Chuckling softly as you recall Leia's furious voice berating you both over the comms - her shouts about thick skulled pilots never listening to orders ringing through your ears the whole way home.

That day had been a major win under the Resistance's belt and it had been thanks to you and Poe.

You remember flinging yourself out of your x-wing immediately upon landing - feet propelling you towards a whooping Poe Dameron who was already racing your way. As soon as he'd reached you he'd hooked his arms round your waist and beneath your knees and swung you triumphantly into his arms. Spinning you both around as you'd breathlessly shrieked his name.

The photograph is blurry. Taken whilst Poe was in motion but you adore it all the more for it. Your head is thrown back, radiating joy as you laugh and Poe is beaming down at you cradled in his arms. It's messy, imperfect and your absolute favourite photo you own.

It captures the love between you perfectly.

Tears splash down on the shiny surface and you it seems you're not as emotionally empty as you previously had believed. You fucking miss him. So much that it feels like a physical wound. Like you're bleeding out, slowly.

Maker, he'd be smug he'd as hell if he knew how worried you were, he always had preened under your attentions when you were concerned for him. Sometimes you think he deliberately scared you just to have you fuss over him.

If only this was one of those times.

You drag yourself up and onto your bed, flopping down and rubbing your tired eyes with one hand whilst the other clutches the photo to your chest.

Maybe it would bring you the comfort you needed to sleep tonight. Rest has been scarce since Poe was taken - a few hours at most scattered here and there. It's taken Rey and Finn sitting with you for you to be able to eventually drift off, the warmth of their embrace and soothing words being the only things that you've found stop the nightmares.

Though it devastated you the first time you'd woken in Finn's arms. His build and the smell of cologne tricking your sleep-addled brain into believing Poe was there, that everything was fine and he was safe. And then you had woke fully. Reality came crashing back in - shattering the illusion whilst Finn rocked you as you curled into his chest and broke down.

Feeling the rare pull of sleep now, your body almost surrenders before jolting violently at the sound of a commotion outside your door. You've only slightly raised yourself up on your elbows when a flustered Finn bursts through your door - panting as if he'd ran all the way to your quarters.

"What the hell Finn?" You groan. "I was just about to fall asleep. I swear if this is about another stupid, half assed rescue plan from those idiots I'm gonna-"

And then something stops you short. You're frozen completely - eyes wide - when a whirl of white and orange steam rolls past Finn, almost bowling him over before stopping inches from your bed frame.

"BB-8?" You whisper.

The droid beeps at you excitedly and you to suck in a sharp breath - slowly turning to Finn to search his face for any hint that you may of misinterpreted. That wishful thinking had finally turned into full blown hallucinations.

But no.

Finn's mouth is agape - opening and closing rapidly like he's desperate to tell you something that he just can't find a way to fit into words. Like he's choking on the emotion of it all - the startling relief and overwhelming joy that's blooming across his features the longer you stare.

It can't be.

And with the simplest of gestures he shears through the barely-hanging threads of your composure.

He nods.

The noise that flies past your lips is incoherent - caught somewhere between a sound of utter joy and a desperate sob - and then you're launching yourself from the bed to sprint out of the door.

Vaguely you hear Finn shout at your guard to let you go but you don't even bother turning to see if you're being pursued. They wouldn't catch you even if they tried. You're running faster than you have in your entire life - lungs burning and muscles screaming. Both barely noticeable when compared to the way you're heart slams against your ribs as the distance to the hangar becomes less and less.

BB-8 races ahead of you, leading the way as your bare feet slap against the ground whilst you run. People are pressing themselves against walls as you careen through the corridors and fleetingly it occurs to you that you must look absolutely batshit insane.

You don't care. Your pulse is thundering in your ears and there's hope filling up your lungs - making you feel like you can finally take a full breath after so long. You all but explode into the hangar before you lose sight of BB-8, your head whipping back and forth - frantic - as you search for any sign of him or his owner.

There.

You spot a large crowd gathered around a battered old fighter - your breath catching in your throat as you slowly creep closer and begin pushing your way through. The first few people are reluctant to move for you but then they turn and recognise who you are - a hushed murmur rippling through the crowd before it steadily parts.

Your freeze as one by one people fall back. Thee mass thinning from the middle until there's a wall of people on either side of you and finally, as the last few bodies fall away, you see him.

Maker, you can't breathe.

His inky curls are a disaster - stuck up in places and matted in others. Whether with sweat or blood you can't be too sure. Bruises scatter his skin like smudged constellations among so many more streaks of red that it makes you feel both sick and furious all at once.

His favourite jacket has been torn across the shoulder and out of everything it's that that cements it for you that he's here alive and infront of you right now. That damn jacket. You teased him relentlessly for never going anywhere without it and now? You've never been so happy to see it in your life.

He hasn't noticed you yet and your throat has tightened to the point you couldn't even call out if words were able to come to you. You watch him instead - drinking in the sight of him before your vision goes hazy with tears.

There's a member of Black Squadron clapping him on the back furiously amidst the cheering but Poe turns away when BB-8 starts nudging his legs. You see him bend down and then your knees almost buckle when the deep rasp of his voice drifts over the crowd to burrow inside your aching chest.

"What was that buddy?"

You can't contain the sob that rips up your throat - both hands shakily covering your mouth as Poe shoots up from the floor and whirls around to face you. His eyes widen and his lips part around your name and then he stumbles forward - breaking into a run as you rush towards him.

You collide in the middle. Momentum sending you both crashing to the ground and his arms are around you in an instant - dragging you both to your knees and you closer against him as he buries his face in your neck. Mouthing your name against the skin repeatedly like a prayer.

Your hands are everywhere all at once - clutching his arms - his back - tenderly cradling his head and then finally his face as you pull back a fraction to take him in up close. He's mosaic of injuries but in this moment he's never been more beautiful.

Alive and back in your arms where he belongs.

Shaky puffs of air escape you as he presses his forehead to yours, the gesture so familar that more tears spill down your cheeks as your eyes briefly flutter closed. But then you feel the gentle nudge of his fingers and your eyes snap back open, watching him quietly as he wipes the moisture from your face with a soft smile.

"Hi." He whispers. Nudging your nose softly with his whilst you stare at him and a disbelieving laugh echoes from your mouth at the audacity.

"Poe Dameron. You fly off on your own, get yourself captured, return a week later looking like absolute shit and all you have to say for yourself is hi?" You berate him with mock outrage. Shaking you head when he grins down at you and winks.

"Just a few scrapes, nothing I can't handle. You weren't worried about me now, were you?" He teases.

And stars, you'd normally threaten to knock that smirk right off his perfect face but you've missed him too much. The fear of never having another moment like this with him still clinging to the edges of your mind - the ghost of it still faintly hooked in your gut.

The lightly smug expression falters then and you guess your face must have changed. That he must have caught the echoes of your fear and your pain as they swept through you. And now you can feel him drawing back to take you in as you had previously done to him.

He searches your face, gaze raking over the dark circles imprinted beneath your wet eyes. The faded pallor of your skin and the light tremble of your bitten through lip. Something pained flashes through his eyes and his grip on you suddenly tightens.

"I'm sorry-" You both blurt out and you chuckle sadly whilst Poe shakes his head - brow pinched in confusion.

"What could you possibly have to be sorry for?" He asks softly.

You stare at him, incredulous. "Are you serious? This was all my fault Poe." You croak. Holding a stern hand up when he goes to argue. "I'm the reason we fought and then I hurt you badly enough that you felt the need to leave without back-up and got caught. You could have died Poe - I nearly lost you twice and I've only got myself to blame."

A shudder runs through you- the terror and the guilt of the situation slamming into you in a way you hadn't previously allowed. You hadn't let yourself think of the possibility of death. Of the cruelty of it being able to touch someone like Poe because you had given it that chance.

You choke on a sob and Poe stares - horrified. He'd been so desperate to return to you, to get the chance to hold you again and beg for your forgiveness that he'd never considered you would blame yourself for his actions.

He should have known better. After all, he knows you. He knows the way you're prone to finding fault with yourself and being blind to his own. You ignore that he's the one that instigated that fight because fear got the better of him. You glaze over the fact that he thrust a confession like that on you out of nowhere and you don't owe him your affections.

He could have handled it better - he could have shoved his hurt to the side and taken a small team instead of endangering himself, you and the entirety of the resistance in the process of licking his wounds.

And now you're crying and apologising to him. Guilt making you ill because you've decided to shoulder the weight of his stupid mistakes. It devastates him. Leaves him feeling like he's the worst best friend in the galaxy.

He smooths a large hand the back of your head. Gently cups the nape of your neck to tuck back into him whilst shooing away those from the crowd that still linger to watch curiously.

"None of this is your fault sweetheart." He mutters against your hair, rubbing small, soothing circles on your back. His other hand stroking at the nape of your neck.

But it's like you can't hear him. Like you can do nothing but curl your fingers into his beaten up jacket and whisper I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry. Over and over until the words all fade together.

Poe rocks you gently, hushing you with soft-mouth sounds. "Shh it's okay - it's okay honey I'm here now." He coaxes and then he's pulling you to your feet - bending down to swing you up into the cradle of his arms.

You let out a small, startled noise of surprise when you're lifted - arms winding tightly around his neck before you half-heartedly glare up at him in shock. He drops his chin to look at you, inviting you to bitch at him with the teasing quirk of his brow but you only grumble a lukewarm protest. Lowering your head to his chest as he huffs a low laugh that rumbles beneath your cheek.

There's people staring - whispers passed back and forth whilst Poe just marches straight past without a care. He knows you catch some of it though. Your body stiffening in his arms as he leads you out of the hanger. His grip becomes protective - threaded with reassurance as he squeezes you gently and brushes his lips over your temple.

Your head lolls against his shoulder with each step and for a moment he thinks you've fallen asleep- your breathing evening out from the tremors after your sobs to something slow and steady. But then every minute or so he catches you sneaking glances at him - nodding to yourself when you seem fully satisfied that he's still there and not just going to vanish into thin air.

He smiles - indulgent - but it drops just as quickly when he realises why. When he wonders just how many times that you woke searching for him over this past week and he wasn't there. It rips through him. Shakes him down the very root - his core that pulsed with his love for you and was now flooded with guilt.

You stir in his hold when he reaches his door - a light frown passing over your face as it registers in your hazy mind where you are.

"Sweetheart can you do the honours?" Poe asks, nodding for you to enter his code.

You wonder why he doesn't just put you down but say nothing, simply reaching over to punch in the sequence of numbers you memorised a long time ago. For now, your rather concerned as to why you're at his quarters and not the medbay.

"Poe what are we doing here? You need checking over by a doctor." You protest mildly but he just shakes his head.

He carries you into his room - padding over to the large, immaculately made bed where he carefully places you down against the pillows. His eyes rove over every inch of your face as he takes a seat beside you, the matress dipping beneath his weight. He touches your face - tender fingers reaching up to graze the swell of your cheek.

"I don't need a doctor, I just need this." He says quietly.

You swallow hard. The sincerity in his voice - the quiet longing - it melts you in a way that has your heart fluttering like a bird. A sweet warmth blooming under your ribs with the way he's looking at you, like you've hung all the stars in the sky. But before you can respond the look passes and a strange shadow falls over his features as he draws back from you.

"Sorry I didn't mean to-" He mumbles suddenly unable to look in your direction. Discomfort rolls off of him in waves as he pulls away completely, grabbing some sleep pants from a drawer before turning to you over his shoulder. "I'm just gonna go shower, make yourself comfortable." He rubs at his neck before heading for the fresher. Head hung low and shoulders slumped.

Bewildered, you stare after him.

What the hell just happened? Was he still mad at you?

You thought after the way you had reunited that there was hope for things to be okay between the two of you. The way he'd looked at you during that moment when he'd laid you down and touched your cheek - his eyes brimming with what you could only describe as love.

Shit. Of course.

Poe doesn't know that you love him. You'd been too emotionally wrecked by his return to remember your promise to tell him immediately when you saw him.

No wonder he withdrew from you so suddenly, he probably thought that he was overstepping some kind of boundary. Probably feared that the slightest slip into that territory would send you bolting once more.

You groan, pressing your fingers to your temples. Maker, you've really made a mess of this whole thing.

You almost tempted to march right through the fresher door to rectify your mistake right now before you force yourself to sit still and think. Being faced with a naked Poe would definitely hinder your ability to tell him how you feel.

Let's be honest, it'd probably hinder your ability to speak at all. Or even breathe.

You need to tell him but as the moment draws nearer, doubt inevitably sinks through your gut. Anxiety crawling through your ribs. There's a nagging feeling that he won't believe you, that he'll think you're only saying it out of guilt for his suffering. The thought of how this could all go so very wrong makes you feel queasy. You've just got him back, you don't want to risk pushing him away again.

You're lost inside your head when Poe comes back into the room - the noise from the fresher door makes you jump guiltily as your eyes snap out of their trance and dart to him.

And oh stars, where is his shirt?

Your tongue turns to sand in your mouth and you swallow harshly - trying to look anywhere that isn't in the direction of his smooth, bare skin. There's water still dripping from the broad planes of his chest. Down the firm muscles of his stomach. You stare pointedly at the wall to avoid tracing the paths they make down to the pants slung low on his hips.

Poe eyes you curiously at first before a slow, mischievous smile peels apart his lips when he takes in your flustered expression - the barely restrained fidgeting. Your fingers that are knotted in his bedsheets.

He saunters towards the bed, falling beside you and resting his head on his pillow before he throws his arms open wide. You eye him hestitantly and he scoffs.

"What? No cuddles for your favourite person in the galaxy - don't tell me you've replaced me so soon?" He teases and you roll your eyes.

He places a hand over his wounded heart, gasping. "You have. Who dared to steal my best friend from me? Was it Finn?" He accuses. "I bet it was Finn. You always side with him over me."

A smile finally cracks through your attempt to ignore him follwed by a soft chuckle as Poe beams proudly when he drags you into the warm circle of his arms and you follow without hesitation.

You lie face to face and it feels like it always has. Like comfort and home and like nothing exists outside of the two of you right here, together. Poe's hand lifts to brush hair away from your face and his eyes scan your features for any hint of discomfort, insecurity bleeding into his once easy gestures.

"This okay?" He asks and all you can do is nod mutely. Voice rendered useless as your relaxed state allows your mind to drift elsewhere.

To three little words that weigh heavy on your tongue.

Poe feels like he can breathe for the first time since the mission that caused your argument. Like the constant fear and adrenaline that had snatched him up is finally unlatching from the meat of his lungs. It's all over, he can rest. He's home now - he's with you.

And he's loathe to admit it but as days crawled by in his cell he'd began doubting he'd ever get to have this again. He had broke in secret, under the cover of night where it couldn't be used against him. His knees pressed to his chest - hiccuping through salty tears as he grew convinced his last memory of you would be him making you cry. Of fracturing your bond and making you run from him.

He thought he would die with you angry and hurt by him - maybe even hating him. And that had ripped at Poe in ways the First Order couldn't. It also re-lit the fire in his chest to fight. To escape so he could return to you and make things right.

And now he's safe. He's back in the arms of his entire galaxy and it feels right. It feels perfect. It's impossibly selfish but he doesn't want to bring up all of his mistakes and ruin the tender moment. Not when your fingers are slipping so softly through his wet curls, his eyes lulled shut against his will as you heal all his hurts with each light tug.

"Stars I've missed you." He murmurs. Shifting closer to press his forehead against yours, eyes sliding open lazily when he hears your trembling exhale.

Warm, honeyed eyes watch you warily upon discovering the nervousness painting your expression. It makes his heart twinge in fear. He doesn't like it when something makes you nervous, there's not many things have that kind of power over you.

Is it him?

Fuck. Was he being to full on - making you uncomfortable - should he inch back and give you space?

Clearing your throat, your anxious gaze flicks to his. "Poe I have something I need to tell you." You whisper.

His breath stutters in his chest as you move closer. Fingers inching down from his hair to curve over his jaw - thumbs stroking his cheeks. He nods, urging you to speak. Brings a hand up to engulf yours as he squeezes your waist in what he hopes is an encouraging gesture and prays that you can't see the panic that's steadily engulfing him.

He braces himself but no amount of preparing can ready him for the blow to his chest when your suck in a deep breath - eyes growing bold - and your lips part around a bombshell confession.

"I love you."

PART 4

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron fic #poe dameron #my writing

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ga-yuu · 3 years

Text

~Kurama~Main Story Chapter 21~

Before reading this story I suggest you read Kurama and Ibuki's past. Also I’m sorry for not putting any screenshots of the chapter, I accidently deleted it.

Chapter 20

-------Part 1-------

After bathing, we returned to the temple in the mountains and started preparing for bed. Kurama: "Sleep well tonight. We have to leave early, tomorrow." Yoshino: ".....Mm." (It's just the two of us in the same room....now, I'm starting to get nervous....) I started blushing as I recall our time at the lake. I lay down in the corner of the room and used my haori to cover up. Yoshino: "Doesn't Kurama ever sleep?" Kurama: "You know, right? Demons don't need sleep, unlike humans." Yoshino: "I see...." Kurama: "Why are you making that face?" (Ah......) Suddenly Kurama came to my side and kneeled down to turn my face towards him. Kurama: "Is that an invitation to sleep together? Or...is it a plea to make love to you." As soon as I heard those words, my heart started beating fast. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1. What if, it is.....(+4/+4) 2. I don't care.... 3. Not at all... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Yoshino: "......What if, it is?" I was so excited that I almost forgot how to breathe and pretended to be calm... Kurama: "Then, I'll fill your head and body with more pleasure than you can possibly imagine." Yoshino: "You know what, forget it." Kurama: "Then what do you want? What are you thinking?" Kurama's fingers caress my cheek in a compassionate manner. (You're not teasing me, right.....?) The touch of his palm that has the power to kill me in an instant was terribly gentle. That's why my heart is beating faster and faster because I can't get rid of it. Yoshino: "I was just feeling anxious." Kurama: "Anxious of what?" Yoshino: "It's just....Kurama will be awake while I'm sleeping, right? So I was anxious about embarrassing myself in front of you when I'm asleep. Like, what if I sleep talk or snore loudly...?" Kurama: ".........." Yoshino: "Oh, you're probably thinking, 'What a load of rubbish,' aren't you?" A hint of dismay flashed across Kurama's face. Kurama: "Ohh, I see you've learned to read my thoughts." (I was right....) Yoshino: "Of course, I know that Kurama isn't interested in seeing me asleep....But even so, it's embarrassing to know that you were watching me sleep." Kurama: "Stupid woman." Yoshino: "Stupid...?" I lightly looked at Kurama. Kurama: "Why do you think I'd be more interested if you went to the trouble of saying so?" (Ehh...) Yoshino: "No no way." Kurama: "Don't worry. I'll tell you tomorrow if you were drooling or not." Yoshino: "Hey!!!" (Wow!!) He gently pushed me down to the bed when I tried getting up. Then, his big hand covered my eyes. Kurama: "Sleep now." Kurama's deep voice was gentle in the darkness created. Kurama: "What I see of you now will never swoon me. I've seen you scared, in tears and.....also you're sultry face when I play with you." (...What are you...) The embarrassment never went away, but the mystery was compelling. Yoshino: "Indeed, I have always been my true self to Kurama." Kurama: "You're the only woman I've ever known who could be so brazen in front of me."

-------Part 2-------

Kurama: "You're the only woman I've ever known who could be so brazen in front of me." Yoshino: "Hehe...really? But..." (I feel like I can express my feelings more honestly now that I can't see Kurama's face.) Yoshino: "I just couldn't complete with Kurama, who was so much stronger and different than me. First I didn't want to be killed, then I wanted to be recognized.....and finally, I wanted to be equal." Kurama: "-----I see." Yoshino: "Mm....." I felt Kurama's other hand gently stroking my hair. (It feels good. I wish you would do it all the time.) I know that my wish wouldn't come true. We sharpen our awareness of the feeling that we may never be given again. Kurama: "-----Yoshino." Whether in a dream or not, I heard Kurama's voice calling my name. That was the last thing I remembered that night. When Kurama sees Yoshino starting to breathe slowly, he stops stroking her hair. Kurama: ".....Yoshino? You're already asleep." Her face was more innocent than usual. Kurama was sitting in crossed leg position, leaned forward, and looked at her with an insatiable gaze. Kurama: "What I see of you now will never swoon me" is what I said....why did I lie?" The smile on her face when she looks at something trivial, the peaceful look on her face when she sleeps. Those moments always touched Kurama's heart and will probably never go away. Kurama: "What is this...feeling?" (It's called love, dumbass!) Kurama put his hand to his chest in the darkness and raised an eyebrow.... ..................... ------Next day, early morning. Yoshino: "We're going to join up with the Rebel reinforcements, aren't we?" Kurama: "Yes." I was walking along with Kurama into the mountains. Kurama: "In half a day or so the reinforcements will arrive on the battlefield, and we'll make our way to a point where we can join them. It's a circuitous route, but it's easier to deceive the enemy if you go through the mountains. If we should meet any assassins, I will destroy them myself. If the Rebels and the Shogunate are to assemble, the Imperial Court will have gathered a number of pawns to oppose them." (There's no one more reliable than you to have on my side. But....) Kurama: "What? If you have something to say, say it." Yoshino: "Of course, I agree with the plan, but I thought it was a surprising decision for Kurama." (From what I've seen so far, Kurama could fly through the air and join up with the reinforcements at once and....) (He also said, he is going to find the enemy and beat them up...) I didn't have to explain myself to everyone, that I understood what he's trying to say. Then Kurama opens his mouth annoyingly. Kurama: "In the shadows of the marauders of the court are at least Yasuchika and Ibuki."

------Part 3------

Kurama: "In the shadows of the marauders of the court are at least Yasuchika and Ibuki. We don't know what they're up to, but it's easier to fight after making sure your safe." (You mean you've changed your normal ways because of me....?) Kurama, who is not stained by anyone else, is working for me. I didn't even know whether to be happy or horrified, so I just kept quiet. Kurama: "Wait!" (Hm?) Suddenly his hand blocks my way and my body stops. The air around Kurama was tense at once. Kurama: "Come on out----Ibuki!" Yoshino: "!!" In an instant, a blade of wind blows and cuts through the depths of the grove. Ibuki: ".....My my, that was scary. I could have died, you know." (Shuten Doji, Ibuki!) Ibuki walks towards us with a relaxed expression on his face, and despite his words, he is unharmed. Kurama: "How did you find out where we were?" Ibuki: "I was having a hard time because I lost the traces of your magic. I had no choice but to cry and beg Yasuchika to help me. He used some kind of astrology or something and here I am." (Yasuchika-san can do that too....? That guy is unbelievable.) Kurama: "Do you really think I'll believe that?" Ibuki: "You're right. You're the third person who I can't trick. But more importantly, what's your deal with her?" (Me....?) I squeezed my fingertips together and stared back into Ibuki's amused eyes. Kurama: "I don't have any business with her." Ibuki: "Really?" Ibuki raised one hand in the air as if it were an extension of small talk between friends. Ibuki: "Then, you won't mind if I take her, right?" Kurama: "----!! Come here." (This is!?) Something like a thunderbolt is running around Ibuki. The next moment----- Yoshino: "Kyaa!!" The roar was deafening and the light dazzled me with its intensity. At the same time, my body is already flying in the air, held by Kurama. Kurama: "Hold on tight." Yoshino: "Yes." I looked back and saw that the ground where we had been standing was scorched by the bolt of lightning. (This is Ibuki's power!?) Ibuki: "Oops, I missed." Once again, a bolt of lightning shot through the air, which Kurama avoided with me in his arms. We tried to go further up, but.... Kurama: "-----A barrier!" As if sensing an invisible wall, Kurama swooped down and clicked his tongue. Ibuki: "The only way to trap flying birds is to put it in a cage." (You mean, we're trapped in here, forever?) Ibuki: "Well, it won't last long---I'm afraid we'll have to settle for a short game, Kurama." Kurama: "I don't need to be told that I'm not going to have a long game with you." The air swirls and distorts noisily, and countless transparent blades head towards Ibuki. Ibuki: "Heh.....Hahaha...." Ibuki jumped to his feet, pulled out his greatsword, and thrust it hard into the ground. Then the sands of the earth flew up like a shield to protect Ibuki. (What is that!?) Yoshino: "I thought your power is thunder....how can you...?" Ibuki: "It is a simple application. The iron in the sand is attracted by my lightning power."

-------Part 4-------

Ibuki: "It is a simple application. The iron in the sand is attracted by my lightning power." Kurama: "Clever as ever." A flash of a fan sends a gust of wind so strong that it is impossible to stand properly and breaks the wall of sand. Ibuki: "...!" Behind the dust, blood trickled down Ibuki's shoulders and arms. (So much power....!) Ibuki: "I'm impressed you're this strong even after making a deal with a human. As expected of the Karasu Tengu, the quality and quantity of his abilities are far different from those of any other ordinary." Kurama: "Don't try to flatter me. The same goes for you too. But----" His red eyes sharply narrowed. Kurama: "Ibuki, you are sharing your power with someone. With whom?" Yoshino: "Eh..." Ibuki: "You're as intuitive as ever." Kurama: "I was wondering what you were doing with all that power...there's something wrong with the quality of your powers and the smell." Ibuki: "..............." Yoshino: "No way, Ibuki also made a deal....?" (However.) -----Tamamo told me that it was very rare for a demon to make a deal. (Because it halves their power by sharing it with humans.) (He said they don't make a deal with humans unless they like them very much.) Yoshino: "Maybe, Yasuchika-san.....?" Ibuki: "Wrong. Making a deal with an Onmyoji will cancel out each other's powers and we'll both destroy ourselves." (Then who....) Ibuki: "There's one more interesting person." Kurama: "Interesting, huh?" With me behind him, and Ibuki at a distance, Kurama continued calmly. Kurama: "Your powers had been subtly altered. I've never heard of anyone influencing the quality of the power cast by a demon." Ibuki: "You'll both meet each other soon enough. For now, watch me....okay?" Holding his greatsword above his head with one hand, Ibuki smiled wryly. Kurama: "Yoshino, get down." Yoshino: "I'll fight too. I can use my powers...." (I want to be an equal----because I want to be strong.) Kurama frowned but tried not to stop me anymore. Ibuki: "You two are so cute. But there's nothing more frightening than an impromptu fight." (Ah.....) A white flash of light comes from the sword, which is swung with ease. Kurama: "Yoshino!" I raised my hand towards him and Kurama holds me. (I'm scared, but.) (If we can't fight here, everything we've been worrying about will be for nothing!) (Please, lend me the power of the nine-tail fox!) Ibuki: "Let's see what you got."

-------Part 5------

Ibuki: "Let's see what you got." The golden dew rises and the palms of my hands become hot. But a series of thunderbolts were aimed at me again. Yoshino: "Nn...." (He's too strong. I can't take him on my own!) I was on the verge of being scorched and Kurama was quickly holding me and kicking the earth. Yoshino: "T-Thank you." Kurama: "You stay focused. I'll dodge and counterattack." Ibuki: "So you've changed your mind about making her as your toy? Kurama." The blades of the wind are caught and dodged one by one. Moving too fast for his height, Ibuki unexpectedly lifted a rock from the ground. Kurama: "...!" (Ngh.....) Ibuki: "Here we go." Without saying a word, Kurama hits the thrown rock with a tremendous wind and reduces its momentum, but----- The impact of the rock, which just barely missed the path of the direct hit, knocked me off my feet and sent me stumbling. Kurama: "Yoshino!" Ibuki: "There there." Kurama: "Nn...ha..." A flash of lightning burned Kurama's arm as he brought me to my feet. Yoshino: "Kurama!" Kurama: "It doesn't matter..." (You got hurt because of me...) I bit my lips when I see Kurama covering me up with his bleeding hand. Ibuki: "You can counteract the ability, but you can't prevent a direct attack. A mixture of powers and brute strength will be enough to counteract it. Too bad, huh? Yoshino." (I know....the weakness of my fox power is that I can't fight alone. But....) Yoshino: "I can't believe this..." I look at the rocks on the ground and mutter. Ibuki: "There's nothing to be surprised about. Demons are known for their strength." Kurama: "If you

want to show off, do it somewhere else." Ibuki: "Don't be so sure, Karasu Tengu must also have things to be proud of, right?" Ibuki grumbled as a wall of sand barely blocked the deadly wind. Ibuki: "Karasu Tengu is not only powerful, but they are also fast and use their wings to attack in all directions. But Kurama, unfortunately with Yoshino in your arms, you've been denied that advantage." (Ah.....) Kurama: "..........." I looked up Kurama without thinking of the strong wind. Ibuki: "Is this your first time fighting for someone?----Boy, you look like you're having a hard time." Kurama: "Shut up." (....I knew. I knew I was slowing down Kurama.) Ibuki's shield, a wall of sand, collapsed with the blade of the wind. Ibuki kicked the ground in spite of this. Ibuki: "I love to hear you calling me 'Oni-san' again..." A whirlpool of wind flies in pursuit of it, and the dust again stands in the way, moving as if trying to swallow it up. Ibuki: "You're weak now, Kurama. In the old days, you had a chance to win against me." (Be careful!) In a single breath, Ibuki's sword swung down on Kurama. Kurama: "----You don't get to tell me about my past." The heavy blow was caught by Kurama's iron fan. But he was pushed by the great force----- (It is because he got hurt earlier....?) Ibuki: "Didn't I tell you? Kurama. The weaklings are destined to die at the feet of stronger ones. I'll remind you of the humiliation of being taken from you by force." Kurama: "Nn...." (What!?) The sword and the fan touched each other with a crisp sound, and blue-white sparks flew from them. The impact created a momentary gap and Ibuki slashed Kurama across the shoulder. Yoshino: "Kurama!" Fresh blood dripped down and stained Kurama's kimono. (......I can't believe that Kurama is so hurt.) Kurama: "----A different kind of power wrapped in the golden air. Depressing as ever." Ibuki: "You know me too well. Well, I did raise you with these hands. Oh, by the way, Kurama....do you remember a promise I made a long time ago? That, one day you'll have someone you care about, and I'll break them with my own hands." The tip of Ibuki's sword, raised in laughter, was suddenly pointed at me. (Eh....) Ibuki: "That time has come." Kurama: "Stop! Ibuki-----" Yoshino: "......!!" Kurama pushes me and I fall to the ground. The next moment, I felt a splash of blood on my face. I realized it was Kurama's blood. Yoshino: "Kurama...what..." Kurama: "Nn.....Didn't I order you not to get scratched by other men?" Chapter 22

#ikemen series #ikemen genjiden #ikemen genjiden kurama #ikemen mc #main story translations #otome #cybird #cybird ikemen #cybird otome

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samcrobae · 4 years

Text

A lot on my Plate, 2

Gif credit to the original creators! Let me know if I should do a part 3.

A/N: this hasn’t been proof read but if you haven’t read part one, find that here:

https://samcrobae.tumblr.com/post/632551950161969152/neighbors

————————————————————

“Y/N who the fuck is this?” Manny now approached you from behind, his hand coming up to push the door open further.

Angel, now standing very confidently brings a hand to his chest, “Angel. I was just coming to see if Y/N was ready for our date”. Manny’s eyes flash back to you, glaring daggers at Angel.

“Dulce, why aren’t you ready yet? I told you I would be picking you up at 6. I mean I live right next door, it don’t take me long to get here.” He emphasized that part, before chuckling to himself then looked back over at Manny, “you know how our girl can be.. stubborn as ever huh.” Manny popped his jaw then turned to pick Sebastian up and grabbed his bag, before looking you up and down, then looked back at Angel, “nah homie she ain’t our girl.” And he quickly descended down your stairs.

Angel pushed past the threshold and entered your apartment. “What’s up his ass? Anyway get dressed you’re coming to the clubhouse to chill.” He plopped himself down on the couch, “wear anything other than leggings please.”

“Angel I told you I’m not going. I don’t want to and you can’t just show up here like that. Look I have-"

“A lot on your plate, I know. Just get out of the house for a little while and if you hate it you won’t have to hang out with us ever again, alright? I want you to let loose for a little.”

You rolled your eyes and nodded in agreement, turning toward your bedroom. He was right you did need to get out for a few, but you didn’t really know the rest of the guys that well. Anytime you asked about them Angel always gave you the same reply , “nah dulce we’re just a couple of mechanics and motorcycle enthusiasts”, whatever that meant. You threw on some jeans and a crop top then ran a curling iron through your hair, tousling it a bit before walking back out into the living room.

“You see!! You look incredible dulce, come on.”

———————————-

Drinks were pouring and you were feeling good, Angel had a hold on you all night, never letting you out of his sight, and even the other men were surprised to see he brought someone to a party. Not just anyone. You.

You finished your beer and offered to grab another round and walked toward the bar. Bishop and Angel were sat at a table.

“So what’s that about son?” Motioning to you, “big deal getting involved with her, she has a son, Angel. She seems like a good girl. She know who you are?”

Angel put a cigarette between his lips and lit it, slowly exhaling before answering. “Not really. Hasn’t come up. I care about her. I like her a lot Bish. I’ll tell her... when the time is right.”

BIshop gave Angel two pats on the shoulder before leaving the table to start a game of pool. That’s when you heard it—the sound of screeching tires on the pavement and shots ringing out and into the clubhouse, everything after that a blur that seemed to happen in slow motion. All you remembered was Angel calling your name and tackling you to the ground, then dragging you behind the bar. The shots continued to ring out for what felt like an eternity but was really only a minute before they stopped and the tires screeched once more.

Angel had laid himself on top of you, the both of you breathless and hearts racing as you tried to calm yourself. “Dulce...” he slowly moved himself to look you over, moving your hair and shirt to make sure you were okay, before helping you sit up. Your backs pressed against the bar, still panting as you looked over at him. “Motorcycle enthusiasts......noted.” He looked at you with an apologetic look in his eyes but before he could speak he was cut off by the sound of glass crunching.

“Everyone alright ?!” Bishop called out into the open as everyone started to slowly get up, maneuvering around broken beer bottles and shattered windows, checking on each other. “Bish..” Angel walked over to Bishop but Bishop held his hand up, “I know, get her outta here.”

——————————————————-

The drive home was silent up until you made your way to your front door.

“Y/N... talk to me.”

You shook your head in defeat, “Angel what the fuck was that!!! Oh we’re just guys who like motorcycles dulce, don’t worry dulce, come hang out with us... and Angel I don’t need you to be a fucking hero! Throwing yourself on top of me like that! You could have gotten shot. Killed....even! Are you fucking insane?!”

Angel stood before you, leaned against the stair railing, hands in his pockets, head hung low. “I wanted to tell you, I was going to tell you.. this is why I didn’t... you’re too good for this..”

“For what?”

“For All of it Y/N. Everything that happened tonight, the people I know, too good for me. And I know you are—and I don’t want to feel this way but fuck...it’s like the first thing I do when I wake up is think of you. What you’re doing that day, how’s your morning been, learning how you like your eggs and coffe so I can bring you food, learning everything about you. I don’t want to fucking like you but I do. From the moment I saw you step into the yard, I had to have you. In anyway I can. And I can’t have you be mine, because of who I am, so I am okay with us being friends and inviting you out with me, but I can’t even have that now because if something happened to you on my fuckin watch I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself”.

You stood in silence and stared back at him. “Okay. So. Tell me.”

His head shot up and looked at you, “what?”

You unlocked your door and stepped inside, moving the door further allowing him space to come in. “Tell me everything.”

———————————————-

The two of you sat at your kitchen table and you listened intently for 3 hours as he told you everything. The rebels, the cartel, Adelita, about his mom, EZ, his dad. When he was finished he sat silently, trying to read your expression but it was no use as your power face was strong.

After about 5 minutes he slowly stood, and stepped out of your kitchen and began walking towards the door. “I know it was a lot-" he began, putting his kutte back over his shoulders, “but I’ll be home if you wanna talk about it.” He reached for his phone when you called his name. He turned to face you when you caught him off guard and crashed your lips into his.

You didn’t know where your emotions were at and you hadn’t even began to process what he had told you, and you weren’t sure what you were doing.. Maybe it was the danger that followed him, or the way he smiled at you when he said your name, or maybe it was his scent— musk and leather with a dash of kush, or maybe- just maybe-it was because the man before you threw you to the ground just hours before to shield you from bullets that rang out around you, but you were turned on.

His hands came up to cup your face and you ran your tongue along his bottom lip before taking it between your teeth and tugging, which earned you a slight moan from him. You pushed his kutte down his shoulders and he spun you so that you were pinned between him and your front door, his mouth leaving wet kisses down your neck. When he reached your collar bone he stopped to look at you, lips swollen, out of breath with a look of urgency in your eyes.

“You sure?”

You were more than sure, it had been forever since you had any physical contact with the opposite sex and Angel was gorgeous. You bit your bottom lip and nodded your head yes.

“Yeah just not against the door, bedrooms over there.”

You led Angel to your room and before you could step inside his hands were around your waist, turning you to face him. He placed gentle kisses on your lips this time, slowly backing you into the bed and laid you down when your legs hit the edge. He hovered over you causing you to lay backwards on your bed and he began his assault on your neck, leaving his mark on your skin and finally sliding your shirt over your head. His kisses continued and your breathing picked up as he kissed your padded tummy just above your button on your jeans.

Before you knew it, your jeans and panties were off and Angels face was between your thighs, biting and sucking on your most sensitive parts and you felt euphoria in ways you never knew possible.it was almost as if he been here with you hundreds of times before, tears stinging your eyes as you cried out his name.

When he slid inside you, you had to catch your breath as bright colors danced behind your eyes. The sounds of his skin slapping against yours with every thrust and your moans were the only sounds in the room.

When you were done, you laid there, wrapped in each other’s arms, your fingers tracing the lines of his tattoos as his breathing evened out and you both fell into a deep sleep.

You woke to the sound of your phone ringing. Looking at the clock, you groaned out and saw it was 8:15AM. You had missed 3 calls and 2 texts from Manny.

“Hello?”

“Y/N what the fuck I been calling you all morning , I got called in last minute to work . I’m outside, I have to drop Sebastian off with you.”

Fuck. You looked to your left, Angel was fast asleep, he probably wouldn’t notice if you slipped out of bed.. you slowly crept out of your room and threw on your robe and head to the front door. You unlocked it and let manny inside to set Sebastian down when you heard the toilet flush. You jumped at the sound and turned toward the bathroom door.

“It’s a little early to have company Y/N... oh shit well aint this cozy.. ain’t he your neighbor mama?”

Angel flashes Manny a cocky grin, “Angel”.

Angel places a kiss on the top of your head. “Ima go make some coffee.”

———————————————

@ifoundmyhappythought @starrynite7114 @everyhowlmarksthedead @angelreyesgirl @gemini0410 @sadeyesgf @sesamepancakes @wrcn9fvlcver @dazzledamazon

#mayans mc #mayans imagine #angel reyes #mayansfx #angel x reader #mayans #clayton cardenas #angel reyes smut #angel reyes fanfic

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aerith-week · 1 year

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Proud to announce AERITH WEEK 2023! We can't wait to celebrate our girl again with you this year from February 7th-14th! We’re so excited to share this year’s prompts with you.

Day 1 (February 7th) - Happy Birthday Aerith!

Day 2 (February 8th) - Rebel > “You’re wrong! I’m not an Ancient!” Alternate Prompt: Trace of Two Pasts Day 3 (February 9th) - Innocence > “Normal is best. I think so, at least.” Alternate Prompt: Before Crisis/Crisis Core Day 4 (February 10th) - Planet > “I won't let you do it! The future is not only yours!” Alternate Prompt: FFVII (original game) Day 5 (February 11th) - Healers > “See? Everything is alright” Alternate Prompt: Case of Lifestream/Advent Children Day 6 (February 12th) - Destiny > “Every time the Whispers touch me...I lose something. A part of myself.” Alternate Prompt: FFVII: Remake Day 7 (February 13th) - Cheering up > “No matter where we are, our hearts will bring us together again.” Alternate Prompt: Kingdom Hearts/DFFOO and any crossovers Day 8 (February 14th) - Happy Valentine’s Day!

We will be checking our mentions @aerith-week and hashtags #aerithweek and #aerithweek2023. You can also find us on twitter! You can review our rules and guidelines here. We can’t wait to see what you come up with!

#aerith #Aerith Gainsborough #final fantasy vii #FF7 #ffgraphics #FFVII #advent children #crisis core #before crisis #ff7 remake

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the-sympathetic-villain · 3 years

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I Know What You’re Going To Say - Chapter 2

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: A Beauty and the Beast style Vampire AU. Vampire!Virgil has picked up Logan off the street and is holding him captive under the threat of killing his friends if he tries to escape.

Word Count: 4248

Chapter Warnings: Anxiety, Angst, Overstimulation, Restraints, Swearing, Choking, Food, Unhealthy Relationship with Food/Eating, Fear as a Method of Control, Implications of Child Abuse, Threats, Unsympathetic!Virgil (let me know if I missed anything!)

Author’s Note: So, fair warning on this one. It’s going to get worse before it gets better on this one. The ultimate goal is a happy end but it’s going to be a journey for them to get there. Thanks for reading! <3

---

Logan tipped his head up at the sound of arguing. He blinked blearily, groaning as his muscles rebelled against the subtle movement. Pins and needles erupted in his fingertips as his body ached to remind him that his binds were still too tight.

He hissed through his teeth as the cacophony of voices drew closer and the unpleasant sound broke the silence he'd been acclimating to in the last few hours. The assault on his ears combined with feeling of stabbing needles in his wrists made his stomach twist, nearly reaching as he struggled to contain the overwhelming feeling. He could feel wetness brimming in his eyes, but he swallowed the lump in his throat, ignoring his pain as his captor approached.

A sudden loud bang sent shudders down his body as the door across the room was flung open into the wall. Panic welled in his chest as the strange figure rushed him, hands outstretched toward his chest as the blurry shadow approached. He flinched, sending his glasses flying off his face as he pressed his back into wall behind him.

“What the fuck, Virgil?”

The stranger’s voice blared in his ears as the dark figure loomed over him. He bit his lip, barely stopping the whimper that threatened to escape him as he braced himself.

“Relax. I'm not going to hurt you.”

The soft voice almost gave him pause until the stench of fried food hit him like a brick wall. Bile rose in his throat as he flung his head back, trying not to vomit at the overwhelming stimulation of his senses. Logan had only a moment to adjust to the sensations before a hand brushed his face and he instinctively snarled at the touch.

His regret was instantaneous. Faster than he had time to suck in a breath, a hand closed on his windpipe with a bruising tightness and he froze, going stock still as the familiar voice from a few hours ago whispered in his ear.

“Let's get something straight.” The man snarled as his thumb dug into Logan’s neck, cutting off his air supply. “If you do anything less than worship the ground he walks on, I'll start breaking bones. Got it?”

“Vee, I'm fine.” The other voice protested weakly, sounding vaguely sympathetic.

“I'm waiting on an answer.” The voice growled, breathing down Logan’s neck as his nail dug into his skin.

Logan nodded stiffly, hoping that would appease the man's sadism since he was not able to squeeze words out past the man's hand. A long moment passed. He had almost accepted he would not be conscious for this round of torment when the pressure released and he was allowed to suck in a strained breath.

“Good.”

Curling his legs to his chest, Logan struggled to steady his breathing as he listened to the man’s footsteps trail away from him. Out of his periphery, he could see the smaller figure slowly moving toward him and he tensed, not daring to pull away.

“I'm just going to put your glasses back on, okay?” The softer voice whispered from far closer than he was comfortable.

A pit of dread settled into Logan's stomach at the thought of the stranger touching him, but refusing clearly wasn't an option. Not to mention, having his sight would make him a little less vulnerable to surprises from the hostile stranger who was no doubt still watching his every move. Dipping his head obediently to the stranger, Logan nodded at the blurry figure in front of him, forcing his posture to relax as he forced an appreciative whisper up at the stranger. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome."

The stranger’s voice was gentle and patient as he gingerly reached up to Logan’s face to rest the glasses in the nook of his ears. Logan glanced up as the stranger brushed his hair out of his eyes, surprised to find himself staring at the shockingly young man in front of him.

The man seemed to notice his attention and he smirked as Logan's gaze immediately dropped to the ground. “Don’t worry. I'm used to people finding the skin a little distracting.”

Logan timidly tipped his eyes up to the stranger’s face. His dark, ashen skin was remarkably breathtaking, but Logan knew it wasn't the tone of his skin that he was supposed to find unusual. He turned the gaze to the right side of the man's face where unlike the tone of the rest of his features, the skin of the right side of his face was disrupted by lighter patches of pale, white skin.

“Vitiligo.” Logan whispered quietly.

“You’re familiar?” The stranger smiled softly at him in a way that would almost have been charming if Logan couldn’t still feel his binds cutting into his wrists.

Logan cast a quick glance up as the less friendly man hopped up on one of the crates behind him. His faded, black converse tapped on the ground as he sat glaring at Logan. The man's unblinking stare made him reluctant to say more. He hesitated for a moment, exhaling with relief as a short buzz seemed to draw his attention away from Logan. The man pulled his phone out of his pocket, seemingly distracted for the time being.

“Only as far as reading about the condition,” Logan stated, cautiously turning his attention back to the man in front of him. “The cells in the skin that produce melanin begin to fail. The melanin deficiency causes the skin to lighten in blotchy patches. The condition is relatively rare—but your skin was not the cause of my surprise.”

“No?” The man raised an eyebrow at him skeptically.

“No. I was—” A chilled shiver shot down Logan’s spine as the hostile man across the room tipped his head up, eyes darkening as he glanced up from his phone. Logan felt like he might choke on the lump that jumped in his throat, but he merely dropped gaze, forcing himself to continue. “I—The tone of your voice seemed to indicate you were older than you actually appear to be.”

The man’s neutral expression didn't falter as he stared absently at Logan. Logan's skin began to prickle uncomfortably as the two men stared at him, petrified he might have said something wrong.

“I’ll admit I haven't gotten that one before,” The man chuckled quietly. “but I suppose most people aren’t half-blind when they meet me for the first time. Either way, I suppose it doesn’t matter much. Are you hungry?”

“Hungry?” Logan whispered, eyeing him suspiciously.

The man smiled at him reassuringly as he reached down to grab the bag of fast food and drink container next to him. “Yes. I assume Virgil hasn't offered you a meal since he brought you here.”

“One day without food will hardly kill him, Janus.” Virgil muttered, barely looking up from his phone.

“I'm already pissed at you, Virgil. No need to make it worse.” The man chided at his captor dryly as he leaned forward towards Logan’s binds.

“Whatever.” Virgil muttered and Logan started to shake the man suddenly started tracing Janus movements. “What do you think you’re doing, Jan?”

His voice had turned cold, sending shivers down Logan's spine as Janus reached to undo his binds. The release of the pressure sent pins and needles shooting up his arms, intensified by the fear of Virgil standing up behind Janus and leering at Logan as he took a few steps closer to them.

Janus glanced up at Logan’s horrified expression as he continued to pull at the binds. He glanced lazily over his shoulder at Virgil and grimaced. “Sit down, Vee. Did you expect me to feed it to him?”

Virgil’s fingertips twitched as he snarled at Logan. The corner of his lip curled to reveal his glistening, white canines.

“He won’t hurt you, Logan.” Janus muttered irritably as he pulled the last of his binds free.

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, Jan.” Virgil growled, his deep voice sending a new wave of panic down Logan’s spine.

Janus spun his head back to Virgil stopping him in his tracks. “If you lay a finger on him while I'm here, I will never speak to you again, Virgil. I mean it.”

“Fine,” Virgil’s lips curled into a snide smirk as he leered at Logan. “I can wait until you leave.”

“I can—I can stay bound.” Logan whispered quietly to Janus, his voice trembling.

“You need to eat.” Janus stated plainly, letting Logan's right arm drop to his side as he moved to untie his other hand.

Logan flexed his wrist as it started to tingle. “I don't want any trouble. Please—”

“Virgil will not punish you for what I'm doing, whether I'm here or not.” Janus reassured him quickly as he turned his head back to Virgil. “Because I will know, and I will never forgive you if you do.”

The man’s leering stare didn't falter as he smirked at Logan. The dangerous look in his eyes sent chills down Logan’s spine, but the man merely shrugged, giving an exaggerated sigh. “Of course, Jan. I wouldn’t dream of disappointing you.”

Janus growled as he dropped Logan’s left hand, freeing him from his binds Logan winced as he roughly grabbed the bag of food and drink and set it at Logan’s feet. Logan rubbed at his wrists, staring absently at the bag of food. His silent focus was quickly broken as Janus suddenly lean towards him. He tensed, not daring to even flinch as Janus reached a hand to Logan’s chin, guiding his face from side to side, as he examined Logan’s neck.

Logan held his breath, moving stiffly as he pleaded with the universe that his movements would not offend Virgil. Time passed slowly, but after what felt like an eternity, Janus released his jaw and Logan let out a slow, unsteady breath as he dropped his head submissively to his chest.

“Eat.” Janus' expression softened as he gave Logan the gentle command and stood up, walking decisively over to Virgil.

Logan stared after him as he walked away. His body language was tense as he strode quickly over to the other man. Immediately, they locked into a hushed conversation, seemingly losing interest in Logan as they argued. He watched with wide-eyes for a long moment before nervously turning his gaze down to the brown, paper bag in front of him. His stomach growled as the smell of the fried food drifted up to him, but he couldn't help remaining hesitant.

The blocky, red logo indicated a local burger joint he'd often heard his peers raving about back in high school. His younger self would have been shocked and appalled at the fact that he was even hesitating to tear into the bag, knowing he would have given anything to be allowed to try this sort of meal back then. But right now, the thought of eating anything that his captors had provided to him made his stomach twist with distrust.

But I have to keep my energy up.

Logan swallowed nervously. He knew he couldn’t afford to be picky and if he was being honest with himself, he couldn’t remember the last time he'd had anything but black coffee. Not to mention, he really didn't know when he'd be offered the chance to eat again, so being cautious was a luxury he couldn’t afford right now.

Heated whispers filled the air he leaned forward to pull the bag toward him, but he could hardly be bothered to listen to his captors argue. He knew he should care. He could certainly be trying to glean important information about the purpose he was intended to serve here, but he didn't. Their distracted attentions had presented him with his first moment of peace in the last two days and he wasn’t going to waste that opportunity.

Logan lifted the drink to his lips, keeping his eyes on his captors as the cool carbonation of the soda rushed over his tongue, soothing his sore throat. Truly, he knew he should be revolted by the sugary beverage, but he couldn't deny the sweet, clear liquid seemed to be settling his stomach.

He cast a quick glance up the men still locked in heated eye contact as they spoke in hushed tones, occasionally gesturing to him as though they didn’t even realize he was watching. Still, he was grateful. Given they didn’t seem to be looking in his direction, he assumed he had at least another minute before he had to worry about their presence. Keeping his eyes on his captors, he silently picked up the bag and set it on his lap.

Unrolling the flimsy paper, he slowly dug through the bag’s contents. He blinked, surprised to see the wrapped items in the bag. He'd half expected a single item, but it would seem the men had no intention of starving him. Reaching into the bag, he took out the first item, silently peeling away the wrapper out of pure habit.

A cheeseburger.

The meat was barely identifiable as beef and the cheese had a plastic look to it, but he had to admit the smell was appealing. He made quick work of the burger, subtly wishing he had more time to savor the flavor. His parents had kept him on a strict diet through his childhood and indulgences such as this would never had been tolerated. Unfortunately, considering he didn’t trust his captors not to change their minds regarding feeding him, he opted for getting as much of it into his stomach before they had a chance to take it away from him.

A flutter of sadness wavered in his chest as he opened the second package, some sort of seasoned chicken sandwich and he forced himself to swallow the lump growing in his throat at the thought that he was no longer in control of what he could eat. He pushed down the thought, but as he bit into the sandwich, his heart sunk as the flavor seemed to turn to ash in his mouth. He continued to swallow it down for the sake of his caloric intake, but any thrill the small meal had brought him was gone.

No more cooking lessons with Roman.

Or coming home to find his kitchen destroyed by Patton and Remus' attempts at baking.

His life was gone.

He crumbled the second wrapper, giving up the pretense of silence as he struggled with his own thoughts. The last thing in the bag was a container of french fries. Surprisingly, they seemed to have held their integrity fairly well. They were barely warm, but not quite soggy yet, despite the time that had surely passed since they'd been ordered. Fries had always been one thing he'd allowed himself to sneak past his parents’ careful supervision. An unhealthy habit Roman had been all to happy to help him indulge in by sneaking him his extra serving when no one else was looking.

It’s not fair.

I was so close to being free.

Logan bit his lip, forcing himself to stifle the wave of emotion that rose in his chest at the thought. He couldn’t allow himself to go down that road. Not now. He dropped the empty fry container in the bag as he attempted to steel his voice into something that wasn't the trembling mess he surely looked as he slow turned his eyes up to the men across the room.

“I want to make a deal.”

The whispers across the room stopped and a deafening silence hung over them. Their quiet stares were too much for him to handle, so he dropped his chin to his chest as he felt their eyes burning into him.

“I told you already.” Logan winced when Virgil finally hissed back at him. “There’s nothing you can offer me that will get you out of this.”

“I’m very aware of that fact. You've made the terms of my captivity abundantly clear.” Logan muttered bitterly, tensing as Virgil snarled at him. “I understand my freedom is forfeit, but—but I’m willing to make a deal, if you can provide me with information about my brother.”

The pause that followed hung heavy in the air between them. Logan didn’t even lift his head, hoping his submissive demeanor would encourage them to at least entertain his request.

“What are you offering?”

The quiet seriousness of Virgil’s voice took him by surprise and Logan couldn’t help but tip his head up to meet the man's stern gaze.

“The offer is open-ended.” Logan stated plainly. “Whatever terms you set, I will honor them.”

“Are you stupid?”

Logan winced at the sharpness in Virgil’s voice, hanging his head as Virgil started to step towards him.

“Virgil—”

Janus’ weak protests were lost to Logan as Virgil yanked him to his feet by the collar of his shirt. He hung his head to his chest, not making eye contact as Virgil shoved him back into the wall.

“You don't know what I'm capable of doing to you.” Virgil’s guttural growl sent shudders down Logan’s body. “So, tell me. What information is worth offering me anything?”

Logan grimaced, his muscles shaking violently as he continued to avoid eye contact. “He was supposed to leave my parents and come live with me and my roommates tonight.”

“And?”

“And—” Logan bit his lip, bitterly trying to keep his tone neutral as he spoke to Virgil. “—I want to know that he made it. No stipulations. If you bring me proof that he is with Roman and they are both alive, you will have my total compliance in whatever you plan to do to me.”

Virgil glanced up at Logan’s accusing stare and met his heated gaze with a cool disinterest. “Why does that even matter to you?”

“What other reason do I need than I want to make sure my brother is safe?” Logan stated dryly. His bravado was decisively short-lived as Virgil grip tightened on his chest and he winced as Virgil’s large ring dig into his chest.

“Sorry. I’m not buying whatever you’re trying to sell me on.”

Logan glanced up, dismayed by the cruel smirk on Virgil’s face. The pressure released on his chest as Virgil dropped his collar, letting him fall back into the wall. “What?”

“I'm not sure what you’re playing at, but I'm not interested in playing the pawn in your games.” Virgil muttered as he walked away, shaking his hand as if he was disgusted about having even touched Logan.

Logan stared after his with shock in his eyes. “I offered you anything—”

“I don’t think you understand how this works.” Virgil growled casting a harsh glance over his shoulder at him. “If I want something from you, I will take it. I don't need your permission.”

“Virgil—”

“Shut it, Jan.” Virgil snapped, cutting the other man off with a sour grimace. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Please, they'll hurt him.”

“What?” Virgil glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Logan drop to his knees. He glanced at Janus' surprised expression before staring at the broken man kneeling in front of them.

“He can't stay with my parents. They'll destroy him. Please—” Logan begged, feeling tear brimming in his eyes. “Roman will take care of him in my absence. I just need to know he’s out of their hands.”

There was a long pause before Virgil responded. Logan had almost given up hope when Virgil took a few steps back toward him. He shook as the man slowly hooked his chin, tilting his head up with his finger. Logan swallowed, wide-eyed as he looked into the unreadable abyss of Virgil's dark eyes.

“The kid's actually in danger?”

Logan nodded timidly, feeling a rush of shame as a tear fell down his face. “Please, I'll—”

“You'll accept your fate?”

“What?” Logan looked up at him, blinking in confusion.

“If I do this, I expect you will give me no trouble." Virgil stated quietly, staring down at him with his dark eyes. “You serve me in whatever way I ask and you'll do it gladly.”

“Done.” Logan swallowed nervously, shivering at the implications of the man's words. “As long as Patton’s safe, you can do what you like with me.”

"I'm not going to tell you what this is going to cost you," Virgil's tone remained disinterested as he stared down at Logan's face trembling in his hand. "But I expect you'll be willing to jump into whatever I ask at a moment's notice or I'll be paying a personal visit to the kid. Got it?"

A pit of dread settled into Logan's stomach once more as he nodded up at the man. "Whatever terms you set, I will follow them."

“Good. That will do quite nicely.” Virgil whispered with a cold smile. His voice became soft and smooth and Logan could feel himself becoming pliable to Virgil’s will as the man leaned into his ear. “Now, I think you should take a nice, long nap.”

Logan's body suddenly felt limp as darkness pulled at the edge of his vision. Gravity seemed to hang heavy on him, draining his resistance away quickly. His eyelids drooped and he swayed, catching one last glance at Virgil’s face before he hit the ground, suddenly sound asleep.

---

“Was that really necessary, Virgil?”

Janus disapproving drawl grated against his ears as Virgil stared down at the unconscious man at his feet. He turned on his heel, offering his friend an exaggerated smile as he spoke an off-puttingly chipper tone. “I'm sorry. Would you rather I had bound him up again, Janus?”

“You know damn well that's not what I meant.” Janus hissed as Virgil brushed past him. “He's already bent to your will. Do you really need to threaten him on top of that?”

“Whatever.” Virgil shrugged with cold glance back at Logan. “He needs to know his place.”

“Which is what exactly?” Janus asked, an edge creeping into his voice as he stepped forward to kneel beside Logan, gently rolling the man into a more comfortable position on his back as he slept.

“My own personal blood bank.” Virgil's eyes darkened as he leapt up onto his previous perch, lazily dangled his legs over the edge. He pulled out his phone casting a wide grin, at Janus as he revealed his sharp, white canines.

Janus’ hand brushed Logan’s neck as he turned to sneer at Virgil. “Funny you say that, because he doesn’t appear to have any marks on his neck, which means you haven’t actually fed on him yet. So, what exactly is the point of all this?”

“It's not that deep.” Virgil shrugged with disinterest, turning his gaze down to his phone. “I didn't want him to panic, waking up with wound on his neck."

“Right, because the kidnapping part was going to be subtle enough to go under his radar.” Janus raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief as he stood up.

“Why the fuck do you even care?” Virgil growled, gesturing to Logan with his phone in his hands. “Guy's a selfish, soulless robot. It's not like I'm holding Mother Teresa here.”

Janus glared at him for a moment before relenting, turning his thoughtful gaze down to Logan's peaceful expression as he slept on the ground.

“Come on, Jan. He didn't even recognize you.” Virgil muttered, his hard expression faltering slightly as he looked sympathetically at Janus. “How self-absorbed do you have to be to miss what happened to you? Everyone in town was—”

“Shut up. Don't you dare make this about me.” Janus' voice trembled and his lips curled into a frown as he cut Virgil off, barely containing his emotions as he changed the subject. “What about the kid, Virgil?”

Virgil grimaced, staring at him for a moment before seemingly deciding it wasn’t worth the effort. He slid forward on the crate taking on a more serious tone. “I want you to track him down and make sure he gets somewhere safe. The kid seems nice enough. I won't condemn him for his brother’s sins.”

Janus tipped his head to Virgil. “How long do you want me to watch him?”

“A few days, at least, and I want you to keep me updated,” Virgil ordered, staring at Janus as he gestured at Logan. “but not a word to him until I say so.”

“Vee, that's bull—”

“Don't argue with me.” Virgil’s cool tone of voice shut him down immediately. “He's the one who offered to make an open-ended deal. So, if he thinks he's going to start making demands, the bastard is going to give up whatever secret he's still holding onto. Got it?”

Janus was quiet, staring him for a moment before he dropped his gaze.

“I'm expecting an answer, Janus.”

“I'll follow your lead, Virgil.” Janus lifted his head up to glance at the door, mumbling something Virgil couldn’t quite hear.

“What was that?” Virgil’s eyes darkened as Janus' gaze locked onto his.

“I said you damn well better feed before I come back, because you’re an insufferable bastard when you’re starving yourself.”

“Just get out of here.” Virgil snarled at him. “Text me when you catch sight of the kid, but don’t let him know you’re following him.”

“Consider it done.” Janus bit his lip, bitterly flicking his eyes to Logan as he turned to leave. “Now, enjoy your meal before it gets cold.”

---

General Taglist:

@somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck

I Know What You’re Going To Say Taglist:

@theoddkidnextdoor @ace-in-a-shopping-cart @im-actually-ok

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #ts logan #ts janus #ts virgil #Analogical #platonic anxceit #I Know What You're Going To Say #villain writes #unsympathetic virgil

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charley1979 · 3 years

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KAW 2021 Day 2

Prompt: Sharp Teeth

Running a day behind but I Day 2′s story up. This one got a little away from me. :) Here is the link to it in AO3, also. https://archiveofourown.org/works/31079063

Kallus knew the patrol was going too smoothly. The reports he had received showed an active rebel presence but even multiple planetary scans hadn’t shown anything. Konstantine had huffed when he’d ordered the ground patrol, saying something about chasing smoke which Kallus ignored.

This gave him a perfect cover to get another report to the Rebellion out of a system that showed rebel activity. The risk of his transmission being traced, if it was even caught, would be exceptionally thin. And even if it was, coming from this system just showed that the initial reports were accurate, just cagier than the admiral would ever admit. The smirk that thought put on his face just made him look viscously focused to his troopers. Which is exactly the cover he needed to uphold.

Once the shuttle landed, he ordered the troopers to start a grid pattern. There had been a few spots that showed questionable activity, but if it ended up being a group of smugglers Kallus had been trying to catch for the illegal smuggling of T7s what was he to do? His orders were to uphold the laws of the Empire and those … weapons were illegal.

He shook his head, not wanting his mind to go down that dark hole. He knew what his conscience would do to him and that could not happen here.

Instead, he headed for a cantina further down the alley. It was a dark, nasty place where all manner of ill repute gathered. Just the kind of location where he’d find a black market comm unit to send his data through. Not all of it, unfortunately, there was too much data on the spike to risk that, but he figured if he did this over the coarse of several different missions he’d get the majority to the Rebellion.

When he’d initially found the information buried in the archives will the Lasan data he’d been in shock and couldn’t believe what he was seeing. As more scrolled across the screen he’d realized that he had uncovered one of the largest cache of blue prints, battle reports, troop movement schedules he’d ever heard of.

Kallus had copied everything to a spike and logged off quickly. He’d buried his tracks and sliced the data trail back into a clerical system that was not checked regularly. Only a dedicated intel search of very redundant systems in the core servers of Coruscant would be able to find what he’d done.

He cleared his mind and as he into the cantina his face was that of a consummate ISB agent, calm and menacing as he sent the troopers to check the surrounding buildings.

There was not a huge crowd, just a couple Ithorians at a table talking with a Rodian. A human was playing sabacc with a Sullust at the other side of the room. There was one bartender, human, and the back area looked empty. He walked past the bartender, taking in the look of fear and nervousness. Kallus’s eyes narrowed a bit and when the man’s eyes fell to the bartop he slipped into the back hall.

There was a small communication array and bounty board. Under the guise of scanning through the list of bounties, he slipped the spike into the array and entered an encrypted signal. He made as if he was checking the boards, watching as the spike sunk into the array. It was almost done when a shadow blocked the entrance to the hallway.

His hand was on his blaster, quickly withdrawing the spike and pocketing it as a rather stocky Klatoonian blocked the hall. Kallus turned and faced the growling male with an impervious glare, not appearing bothered by the other’s loud growls or exposed fangs.

“And just what do you think you’re doing, Imperial?” The male growled out, spittle coming close to landing on Kallus’s tunic. “Didn’t think any of your kind would need to be collecting bounties. If you even could.”

Kal’s right eyebrow cocked up at the sinister leer on the other’s face. The male looked him up and down and Kal could see his nostrils flare as the … being scented him. And then the alien stepped further into the hall, blocking it, and smiled with all his teeth.

“I think you’re a little too pretty for that kind of work.” Kal’s other eyebrow rose minutely at that.

He honestly couldn’t tell if the alien was truly that confidant, or that stupid. Kallus was not a small man by human standards. Yes, the alien had him in weight but Kal had spent a good chunk of his life training for that. And he had spent a good chunk of time recently facing off against a highly trained, highly intelligent Lasat. Compared to Garazeb, this Klatoonian was laughable. Not that his face showed any of his thoughts. He let a smirk slide onto his face, ready to dispatch the alien when a rumble at his back had the other male's eyes going wide.

“Heh heh.” Garazeb’s deep laugh was quiet and full as malice, coming from behind Kallus. “You aren’t wrong about that.”

Kallus took a small step back against the wall so he could see both aliens, showing no more concern at now being between two large aliens than he had before. Too many battles had him knowing not to get involved until he had a better option. And Garazeb had just changed the situation up, giving Kallus quite a few more.

Zeb stepped closer into the hall, so that the Klatoonian could get a better view of the much larger alien with a smiling mouth of fangs all his own. His eyes were narrowed and the way he held himself made if very clear who the more dangerous being was. Kallus’s reaction to such a blatant threat display was probably not the appropriate one but he had acknowledged to himself rather quickly after Bahryn that his feelings for the Lasat were rather complicated.

Zeb prowled farther into the hall and Kallus kept his face impervious as it seemed to sink into the Klatoonian that this wasn’t going to be the “easy fight” he’d thought. Kallus watched as the snarl toned down but the glare the alien sent him was all still all slimey heat.

“Just leave him here when you’re done.” He grunted, finally taking a step back from Zeb’s continued growl. “I’m sure he won’t be as pretty but doesn’t really need to be.”

There was no way to miss the way that Zeb’s growl sharpened at that, standing to his full height as the Klatoonian turned and left.

Kallus was mostly in the shadows of the hallway and he sincerely hoped they covered the flush he could feel crossing his cheekbones and going down his neck. He had a clear view as Zeb growled after the other alien; his muscles bulging, his hands curled into fists, and his fangs catching the dim light perfectly. The agent found himself transfixed by that gleam, imagining what those sharp teeth would feel like dragging over his skin. He quickly got himself under control but from the deep breath Zeb took, his scent was giving him away.

Zeb held his gaze as he took another deep breath through his nose, and his smile was all teeth as he looked at the agent.

“What do ya say, Agent?” His deep rumble practically purred, stepping up to him. “Promise I won’t leave a mark on ya.”

The agent stood stock still as Zeb leaned forward and took another sniff right by his ear.

“Unless you’d like me too?”

Kallus held Zeb’s eye as the Lasat leaned back, looking entirely too pleased with himself. And, true, Kallus could feel his flush practically glowing. But he’d had since that moon to realize his complicated feelings and the one he knew and acknowledged seemed to be very much returned. And he had never been one to back down when he knew it was a mutual attraction. So he gave the Lasat a heated, obvious, once over that slowly took in the entirety that was Garazeb Orrelios. From the clawed digitigrade legs, to the powerful thighs, on to the man's strong hips, taking in the clawed hands, up to his barrel chest, and up to the ears before again focusing in on the other man's fangs that were still showing in that smug smirk.

Kallus stepped up to the rebel, his eyes going down to the other’s belt as he slid his finger over the top of it lightly, tugging when he got to the center and raised his eyes. Catching the surprise in the other’s gaze before the smug came back. And Kallus answered that smirk with one of his own, all heat and teeth.

“Oh, I’d like that.” Kallus purred, his voice dropping an octave looking at Zeb through his lashes. “The question is, would you?”

He watched as something else flickered over Zeb’s eyes. Something that matched an emotion Kallus had felt in his bunk late at night and refused to name. Something that was so much more dangerous than anything he could ever do as Fulcrum. Zeb held his gaze, the hallway feeling so much warmer as the other man began to lean down.

“Agent Kallus!”

They both jumped back against the walls of the hallway as Kallus’s comm erupted. “No sign of the rebels, sir. But we did catch a crew of smugglers with some highly illegal contraband.”

Kallus took a deep breath and gave an apologetic look to Zeb as he raised his comm.

“I’ll be right there.” He responded, and lowered his arm.

He looked over at the Lasat, his heart still racing from what had almost happened. What he hoped had almost happened. Zeb returned his gaze with a heated one of his own, his fur standing up on his shoulders and neck.

Kallus stepped over to him, confidant as he ever was on the battle field, right up to the larger man and palmed the spike into Zeb’s hand and he leaned up to his ear.

“Be careful flashing those teeth, Garazeb.” He purred, putting all the training the ISB had ever provided into his voice. “Or you just may need to make good with them.”

He was so close he could feel Zeb’s quick indrawn breath and the low purr that started immediately. Stepping deftly back before the other man could grab him, Kallus started towards the entrance.

“Oh, I’ll make good Agent.” He could feel Zeb’s growl as the other man stayed in the hallway.

Kal took in the lasat’s look, smug and with even more fang. That he ran his tongue over as he held Kallus’ gaze. And the smirk grew when Kallus made an aborted step back towards him.

He cast a heated glare back at the other man, making sure to hold it till the fool Lasat squirmed. Then he headed for the docks; knowing the image of Zeb’s tongue rolling over that fang would be featuring prominently when he finally returned to his cabin.

#kalluzeb #Kalluzeb Appreciation Week 2021 #kaw2021 #alexsandr kallus #Garazeb Orrelios #zeb orrelios

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jadekitty777 · 3 years

Text

On Your Six, Chapter 3

Day 3: Parenting for @taiqrowweek

Rating: T for this chapter, M for overall

Words: 5k

Summary: Qrow was what most of society would call a small-town criminal. But to those oppressed, he hoped only to be a healer. In an effort to make a change in the world, he moves from kingdom to kingdom, searching for branded omegas in need. His goal? To turn the derogatory words the reformatories forced them to bear on their skin into works of art.

Then one day, his past catches up to him in the form of Taiyang, his former best friend, with a brand of his own stained onto his skin and a plea for help in his eyes. Qrow has no choice but to answer, even if it means he’d have to face his mistakes once and for all.

[An ABO-style universe in a modern-day style Remnant. No Grimm, because people are the real monsters in this one]

Ao3 Link: On Your Mind

Early on in his career, Qrow had come to value the strength in listening.

He knew for every omega who walked through his door, he was a step in their healing process. It didn’t matter at what point in that process he was treading into; everyone came needing something. A sense of control. A desire to feel beautiful again. A need to shake off shame. No matter what it was, every reason was understandable and downright defensible.

But he knew his deed didn’t always end at the tip of a needle. Sometimes it wasn’t what was on their skin, but what was in their minds that weighed the most. Those were his talkers. The ones who felt so hurt or overcome by what had happened to them, they had to tell their story to someone.

So Qrow listened. He listened to the Mistrialian baker who tried to escape his abusive relationship by drugging his alpha one night and escaping into the night as the word Disloyal was overwrote. Erased Rebel as he was enraptured by the Rights Activist from Mantle who handed out self-funded newspapers all dedicated to lining out the inequalities among the dynamics. Nearly cried with the elderly Valian spinster who had been trafficked from her home in Vacuo decades ago to became the fourth wife of a rich proprietor as he made sure Owned could never be seen again.

Now today, he was turning the word SLUT into art as Tai recounted the love story that dared him to engage in one of society’s most taboo acts.

“So there I was, dragging my feet out of the ER at 2 AM, feeling like the worst parent in history as Yang bawls in my arms. I was so distressed, I couldn’t even remember where I’d parked and just started going through the rows.” They were sitting today. Tai cross-legged on his bed and staring out the window while Qrow sat behind him. “That’s when Summer called to me. She remembered I was one of the patients just going in as she got off her shift. She asked me what was going on and I told her how the doctor who’d seen us kicked me out for wasting his time over some diaper rash. And you know what she did?” A smile uplifted his tone. “She looked between me and Yang and said, ‘No parent spends five hours in the ER over nothing.’ Then she took my arm and led me back inside. Snapped at the staff to give her a room and saw to Yang herself. I couldn’t believe it. She’d just come off of a twelve-hour shift. She had to of been exhausted. But that was the kind of woman she was. When she saw someone who needed help, she put everything else aside to do it.”

A hiss breathed through the other’s teeth as Qrow lined over the base of the T, tailing the ends to look more like the trunk of a tree. “Were you right?” He prompted, hoping to distract him.

“Yeah. Yeast infection.” Tai puffed up proudly. “Nothing a bit of prescription cream and some TLC couldn’t fix, but it still felt so validating to be told my worries weren’t just in my head. It was the first time since Raven left that I felt I really could do this on my own.” That uplift was back, overlayed with fondness. “But, it was Summer who reminded me that just because I can, doesn’t mean I had to.”

He moved his pen higher, maple leaves beginning to bloom along his back. “How’d it happen?”

“Well, so, they called me in a few days after that night for a check-up. When I got there, I found out Summer had arranged things to make sure she was the doctor attending us. She had told me at the time it was just normal for her to touch base with anyone who came through ER that she had looked after. That it made her happy to see her patients doing well.” He barked out a laugh. “She was such a liar! She didn’t tell me this until later, but apparently the only reason she did it was because she thought I was cute and wanted to see me again.”

Tch, what a brat. Qrow scoffed, doggedly ignoring the had he been in her position, he absolutely would have done the same.

“We started talking and joking around. One thing led to another and suddenly she was asking me out for coffee! I was so shocked I almost fell out of my chair. But… I said yes. And, it was the best decision of my life.”

He couldn’t do this. He jerked back and turned off the pen before the shaking in his hand ruined his work. “Sorry. Hand’s cramping up. Can we take a break?”

Oblivious as ever, the omega gave him one of those stupidly bright smiles that he hated because it made his heart do weird things. “Sure.” As they slid off the bed and Tai took the opportunity to stretch, he asked, “How about tea?”

“Yeah, I’ll go put on the pot.” Qrow didn’t even get two steps before a hand clapped down on his shoulder.

“Nope. You’re resting.”

“But-”

“Relax. I got this.”

Then Tai wandered right into his kitchen like he owned the place, leaving him with no choice but to throw up his arms and take a seat. Qrow watched him go through the motions, turning to fill the kettle. From this distance, the word that had once been etched into his skin was completely unreadable, overtaken by a mismatch of new marks in various states of healing.

A perfect reflection of the man who bore them.

Regret dropped like a stone in his stomach, feeling sick as the omega took care of him over a lie. He lowered his head and took his punishment in the form of a simple question, “So when did you two get serious?”

“Hm? Oh, you mean Sums and I?”

“No, I meant you and me.” Qrow snarked, because he hated himself.

Tai set the pot on the stove, the burner sparking to life. “I knew we had a forever connection the day you offered to eat all the yellow Starburst from the bag and leave all the good flavors for me.”

Well now he was resentful and insulted. “Yellow is the good flavor.”

“Mmhmm, keep telling yourself that.” He started tearing open a pair of tea packets, dropping one each in the mugs. “Anyways, promise not to judge me too much?”

“For what, your love life or your weird issues with Starburst?”

“Qrow!”

He held up hand as a peace offering, leaning back. “Okay, okay. I promise.”

Tai eyed him suspiciously for several seconds before finally saying, “We bonded four months in.”

“FOU-” He cut himself off and took a breath. He seemed to have to do this a lot more lately. “I mean, that’s not so bad.”

“Good save.” Sarcasm dripped from his tone. “Look, I thought I was going too fast too. But when I would sit down and think of my future, I just could see her in it. Summer was a piece of me I didn’t even know I was missing. And when I found out she felt the same about me we decided, fuck it! Who cares about what everyone else is going to say? We knew we wanted each other.”

On display as he was, Qrow’s gaze fell to the spot on Tai’s neck where the two scars lay. The imperfect ovals were layered atop one another right in the juncture of his shoulder and collarbone, cutting through his scent gland. Similar to a snake’s fangs, alpha incisors had a hollow part, allowing them to release a bit of their musk during the bite which would then inject itself into an omega’s glands and permanently alter their scent.

Staking a claim.

Granted, with the tattoo he couldn’t smell even a hint of either Raven or Summer any longer. But back then, he could imagine how pungent it had been. Even if the new smell wasn’t a dead giveaway, the pinker shade of the fresher one was a big neon sign that drew the eye. There wouldn’t be any hiding it, even if the couple had tried.

Which meant they absolutely became the gossip of every corner on the street. Summer being well off and Tai being abandoned and annulled didn’t help matters in the slightest. He already knew what people would have thought, well before the brand was ever made.

He frowned. “Even knowing you’d get the worst of it?”

“Tch. Tell me something else that’s new.” Tai snipped, rolling his eyes. “You know, I could have been a perfect little omega. Quiet. Thoughtless. Unopinionated. Or I could have also spent the rest of my life as a part of the Single’s Forever Club. Risen Yang alone and never looked at another Alpha again. And you know what? People would still have shit to say about me. That’s what happens when society’s rigged against you.” He smacked his hand down on the counter. “When does my happiness matter?”

That stone still in his stomach was only getting heavier. “Sorry.”

The fire burnt out as quickly as it was there, and Tai only shook his head, mumbling, “Forget it. It’s whatever right?”

“It’s not. It’s fucking wrong.” He said with more fury than he meant to.

Tai’s smile was tired and defeated. “If only more people thought like you.”

The kettle whistle blew, effectively ending their conversation. It wasn’t long before Tai was taking his seat across from him, their mugs steaming on the table before them. Idly, Qrow traced the rim of his with his index finger, trying to think of something to say.

His focus shifted when a hand was suddenly being held out before him, clearly asking for something. “Uh?”

“Give me your hand.” Tai demanded.

His brain moved sluggishly, but when he understood what the other was offering, his face went redder than his eyes. “I, uh, need to drink my tea?”

“You’ve got a left one for that. Come on already.”

“It’s fine. It’s not that-” Any argument he had slipped away when he tried pulling his hand further away, only for the omega to reach over and snag it.

The simple touch was like electricity zinging through his muscles, leaving him helpless to resist as Tai laid his arm across the table. “You’re such a big baby.” He teased as he rolled up the cuff of Qrow’s shirt, pressing the pads of his fingers along the length of his forearm.

When the massage started, Qrow absolutely melted. While he hadn’t been entirely honest, it would still be true to say that he was probably working his way into an early case of carpal tunnel with how much tension built from his shoulder down to his wrist during his work. He sighed, slumping over the table as the other made his way up past his elbow. “I hate you.” He mumbled, face pillowed in his other arm.

“Yeah, I’m the worst.” Tai replied cheerily.

Gods, if only that were true, then maybe he wouldn’t love him as much as he did.

“I wish you could have met her.” Tai told him a little after sundown.

Qrow hummed questioningly, not pulling his eyes up from the midribs he was painstakingly adding onto every leaf. He felt like he was performing some sort of a balancing act, sitting on the edge of the recliner so he was close enough to draw while also trying to keep out of the beam of his scroll light pointed at them from his nightstand, since the weak 40 watt overhead just wasn’t bright enough to work with. There was a reason he never tattooed after dark.

“Summer.” Tai clarified, reminding him exactly why they were an hour behind. “You woulda liked her.”

He almost laughed at how inane that statement was. “Doubt that.”

“Really! She was sweet and a little shy. A bit of a rebel too. And I mean, she moved to Vale ‘cause she knew she could help more people in need for cheaper than the high end hospitals she could have worked in would charge.” He glanced over his shoulder as Qrow re-inked. “You gotta let that Atlesian stigma go, man.”

There really was no good way to answer that, so he didn’t bother trying. Gods only knew what Tai would have thought of him, if he found out the real reason they never would of gotten along was because Qrow didn’t believe he’d be able to resist his instincts a second time around. The ones that screamed at him to show Tai he was the more worthwhile mate, even if that meant delving things into a fistfight.

“I guess it doesn’t matter now.” The omega said when he caught on that he wasn’t going to get a response. “At least you’ll have a chance to meet Ruby. I warn you though, you’re totally going to fall in love. She’s got so much energy to her, like you wouldn’t believe. She giggles so much too, it’s the cutest little sound. And-! And…”

Pausing, Qrow flipped off the pen. “Tai?”

“S-Sorry.” He rubbed a hand over his face, clearing his throat loudly. “It just, hurts. Not knowing how they’re doing.” His voice broke. “I miss them.”

Not sure what else to do, he silently pressed his forehead against the base of Tai’s neck, mindful of his back as he wound an arm across his middle in a loose hug.

Knew, without a doubt, that it wasn’t nearly enough.

A year ago, when Qrow was working outside of Mantle for a spell, a client he’d never forget walked through his door. He was unusually broad-shouldered and buff, just like Tai. Yet, it wasn’t his physical attributes that truly made him stand out. It was the omega’s confidence. He had a stride to him that exuded self-assurance and a stance that yielded pride.

It threw him completely off his game, as he was used to playing the role of consoler. Yet, as the omega held out his hand to shake, Qrow found himself wanting to compete against him. “You’re Harbinger. It’s a pleasure. I’ve heard a lot.”

“Only good things, I hope.” He replied, his grip firm and unyielding. “And you are?”

“Clover Ebi.” That name rang a bell, but he couldn’t place why. “And they were. You did a rebrand for a buddy of mine who lives over in the orange district. I was hoping you could do the same for mine.”

That brought some air to his sails as he found himself on more comfortable ground. “Yeah, ‘course I can. Why don’t you take a seat and I can get a gander at what I’m working with?”

“That’s the thing…” For the first time since he walked in, some of that boldness faltered. “If I show you, I need you to promise me not to freak out.”

Well, now he was really intrigued. “Come on. It can’t be that bad. Wait – it’s not on like, your ass cheek or something right?”

“You’re as crude as Robyn warned me you’d be.”

Qrow perked up at the name, remembering her as the outspoken journalist he’d looked after during his first stint in Mantle.

Clover placed a hand over his left bicep. “No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s under this.”

“Okay then, what’s the proble- Oh, shit.”

His heart rate jumped from resting to cardiac arrest in record time at the sight of the brand – not a harsh word like so many others had been forced to bear, but a simple, cursive script of the man’s own last name. The mark of someone who was in service of the Atlas military.

Which meant he was probably being set up right now.

“Fuck!” Qrow stumbled backwards, looking around wildly for a weapon. An exit. Anything.

“Hey, it’s okay!” Clover followed after him, albeit at a slower pace. “Come on, you said you wouldn’t freak out.”

He picked up an umbrella, holding it en garde like his sister used to with her katana. “We’re way past that, buddy. So, what is this? A trap? Are a bunch more of you about to bust through my wall to take me in?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Will you just – put the umbrella down!”

He came within striking distance – so Qrow struck. A fast swipe at his face.

Clover didn’t even look as his hand shot up to catch it. With strength he wasn’t even trying to hide, he yanked the makeshift weapon right out of Qrow’s grip and tossed it over his shoulder. He caught the fist that came next, boxing him into the corner so that he didn’t have room to move. It was an oddly uncomfortable feeling, being pinned down and powerless.

But while the hold was solid it wasn’t tight, nor was Clover’s face aggressive. “Can you calm down, please? I didn’t come here to turn you in. I came here because I want your help.”

“Why?” He barked back. “You chose to take that mark. Feeling regretful now soldier boy?”

The omega’s expression shifted darkly. “The only thing I chose was to fight for my kingdom, because I believe in protecting the people. This mark is something I have to bear, if I want to pursue that goal.”

His hands slid off, giving Qrow some breathing space. As he stared at the other, suddenly it came to him. “Wait. Ebi. I knew I recognized your name. You made headlines recently. You’re the captain of Tin Jimmy’s specialty squad.”

It had been a huge sensation, an omega taking a leadership position like that. It was practically unheard of and people talked it up like it was a sign of the ‘changing times.’ But he had brushed it off as another one of the kingdom’s typical publicity stunts. They always had something or the other going on to turn the people’s heads – because if everyone was looking at Atlas, no one would see anything else.

“I don’t get it. Why?” His brow furrowed, trying to make sense of it.

“Because I represent something larger than just a captain of a team. I represent hope. The worst thing for us is when no one’s talking. And I sure got them talking.”

That made sense. Nothing changed if no one was having the conversation. Still… “Rebranding could get you decommissioned. Negative PR be damned.”

“Well, as they say: Sometimes you got to risk it all for a dream.” Clover said with a quirk of his lips. “So, will you help me?”

It was one of the most needlessly reckless decisions he had ever made, but he did. In two, relatively short sessions, they were done. He slept with one eye open every day in-between, but when they finished and Clover was instead urging him to keep his contact info (“Just in case you ever get in trouble.”), Qrow felt oddly at ease. Like maybe he truly did make a friend in all this.

He never questioned why the case never hit the news – but if he left Mantle a little quicker than normal, well, that was his business.

Now, as he hit dial on that old contact, he could only pray Clover at least was going to keep this part of his word.

He picked up after the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hey soldier boy.” Qrow started, trying to sound casual. “It’s Harbinger.”

A beat. Then, “Oh. Oh! Uh, two seconds okay?” There was a muffled bit of a noise and a faint, “I’ll be right back. Gotta take this.” A bit more shuffling and background noise as Qrow assumed he left the room, then Clover’s voice was back in his ear, surprisingly frantic. “What’s going on? Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Sorry, it’s not an emergency call.” He replied.

The omega let out a sigh of relief. It felt oddly nice to be worried about. “Oh thank Gods. So then, what’s up?”

“I was hoping you might be able to help me with something.” Qrow said, unconsciously pacing around his box-in-the-wall apartment. “Might be a longshot but, you got any connection with OPS?”

The OPS, or Omega Protection Services, were a kingdom-to-kingdom association that talked big about how they were dedicated to the proper care of the omega brethren in need. While in some veins of their work that was true, like funding lobbies for better rights in the system or providing financial support to those in trouble, it was equally true that under the table the organizations were fed big money from the reformatories to turn over a revolving door of clientele.

The biggest contributor of which was the Crisis Department. It was no secret that a death of a bond mate was devastating to an omega and there was a small percentage of those who became non-functional after the loss. Therefore, any omega known to have recently lost their mate was visited by an OPS agent. If the agent found the omega to be in such an extreme state, it was customary that the widow would be sent away for rehabilitation and any children would be rehomed either with known family or into a foster family until the parent was well enough to care for them again.

The key words being a small percentage. However, according to statistics, almost a quarter of all widowed omegas were in need of ‘reformation’. A percentage that went up or down depending on what kingdom was involved. Vale, their home country, was the only one underperforming on those numbers. By all accounts, Tai never should have gone to a reformatory at all.

The issue was the OPS agent assigned to the omega was from their alpha’s home kingdom. Which meant the agent that knocked on Tai’s door was from Atlas, the kingdom boosting the highest reformatory count by almost double any other one. They also had one of the strictest policies on how they rehomed children. Rather than even consider familial connections, they fostered all of them, claiming it would provide a more stable environment without the potential of an omega in probation from seeking them out and ‘influencing’ their young one’s minds before they were fully well.

All this to say it was almost impossible to know where Tai’s kids were unless he could talk to someone on the inside.

“I know someone who works out of there.” Clover said, before prying almost teasingly. “Why? Who are you looking for?”

Qrow realized too late that he probably should have expected this. “Don’t get any ideas!” He squawked. “I’m… trying to get some info on my niece. Nieces, actually. Just wanting to make sure they’re doing alright.”

“Oh.” Just like that, Clover was all business again. “Yeah, I can swing that. Just gonna need their names and ages, but it shouldn’t be too hard to find them. The names of their sires helps too.”

A sense of relief spread through him. “Yeah I can get that to you. I’ll message it.”

“Perfect! Should have something for you in a few days, okay?”

“Thank you Clover.”

“Anytime.”

It was only after the call ended and he’d written out the requested information, that it hit Qrow.

If he disclosed all this, it really wouldn’t be much further of a stretch for Clover to locate his own information alongside it. All these years on the lam potentially wasted in one single text message.

He flopped onto his bed with a groan, mussing a hand through his hair as the weight of the decision nettled him. Yet, as his thumb moved over to erase everything, his gaze unconsciously fell to his nightstand, where the pages of Tai’s designs were still resting. Thought of all the pain his friend still had to go to finish them, coupled with all he bore before this. Wouldn’t just a day of solace be worth it?

His thumb moved back up.

Sometimes you just had to risk it all, right?

Qrow hit send.

Tai smelt his anxiety the moment he walked through the door.

“Everything alright?” He asked, looking about the room as if he expected to find a portion of it on fire.

“Yeah, yeah.” Qrow assured, doing a very bad job of actually appearing alright as he fidgeted with his necklace. “I just have something I wanted to show you. Come here.”

“O…kay?”

Tai followed him over to his bed, sitting down beside him. It was more comfortable than the stiff plastic of the mismatched dining chairs at least, but now Qrow was also realizing it was painfully intimate. As he sat there, fighting the urge to just shove his scroll into the other hands, he realized maybe he should have planned this better. “So, I know this guy from Atlas, right? Someone on the higher end who has a lot of connections. And well, I asked if he might be able to check in on your daughters.”

“What?!” The omega gripped onto his arm, a sort of manic desperation dancing in his eyes. “Qrow, are you serious?”

He nodded, plucking his scroll off the nightstand and swiping over to his photo album. “Yeah and he was able to get me this from their file.” He handed the device over, seeing the way Tai eyes went wide. The photo was reportedly back from January, taken on some sort of outing the family had been on. The two girls were sitting in a sandbox, Yang pushing sand into a yellow bucket with her hands while Ruby watched her, biting on the end of the shovel that her sister probably should have been using.

“They’re with a beta family. An older couple whose kids have already left the house.” Qrow rambled as his friend just continued to stare at his children. “It’s a real nice place. Both the girls have their own rooms and there’s a backyard for them and everything. And the expense reports are showing their getting a nice, balanced diet and toys and even some learning, uh, things. Books and flashcards and all that fancy shit. And, well, uh – T-Tai?”

Tears dripped from the man’s chin, hitting the display of the scroll. “Yang’s in pigtails.”

“What?”

Tai lifted his head, eyes swimming. “I couldn’t get her to let me brush her hair most days, let alone put it in pigtails.”

“Tai…”

The omega brought the device to his chest, as if it was a suitable replacement for the children he’d rather hug. “And look at how big Ruby is now. She’s sitting up all on her own now. Probably walking.” He sobbed, a wretched, terrible noise that burst from something aching to his very core. “What else have I missed? Ruby has to be talking now. I didn’t even get to hear her first word. And Yang’s old enough to be in kindergarten – I should have been there to take her to her first day. But I wasn’t! I wasn’t there for any of it!”

Something in Qrow’s own heart shattered listening to the father’s anguish and he surged forward, gathering Tai up. Pulled him into a tight embrace as if it could protect him from all the hurt he had to bear.

“It’s not fair.” Tai cried into his shoulder. “It was awful enough, losing Summer. But then those OPS bastards came into my house, took one look at my marks and said I was unfit to raise my own kids! I felt so humiliated.” He clenched onto fistfuls of Qrow’s shirt, shaking hard enough he might just fall apart. “It’ll be almost two years by the time they give them back to me. They took those years away from me and I’m never getting them back!” He heaved over another sob. “What if they don’t even remember me Qrow?”

He ran his fingers soothingly through the other’s hair. “No one could forget you Tai. Not with that big, stupid, sunny smile a’yours. Those girls’ll take one look at it and go ‘there’s daddy!’. I just know it.”

It earned him a watery laugh that only delved into more tears. If he could have, Qrow would have torn up all of Atlas to find those pups and bring them back to Tai right then and there. As it was, there was little else he could do but hold him through it.

When the cries eventually turned to sniffles, Tai pulled away to wipe at his face. He looked a mess, eyes bloodshot and blotchy and red. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to lose it on you like that.”

“Think I should be the one saying sorry.” He cast a guilty glance to his scroll, which had fallen onto the bed at some point. “I just thought – I don’t know what I thought. Maybe I wasn’t.”

“Oh, no! Qrow.” Tai pat his knee reassuringly. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much it means to me to see them. To know you did all this for me.” He cast his gaze away, sighing. “It’s just, some days I feel like I’m drowning. There’s not a day that goes by I don’t think of my girls. Worry about them. But if I’m too emotional, suddenly I’m ‘too unstable’. So, I’ve been trying so hard to hold it together.”

Qrow’s jaw clenched. Becoming a professional arsonist was sounding better and better every day. “You don’t have to, not with me.”

“Heh. Even if I cry every day?”

“Cry every hour, if you need to.” He made an aborted gesture towards Tai’s hand. Touched his forearm instead. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you. Alright?”

Tai had no such inhibitions, his other hand laying down over Qrow’s, squeezing gently. “Thank you. I know I haven’t said it nearly enough, but I really do appreciate everything you’ve done. I don’t know how I would have gotten through these past few weeks without you.”

“You would have.” He said, doubtless. Tai was strong inside and out. He’d always admired that about him. “But, I’m glad I can help.”

Anything was worth bringing that smile to his face.

As if on cue, one stretched across Tai’s lips as he said, “I’ll pay you back one day, promise.”

One day, maybe Qrow would tell him he already had.

#qrow branwen #taiyang xiao long #Taiqrow #taiqrowweek #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

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fleetwoodmactshirt · 4 years

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roadtrip headcanons (requested)

i think they’d all have a different vibe and a different energy. i didn’t really rank them best to worst, i just explored what i think the vibe of a road trip with each of them would be like. i also let loose and slipped in some super self-indulgent personal hcs/one-shot au idea that is a WiP about ezra as an intriguing handsome stranger you encounter on your solo cross-country road trip. as a treat. s/o to @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa for suggesting whiskey’s fav song.

frankie morales is the road trip king. no matter how spontaneous, frankie can whip a road trip plan together smoothly. he’s got a spacious truck, he’s got a cooler, he’s got the coziest blankets, he’s got the travel pillow, he’s got the camping gear, he knows the best scenic routes, he’s got the best classic tunes, he’s got the best snacks. he makes homemade sandwiches and burritos, wraps them tightly in tin foil. he heats up frozen pizzas, cuts them into slices. he stores it all in the cooler for lunches. when the supply runs out, you gorge yourselves on burgers and fries at roadside diners. but every morning he’ll stop in the nearest town to buy some apples, or some fresh fruit/veg of some kind. if they’re ripe he’ll get avocados that he’ll cut in half for you both to scoop out with a spoon to eat plain while you sit together in the bed of his truck in the shade of a lake you’ve stopped at for the afternoon. but he surprises you with your favourite junk food and snacks. he lets you borrow his cap if the sun is in your eyes; he’s got a spare, more threadbare one in the glove box. he’s low key done the research on the best places for stargazing; you lie back nestled together under a blanket, in the bed of his truck, gazing upwards; you listen as he describes the constellations, tracing them out with his finger.

max phillips. business road trips but max’s...condition necessitates driving at night only. liminal spaces. driving through the night, sleeping in business hotel rooms during the day, dust motes floating in the thin streams of sunlight peeking through the cracks in the curtains you’ve pulled shut. you see incredible sunsets and sunrises from the highway. you also see some undeniably weird shit late at night on road trips with max. he watches you eat breakfast food at 2 am in neon lit 24/7 diners. while on the road he passes you lots of candy throughout the night; he stocks up from the hotel vending machines. but no matter how much caffeine and sugar he tries to fuel you with, sometimes you’re lulled to sleep by the peacefulness. you nestle your head against max’s shoulder; it’s not the most comfortable position to drive in but he can’t bring himself to readjust and shift away from you. solitary brightly lit gas stations that are like an oasis of light breaking the pitch darkness. the two of you feel utterly alone sometimes; the world has shrunk down to only you, max, in this car, driving along this empty, dark stretch of road, a blush of purple on the edge of the horizon signalling the dawn.

based on how oberyn canonically took his daughters to explore an abandoned holdfast, i think his road trip energy would be all about the journey and not the destination. road trips with oberyn and ellaria would be meandering and adventurous. sometimes you’re riding shotgun and sometimes you’re sitting in the backseat with ellaria laid out and napping beside you, sun hat dipped down covering her eyes, her long legs stretched across your lap. if the three of you come across a motel you enjoy he’ll feel no urgency to leave; the days blur together and soon you’ve spent a week soaking up sun by the pool and sleeping in late entangled together in a pile of limbs after long passionate nights. day by day you may not even travel very far; he wants to stop and explore. hike amidst rock formations, swim in hot springs, explore the local museums; whatever catches his or your fancy. if he sees a billboard on the side of the road advertising local caves, or a petrified forest, or hears rumour of nearby ghost town that’s all but disappeared off the map, you’ll suddenly find yourselves veering off down small country roads, hours from the highway, seeking out pleasure, adventure, mystery.

marcus has a hilton rewards card so you’re staying at hilton garden inns every night. clean sheets. comfortable beds. complimentary breakfast. it’s very pleasant. middle class fancy. holds out his hand for you to drop some snacks into his palm so he can remain focused on the road while you’re both munching. let’s you curate the spotify playlists.

roadtrips with javier are always last minute decisions to just take off, head to a gorgeous but isolated beach you’d heard about that’s a few days from here. he doesn’t get many opportunities for long stretches of time off, so when he does you don’t hesitate. you might not even wait for a rational time to leave. it’s midnight and you guys just speed off into the darkness. you just threw some essentials into a bag, jumped in his jeep, and booked it. you gotta buy toothpaste and toothbrushes at a gas station, and you borrow javi’s deodorant stick because you forgot yours. greasy fast food containers, half-empty cigarette packs, and snack wrappers litter the dashboard. his aviators perched on his nose, one hand resting on the wheel, the other curled around your thigh, javi on a road trip is relaxed. he’s leaving all his burdens, his worries, everything weighing on his chest, all of it, behind him. literally, the more distance you guys put between yourselves and where you were, the more uplifted his spirits. when your favourite song comes on the radio, and you’re shimmying in your seat, he can’t keep his eyes off you, his gaze flicking between you and the road. he sings along under his breath, bobbing his head almost imperceptibly and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, a slow smile spreading across his face.

whiskey pulls up to your house at 5 am on the dot, the obnoxious custom sound of the horn of his bronco rattling the windows and scaring the birds out of the trees lining the street. country music jams ONLY. you argue over his taste in music; does he enjoy being a walking cliche? he will not accept any song that doesn’t have a twang to it. he’d be an aux cord hog if he knew what an aux cord even was. so much for your favourite spotify road trip playlists. “spot fly? spot what fly, where?” still has mixtapes he made himself, the same ones he’s been playing since forever. forces you listen to all his favourite songs, the ones he knows all the words to, while he obnoxiously sings along and ignores your eye-rolling. but he doesn’t ignore how your feet start tapping absentmindedly to toby keith’s ‘whiskey girl’. the corner of his mouth quirks up in a smirk that quickly becomes a broad grin as he reaches over to smack your thigh, laughing he’ll make a country girl of you yet. startled out of your daze, you vehemently deny you weren’t enjoying the song, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. he insists he knows the best places to stop, which means you always end up driving far off the highway to some little mom and pop diner that has killer apple pie for lunch. in the evenings you always end up in some honky-tonk bar that’s joined to a motel and yes, there’s line dancing, and yes he manages to twist your arm and convince you to join in.

ezra…..as a man who’s floated from planet to planet, following jobs and leads, for the better part of his life, he’s found himself smooth-talking his way into being a lot of people’s unexpected travel companion out of necessity over the years. road trip ezra is on the run from someone or something; maybe the law, maybe not. all you know is this beautiful, mysterious stranger you met under dubious circumstances somehow, with his roguish grin and drawling accent, his kind eyes and eloquence, convinced you to let him ride along with you. you ran into him in the grungy diner attached to an even grungier motel in some desolate nowhere town. you recognized him; he’s unmistakably the lone figure on the side of the dusty road, his thumb stuck out, that you drove past yesterday. you’d driven past but that blonde streak had been unmissable and you won’t admit it but you’d felt his gaze on you long after you’d left him in the dust. ezra’s endless chatter on the road isn’t unwelcome; he knows seemingly innumerable facts about local folklore, flora, and fauna, and he never seems to be depleted of stories. you’d made the conscious and contrary decision to make this cross-country road trip alone, rebelling against a lot of cautionary advice, but somewhere along the way loneliness had creeped in under your skin and settled there. this handsome stranger may have an edge of danger to him but later when he’s bringing you to heights of ecstasy in a motel room you won’t give a damn.

maxwell lord flies everywhere in a private jet. the worst.

din djarin’s entire life is basically one long never-ending road trip. but in space. i figure earth-bound din on a conventional road trip would basically be how we see him: no nonsense. no frivolities. no music; travels in total silence. gets where he needs to go. stops for soup, as needed. stops for repairs, as needed. stops to work an odd job with some really sketchy people for some gas money, as needed. din’s road trip energy would be like that john mulaney joke. you’d see the mcdonalds sign lit up and shining in the distance and plead for him to stop so he’d pull into the drive-thru, order one black coffee and keep driving. except if you’ve got the baby with you; he gets a chicken nugget happy meal for the kid. he’s a good papa! and of course you’d get whatever you wanted too, he provides and cares for his loved ones after all.

SEND ME ANY QUESTIONS/HC PROMPTS/REQUESTS YOU HAVE

#pedro pascal x reader #javier pena x reader #ezra prospect x reader #frankie morales x reader #agent whiskey x reader #oberyn martell x reader #frankie morales headcanons #javier pena headcanons #ezra headcanons #agent whiskey headcanons #oberyn martell headcanons #all the boys headcanons #headcanon requests #fleetwood writes

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justahopelessssromantic · 4 years

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Perfect

Part 9

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 10

A/N: Oh man guys. I thought last part was tough and emotional but this part just fucked me up. I think this was the most emotional thing I have written so far and have made myself very sad almost to the point of crying just thinking about it. Hang in there with me guys. I apologize in advance for what you are about to read. As always thank you so much for your support. I love you all 💕

*gif not mine*

Warnings: Angst; miscarriage

Angel slowly came to as the sun shined through the curtains and into his eyes. It took him a moment to come back to reality. He slept hard and quite frankly better than he had in forever even with the heavy emotions of the night before.

He dreamed of you, holding him. You were tangled together in bed, kind of like you had been when he fell asleep, and you were just holding him and he you. He caressed your hand smiling as he traced the silver wedding band around your finger. His gaze then wandered down to your very round belly, pregnant with his kid and his hand traveled down to rest against it, the child inside kicking against his touch. There was a creaking of a door that caught his attention causing him to look up. At the foot of the bed were three beautiful children giggling and smiling as they jumped into bed with you, their parents. You laughed and it was infectious surrounded by the similar ones of your children. He looked over to you smiling up at him, the kids now snuggled around the both of you and he leaned down capturing your lips with his soaking in the simple moment with his family.

He dreamed that he hadn’t driven you away. He dreamed of the life he could have had if he had made so many different choices, if he had only made the right ones, if fate had been less cruel.

His heart sank realizing it was only a dream as he became more aware of the here and now. He was laying on his stomach with the comforting pressure of your body on top of his, the side of your face nuzzled against his back. He could feel your chest rise and fall on top of him as you slept soundly. He didn’t want to disturb you but he had to get up, to try to clear his head before you woke.

Lifting himself very carefully and twisting a bit he took your arm in his, unwrapping it from his torso and slipped off the side of the bed out from under you. Once he was free he watched you, holding his breath as you snuggled into his pillow and releasing it once he knew you were still fast asleep.

Relieved that he had not woken you he couldn’t take his eyes off you and stared just a while longer. Your features were so relaxed, eyes gently closed, mouth slightly agape, your hair falling into your face. Reaching out he pushed it away, his finger lingering on your forehead just a little too long as the longing for what could have been tugged at his heart.

He should have proposed that day, or hell any day after that. He had the ring, had everything planned out, but no, he got scared, he chickened out afraid of the change, afraid that the dynamic between the two of you would change. Why? He didn’t really fucking know. He should have proposed, then maybe just maybe things would be different.

And then that horrible night came really changing everything in the worst way possible. After that he couldn’t do it, all the two of you could see was your pain and your loss.

He should have never started working with the rebels. He wished he had never met Adelita, no he wished he had never fallen for her. She was just so different, so strong and passionate about her cause he got sucked into it all, got sucked into her, thankful for the escape from his crushing reality. And because of that, because of his mistakes he lost sight of what he had waiting for him. He lost sight of you, and he took advantage of your love, of your loyalty.

But he was broken and so were you. Angel doesn’t do well with feeling helpless and he had never felt so helpless in his life before that. He couldn’t help you, he couldn’t fix your pain let alone his own. He started working with the rebels as a way to take some form of control back into his life, to help his club and to have a purpose. It wasn’t fair but coming home was painful and the longer he stayed away the easier it became to ignore it all.

Shaking his hair out he took one last look at you before slipping away and into the bathroom. He closed the door quietly behind him before bending over and picking up your discarded clothes from the night before that you must have been too tired to deal with. Tossing them into the hamper beside the counter he situated himself in front of the sink as he felt his breath become ragged with all the emotions.

Looking at himself in the mirror he rubbed his tired face. Running his hands through his hair then he attempted to tame the mess it had become in his sleep before slapping his face a few times to alert himself more. The tattoos of your initials and the tiny white heartbeat ink that came many years later across his ribs under his left peck caught his attention pulling him into his thoughts again.

It was a surprise for you, the initials, a spontaneous decision. It had only been a few months since the two of you had confessed your love for each other and he was head over heels. It was one of the very first things he had inked upon his skin in such delicate and beautiful handwriting. He’d remember the shock and smile on your face after he revealed it to you forever. It was his way of showing you his love and dedication to you, his promise to you.

A promise he inevitably broke.

Snapping himself out of it before he got lost in them so deep he couldn’t escape he finished his business before stepping out of the bathroom cautiously moving across the room so as not to disturb you. Picking his clothes up he pulled on his jeans and threw on his shirt before sneaking out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him and buttoning it up as he made his way to your kitchen.

You were always so organized it was no surprise to him that that had not changed. He found the ingredients he was looking for to whip up breakfast for you easily. Cracking a few eggs into a bowl with milk, vanilla, and cinnamon he began whisking the mixture together with ease. He may not have been as skilled as you in the kitchen but strawberry french toast was his specialty, the comfort food of yours he always made after a rough day or if you were down. He first made it after that asshole Johnny broke your heart in high school, then when your boss promoted your dick of a coworker instead of you who worked your ass off deserving it more than him, followed by the passing of your nana, and the very last time being after the miscarriage.

In Angel’s mind that was the beginning of your relationship’s downfall. The beginning of the end.

You awoke yourself to find the bed vacant of Angel’s warmth. You slept well, better than you had in a long time, still even though you were physically well rested emotionally you were drained. To be honest you were a little disappointed to wake to an empty bed but you couldn’t expect him to hang around. It wasn’t fair to him when you didn’t even know what it was you really wanted.

Yawning as you scratched the back of your head you walked out of your room in search of some caffeine. The sweet smell wafted out of your kitchen as you heard the sizzling of the fry pan. Stepping into the kitchen Angel’s back was to you as he flipped the bacon over. You leaned against the doorframe watching him with a smile, the pang in your heart was there with memories from your past, but the gesture still filled you with love. It was his way of showing you he was there for you when the pain was too consuming for words.

Placing the bacon onto the plates already filled with the french toast, he topped the dish off with a few more strawberries and some powdered sugar after he turned the burner off. He could feel your gaze on his back, had heard your steps as you made your way towards him. He could pick you out from a group of people just by the little noises you made that he had become accustomed to throughout the years. Gathering his composure he turned around, plates in hands, to face you.

“Good morning,” he said taking the plates to your small table and placing them down, “How’d you sleep?”

You pulled the chair out sitting down in front of the plate of food, your stomach grumbling at the sight, “I slept well. What about you?”

“Me too,” he replied, pouring you a cup of coffee each before settling across from you, “How are you feeling?”

“How are you feeling?” You shot the question back at him. Obviously you both already knew the answers, knowing the pain of the other so well as if it were your own and in a way it was.

“Right.” Angel hated this. The awkward small talk, the pain that consumed the both of you, and mostly the rocky ground your relationship was on. Everything was so complicated, your ties to each other long and twisted. He didn’t know how to be around you, a million thoughts and emotions ran through him whenever you were near.

You looked down at your plate wanting to take a bite but getting stuck in the heartache, “The last time you made these was,” you paused taking a shaky breath.

The pregnancy wasn’t planned, still Angel was so elated when you showed him that positive pregnancy test. He immediately grabbed your face in his hands brushing the tears off your cheeks, a smile shining across his. “Why the hell are you crying mi dulce?” He had said pulling you to look him in the eyes, “This is amazing! I’m going to be a dad!” He had said almost in disbelief. He had never been happier or so sure of something in his whole life. If Angel’s purpose was just to be one thing in life it was to be a father. He immediately kissed you pulling you down on top of him across your bed. He was so happy, his excitement melting away all your worries. You were terrified to tell him, worried he wasn’t ready, scared of what bringing a child into your lives would look like, but Angel was quick to vanquish all those fears of yours. Soon you were both in love with the idea, ready to be parents to your perfect little one.

And all too soon your lives were turned upside down once more with the loss.

No one knew outside you and Angel, not even Felipe or EZ. The loss and pain was yours alone, just another thing tightening your hold on one another’s lives.

“Was,” your voice broke. It never got easier with time and being here with him after everything else was just too much.

Reaching over he placed his hand on top of yours, “I know.” You looked up at him, a stray tear rolling down your cheek. His own eyes pooled with tears as he looked into yours.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffled, taking your free hand to wipe the moisture off your cheek, glancing away before his own sorrow looking back at you broke you.

“Would you please fucking stop that?” He begged. You had nothing to be sorry for. He hated seeing you like this.

“What?” You asked, meeting his eyes again getting lost in them.

“Apologizing for shit you don’t need to.”

Flipping your hand under his you entwined your fingers with his squeezing, “You don’t know how much guilt I carry Angel,” you whimpered, “I know I wasn’t the only one hurting. I just couldn’t see past my own suffering. I retreated into myself leaving you alone and I’m sorry for that.” There was no point in trying to fight the tears. You knew you just had to sit in the pain of the picked at wound from your past or it would claw its way at you the rest of the day.

“You’re doing it again, querida.”

“Do you ever think about what they would have been like? Who’d they look like more? If it was a boy or a girl?” You asked, ignoring his comment, “Do you ever think about them?”

“All the damn time.” He said honestly. It was true there wasn’t a moment he didn’t think about it. To this day he still carried the small sonogram photo in his wallet, “I can still hear the little heartbeat when it’s quiet.” Angel didn’t spend much time sitting in silence, it was too painful. He much preferred keeping himself busy in any way possible but when he did it was always haunting him.

He remembered making up some lame excuse to slip out of work for your first appointment. He had never been so excited and nervous at the same time in his life. It was a miracle he didn’t get pulled over with how fast he was going so he wouldn’t be late. The minute he pulled up and saw your smiling face looking back at him waiting outside of the hospital all the nerves left his body.

Squeezing your hand tightly he couldn’t take his eyes off the monitor as the doctor pointed out all the parts of the baby, your baby. He couldn’t stop the tears falling down his cheeks and he didn’t want to. There it was before him, the love between the two of you coming together to form a beautiful new life. He was in awe as he watched the little thing on the screen. And then the thumping that followed shortly after just took his breath away. He could listen to that heartbeat forever. He didn’t think it was possible to love you any more than he had until that moment. The speed in which your child stole his heart was incredible. He was overwhelmed with love as he broke his trance to look at you.

You watched him the whole time reading his face as every emotion passed through him. You cried with him the minute you saw his tears and the heartbeat was music to your ears. The room was quiet aside from the beating from the monitor but you didn’t need to say anything. Your eyes were enough to express everything you were feeling to the other. Leaning over you Angel pressed his forehead against yours, your hands still entwined. You felt his tears drop onto your cheeks mixing with your own as he let out a joyful sob. Wrapping your arms around each other you held the other, the only two people in the room as far as you were concerned. The doctor stepped away to give you two a moment alone.

“There’s really a little us in there,” Angel croaked out, voice just above a whisper, “The perfect little mix of you and me, mi amor.” Being here and seeing it with his own eyes, hearing it, made it all so much more real.

You nodded not trusting your own voice in the moment.

“I love you so much,” he confessed, cupping your face pulling back just enough so he could look in your eyes, “I’m gonna take care of our family, take care of you. Thank you,” he gulped taking a shaky breath, “For making me a Pops. Fuck, I love you so fucking much.”

You chuckled through your sobs at his curing, “I love you too Angel, always.” You pulled him down to you, your lips meeting in a salty kiss from all the mix of your tears.

It was just two weeks after that that all your dreams of becoming a family shattered. You woke in the middle of the night in intense pain grabbing for Angel. He quickly turned on the lamp beside the bed. You had pulled the blankets off yourself and that when he saw it, the blood. He had seen plenty of blood in his life but this was different and there was so much. Both of you knew that there was no hope but you couldn’t say it. His heart broke and he had never been so scared in his life as he rushed you to the hospital never leaving your side. He doesn’t remember hearing the doctor actually say it, he just remembers your cries, remembers holding you tight as you mourned together.

That shit broke you, him, and the relationship you built together.

“Fuck,” you breathed out, “Does it ever end? All the pain and shit we’ve been through. Haven’t we suffered enough?” Surly there had to be some sort of limit to the amount of pain one should have to endure in their lives. The two of you had to be getting close to that point.

“I don’t know, you would think so,” he replied running his thumb across the back of your hand as he blinked a tear off his dark lashes. Certainly you had suffered enough but he didn’t feel that he had. He deserved the pain for everything he had put you through. He wished so badly he could take all of yours for you, to free you of it once and for all. He would do anything for you.

“Now the foods gonna be cold,” you regarded looking at your plate of untouched food changing the topic, “Sorry. I ruined a perfectly good breakfast.”

“What the hell have I been saying?” He brought your hand up to his lips, his beard scratching comfortingly as he kissed the back of your hand before letting it go and grabbing his fork while wiping his eyes.

“Sorry,” you said once more before catching yourself letting out a half hearted laugh as you wiped your own tears away, him chuckling with you. You cut a piece of your toast scooping it into your mouth and savoring the taste even if it was cold, “Seriously Angel. Thank you for this and just being here.”

“Anything for you, mi amor. I know I fucked up but I will always be here for you.” He vowed to you. “I love you, (Y/N).” He always had and would forever.

“I love you too, Angel.” It was the truth. You would always love him too but sometimes that just wasn’t enough.

The two of you finished your meal in silence. You insisted on cleaning up but Angel was stubborn and helped anyways. Handing him the last plate he slipped it into the cupboard closing the door gently. Leaning back against the counter he gripped the edge as he watched you pour the last of the coffee into two to go tumblers.

“I need to get ready and then I can give you a ride to work if you want.” You remembered him telling you his bike was getting worked on and knew he’d have to be going in soon.

“That’d be great. Thank you.” He said. He watched as you made your way out of the kitchen and to your room shutting the door behind you. Mugs in hand he wandered out to your living room and made himself comfortable onto the dark suede sofa. He tapped on the ceramic as he waited looking at the well decorated room. You had really made this place into a home.

You got dressed quickly opting on no makeup besides some concealer to disguise the bags under your eyes. It would be a miracle if you didn’t cry again at least some time today. Slipping your tennis shoes on you took one last look in the mirror throwing your hair up and out of your face. You had told Felipe you would help him this afternoon and he insisted you take the day off. At the time you didn’t know why but after the events of last night now you knew. Still you needed to keep yourself busy today or you would most certainly drown so you were going to be going in regardless.

You exited your room to find Angel staring down at the two mugs in his hands. He looked up when he heard the door and gave you a half smile standing up and passing you your coffee.

“You ready?” He asked you, “If you need me to, I can call Bish, stay here with you.” He at least wanted to put the option out on the table. He wanted to offer you whatever it was you needed, to do anything to help ease the blow.

“That won’t be necessary,” you said. You needed to get out of the small home and away from Angel for just a while, everything being too painful right now. “I’m gonna help out Felipe today. I just need to keep busy, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” he nodded. He followed you towards the door where you picked up your purse off the ground and your keys off the table by the entryway where Angel had left them. Heading out the door he turned the lights off behind him and waited as you locked up.

The two of you entered your vehicle spending the drive to the clubhouse in silence aside from the faint music from the radio playing through the speakers.

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