#and still like to hope that if Blue Sky had held to their guns and made sequels that build on/respected IA1 they'd still exist today | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wmarximoff · 2 years

Text

(don't fear) the reaper | w. maximoff

|spooktober collection|

summary: Wanda Maximoff is a troubled young woman, and she knows it very well. she can't help but to want you so badly, in such a sick way, even though you don't even know she exists. driven by curiosity, she decides to enter your house while you are away. but there, she finds something that was not what she expected from someone like you.

warnings (18+): serial killer!reader, stalker!Wanda, graphic depiction of dead body, mentions of dismemberment, smoking, choking, graphic depiction of blood, gun play, knife kink, skin carving, strap-on sex, heavy degradation, manipulation, toxic relationship, bottom!Wanda, top!reader.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 14k

A/N: okay, this one is purely sinful, but it was particularly interesting to write because i'm a bit of a weirdo and i enjoy good psychological horror as much as anyone. i hope you guys like this weird thing as much as i do.

A/N²: turned it into a series!

༺ᱬ༻

The warm sun shone high in the blue sky as the humid dawn began, continuing on until midday at lunchtime. It was a thaw out day, without any cloud to be pointed out in the emergence of the celestial vault, holder of a pure air carried straight from the newly sown vegetation, mild and quite pleasant to the lungs that inspired it. An ideal end to a tranquil morning.

Along that wide space, the less discerning ear might still be able to pick up the vibrating hums that the sets of hundreds of young college students parroted in the midst of their own conversations all held at the end of the university cafeteria, echoing in their own encapsulated lives around you, each one being the protagonist of their own story as the conversations outside the table where you were accompanied by your friends were stimulated, like flies in an impetuous back-and-forth.

Just people, several of them, from all sides, sinking you into an endless hole. People. Lots and lots of people. And then there was you, just sitting there, like a small island lacking in vegetation floating dry in the midst of a sea of people, hovering above them, never sinking below the tide. You, always hovering on high. Looking at them, looking down. Existing on top of them, alongside them, but never on their level. Scrutinizing the huddle of people that didn't even reach your knees.

“And then Natasha just fell, can you believe it? Like, right there! She fell flat on her face and everything in front of everyone like a sack of potatoes, I don't know. It was a pretty bad fall, I swear!”

The blonde girl’s tone, Yelena, had been loud and amused, lively, which prompted a wave of laughter that rippled through the table like a television show—you and her and two more girls and a boy. Laughing like them, mimicking their quip in a rehearsed performance, intricating yourself within the group like a slithering snake.

“Yeah, and like,” went on yet another girl with sun-colored hair cropped short above her ears, a militaristic haircut that accentuated her strong jaw – it was Carol Danvers who was standing right in front of the seat taken over by Yelena, sitting next to you as she always would.

“I didn't even have time to hold her before she fell to the ground. The ball came too fast and she just lost her balance. It was like a cannonball, really.”

Your chin was supplanted by your own right hand, the crook of your elbow then braced on the table, your face bent at an angle of laconic interest to whatever it was that Yelena Belova narrated in Carol's company so impetuously to the audience of their friends sitting around their own dark plastic trays, munching on bits of preservative-infested reheated food.

Maybe it was some childhood story, or maybe even the practice of the softball program that she, the Danvers girl, and Yelena's older sister, Natasha, a student in her final year, all participated together. Just people around you. Faces of people articulating authentic empathies – and you laughed because it was funny, a sign popping up in your brain with the command “laugh”. It should be funny, as funny as a court jester engaging in acts of naughty mischief just to avoid being beheaded at the behest of a pompous medieval king.

“Nebula has a real problem working as a team, man,” Yelena gestured with her own right hand, “Like, she just had to play for Nat–”

“Hey, did you guys hear?” It was, however, Kate Bishop's voice that approached from behind her shoulder, as she placed her tray next to hers on the surface of the long rectangular table, not bothering to get in the way of the golden-haired young lady's speech.

“Heard about what, huh?” Then questioned the other young woman, turning to Kate with an air of irritation, “I was telling a story here you know–”

“Christine is missing.”

Yelena instantly quieted, like a radio unplugged. Both of your eyebrows, however, curled up between your forehead at the profusely dark-haired girl who snuggled close to your left elbow, she nibbling on a withered potato chip, you squinting with your eyes towards your friend's face, turning your face to hers in a quick jerk of your neck that only expressed concern smoldering in your well-behaved body language.

“Wait, what do you mean? Christine? Christine Palmer? That Christine?”

“Yeah,” mussed Kate then, who had drawn the others' attention to herself with her new information brought to the conversation, “That Christine. She disappeared.”

The whiteness of a frosty blanket of snow, which had once made it uniformly carpet the intermittences of the streets of the great city on an excellently smoothed white surface, had liquefied into puddles of itself; the flowers all bloomed to the addition of an avid polychromatic panorama, highlighting the vast green of the Central Park trees encompassed by the expanse of the extensive buildings and the slender poles that protruded from the New York City underground subway.

It was time, then, for the firstfruits of the start of another semester of a particularly boisterous spring, time for sporting events and fundraisers, fraternities organizing reception parties for freshmen.

The sun, gleaming, shimmered in the middle of the clear sky, and, therefore, that was the germination of resplendent spring times, leaning over the glass and concrete that made up the structures of the city – thus, even at dawn, the vast streets of cement and asphalt that were structured in endless chains of cobblestone at the ends of the metropolis were already buzzing with the commercial actions of their energetic residents, true characters moving the machinery of the city that never sleeps.

It was as if the climate of fullness was incapable of suffering any misfortune whatsoever, as if nothing could shake the good mood of a hot season that compelled a daily wear of lighter and shorter clothes, the purchase of popsicles on a stick and cans of sweetened, soft drinks; yet there was Kate serving as a harbinger of doom, announcing to everyone that a classmate of yours had disappeared. A gloomy cloud stooped over the sunniness of that day.

Michelle Jones-Watson, informally nicknamed as just MJ, locked eyes with the young woman who had just arrived at the table in a lavender shirt and dark jeans. You hadn't exchanged many words with her, but like everyone else, keeping her around was just critical to the existence of your public persona.

“Is Christine that senior redhead?” then MJ's gaze fell on your figure across the table, “Isn't she in med class with you, Y/n?”

“She is, yes,” you nodded with a stiff nod, your upper lip jutting out to the damp commission of your lower lip, “She’s one of the best students in our class.”

“But she's not as good as you, I'll bet,” Carol half offered you a gallant smirk, but your eyes rolled slowly enough to allow time for a comical air to bloom in their sockets in a dignified modesty of a cartoon maiden. She was courting you, of course, and you knew that very well – but sometimes ignorance, performative or otherwise, could be a bliss.

“Stop it, she really is one of the best students there! Like, really. The teachers actually like her, you know.”

“But hey, weren't you, like, going out with her?” Peter Parker added back to the initial train of thought, MJ's boyfriend, both of whom held the position of being the youngest in your circle of friends, “You guys kissed at Tony's New Year's party, we all saw that.”

“We've only met a few times at parties last semester," you shrugged like it was nothing, as if this information was nothing more than a stray lint on the collar of your shirt.

“And… well, we slept together once or twice, yeah… but we weren't dating or anything. She's just not really into that sort of thing, I guess.”

“But wait, wait,” Yelena interjected as she furrowed her thick dark brows, then turned them to Kate, “Is Christine that redhead dressed as a nurse who downed those tequila shots with Darcy? How... how’s she missing? Like, she’s just... gone? Just like that, out of the blue?”

“Yeah, what do you mean?” your eyes followed the same path the blonde girl had, turning to your other friend with a big question curling your lips. Your concern was like raising a baby lion in your backyard – feed it, care for it, have fun with it. Pretend that one day it won't grow up and rip your arm off in a vicious bite.

“Where did you hear that? I mean, I've noticed that Christine hasn't been showing up to a few classes lately, but,” and then an incredulous chuckle escaped the back of your throat as you shrugged in a rather confused way.

“Damn, missing? Man, that's kind of... extreme, isn't it? Like there's a crime or some shit like that.”

“Well, that's what I hear,” Kate took another potato chip from the pile strewn across her tray.

“Darcy said she overheard Miss Foster saying something about it during her internship. Apparently Christine has been missing for a week and the dean is really worried about her, but they aren't willing to bring it up until her parents approve of them doing so. I think even the police are involved and everything, there's a whole investigation going on and stuff. The girl disappeared, like, really. Out of nowhere. She’s just… just gone.”

Although the cafeteria was just an amalgamation of alien conversations that mingled in midair, between your friends there was a wintry silence, pairs of eyes exchanging uncertain glances like playing cards; no one knew the joker was in your possession. It was as if there was a dome enclosing all of you inside it – Kate had dictated the rules of an imaginary game, and whoever broke them first would lose. Tension could be felt thickening the air curling inside your throat.

“Nobody disappears out of nowhere,” whispered Peter when no one else did, “You don't think that anyone... that anyone has done anything to her, do you?”

“Damn, so this is serious,” mussed Yelena under her breath, “What the fuck, man...”

“Didn't you talk to her before that, Y/n?” Michelle questioned you, to which you just shook your head in denial.

“No, I didn't talk to her anymore...” and then a sigh of blistering indignant air left both of your nostrils, “Dammit, but can't we do anything? A search party or something? I can't believe the dean is trying to hush up the case – for Christ's sake, a girl is missing and they're not going to do anything about it?! This is so fucked up!”

“Hey, hey, easy there, knight on the white horse,” the palm of Carol's robust right hand, an accomplished jock with an athletic nature, rested on the bone of your left shoulder. She would always be the first to try to soothe your nerves because she hoped to also nurse the unease between your thighs someday.

“Just let the police handle this, okay? Don't go out trying to play vigilante by going around trying to take justice into your own hands, you'll only get in trouble. Plus the girl is a senior, she probably just had an existential crisis and left everything behind or some shit like that. Or even she's just wasted at someone's house around. A lot could have happened to her.”

“Or maybe she just decided to jump off a bridge,” snapped MJ's sardonic humor, her elbows resting against the face of the table at which she received a sharp, chastising look from you, “What?”

“That's not funny, man, she's missing. This is serious.”

But the failed attempt to bring a veil of humor to lighten the mood on the blonde girl's part, even more when interspersed with Michelle's bad joke, did nothing to calm your spirits in front of your other friends, “And no, not her. Not Christine, she wouldn't have done any of that. No… it's not like her to do that kind of thing.”

“You,” called Peter with his bunny brown eyes, “You and her… are you sure you guys weren't dating, Y/n?”

“Yeah, man,” Yelena’s amber gaze then flicked up to your face, emulating a pitiful benevolence that would be solemnly reserved for a widowed person, “Looks like you care a lot about her.”

“No, we're not together, I just…” you pressed your lips together in a long line, “She's missing, and I know her and I'm just worried. Come on guys, any normal person would react like that, what the hell.”

“It's okay, Y/n,” Carol offered you the most indulgent of sweet smiles, “It's totally understandable that you're worried. Fuck, I think at this point we are all a little bit too.”

“Yes,” alleged Kate's voice then, “We're all worried here.”

But in front of the crowd of other discrepant faces, so many students who came and went in their daily lives, being just extras for your main story, there was no way your senses could capture the piercing gaze that religiously looked at you like an eagle does so with a small rabbit in the woods, only seconds before it dives in to sink its claws into its promised prey.

So there would be no way for you to know that as much as you loathed the idea of Carol touching you on the shoulder like that (your smile clearly said don't fucking touch me), someone else in the same room repulsed the sight as much as you did – her head tilted at a broken angle toward the left, jaw clenched tight, both dark brows furrowed over the bridge of her scrunched nose, the knuckles of her fingers turning pale as she presses her fists against the table edges. Don't fucking touch her. If you touch her again I'll rip your hand off, you fucking bitch.

In fact, as far away from her seat in the cafeteria as you were, you were not even aware of the miserable existence of that vibrating need that throbbed within the dark abyss of a pair of emerald irises that accompanied you through the labyrinthine corridors of that university, like a faithful following the commandments of their god.

As if you'd sucked out all the dilated emptiness inside her chest, crammed her back in with a warm sense of stoic belonging, a volcanic beatified devotion to you that even bordered on sick idolatry of a warped mind. Love. A twisted definition of what one could define as love. After all, what would love be if not the most devout of idolatries? She had to know everything about you. She had to take care of what was hers.

Someone always lurking like a shadow that on its own chose to project itself before the light that irradiated around you. That started tingling for you, wanting you so much that there was no turning back. In the sea of people around you, she was the one who was aware that she was beneath you and wanted it to stay that way.

Because once you'd made the gravest of mistakes handing a dropped book to a stranger in the library hallway, offering her the kindliest of welcoming smiles a person could bestow on someone else, and then the crook of your forefinger brushed lightly against the smooth white skin of her hand and suddenly “Wuthering Heights” became her favorite book to read – because you had touched it on its cover when you gave it to Wanda.

“Hey,” your voice had rumbled from behind her shoulders, a girl with long hair of the color of tree bark, and a handful of silver rings spread across the lengths of her slim, slender fingers. Your fingertips marginally touched the fabric of a dark coat that covered her shoulders.

“Hey, excuse me, but you... you dropped this.”

“Oh,” Wanda muted under her breath, her hands slipping in exchange for possession of the book, her fate consolidating into a vibrating red haze smoldering under her skin, “Th-thank you, I… I didn’t notice that I had dropped it.”

“You're welcome,” and then you did it with the corner of your lips, the muscles in your face smoothing into a stunning sobriety, and it was done, it was set in stone; she belonged to you, “But Wuthering Heights, huh. This is a very good read, you know?”

“Is that so?” her attention was caught in a thread of thought – she could hear you elucidating about everything that you could, hours and hours with you in a narrow library hallway, “I never read it before.”

“Yeah,” you stated, always in the figure of such a kind and helpful young woman, “It’s a classic for a reason, right? It's definitely the kind of book I would recommend to someone if they asked me what they should read to feel different emotions at the same time. It's totally a top five actually. I mean, at least it's one of mine.”

And then you blinked carelessly, as appealing and as rehearsed as a Hollywood actress would do so. Wanda wasn't used to getting this much attention from strangers – and for her, that felt good.

“I'm Y/n, by the way,” it was said casually, like bait for a fish in a river. Little did you know that, in fact, what you had captured was a creature as venomous as yourself, “Y/n Y/l/n”.

“I’m Wanda,” she smiled back, a harbinger of the coming end of the world, “Wanda Maximoff.”

“Wanda Maximoff,” you repeated, her name never sounding so beautiful before as turned by your tone of voice, “That's… that’s a really nice name. It suits you.”

Your smile made Wanda's heart pound in a rush of adrenaline against her ribcage, orgasmic and sensual, blistering against her thighs, yet perhaps also romantic and sentimental, affable against her stomach. She fell in love with your so tempting charms – she didn't feel the butterflies, just the voracity of a dizzying urge to completely consume you, to tear you to pieces and feel the heat of your insides. Something about you smothered the hollow void inside Wanda’s chest, made her feel alive again – as long as her life was entirely committed to revolve around you.

You, so oblivious and so ignorant to that predator lurking in the corner, had no idea who Wanda Maximoff would be; you didn't even realize that creature you had awakened from a long hibernation all dormant in her bowels, how many years of hard work from a committed therapist you had brought to the ground, her mental well-being tower collapsing into ruins worthy of a Greek tragedy, burying her down one brick at a time.

But Wanda Maximoff, she did know of your existence. After all, her soul was devoted to you (saliva pooling on the tip of her tongue like a skinny stray dog at a butcher's house). She was just a dreamy little girl who became an immoderate romantic, who only loved pathologically, maybe a little too much. But an unmeasured dose of intensity could always be remedied.

You didn't remember at all about that meeting of realities at the beginning of last semester, when you created the genesis of that persistent germ of a pathetically one-sided symbiotic relationship entwined between the two extremes that were you and Wanda, respectively. But your smile carved an open and exposed fissure inside the lungs of that girl who could only breathe if it was the oxygen that had previously been filtered through your own bronchi. You've given a new meaning to her quiet psychology student life.

After all, you've given her the book she might as well have left behind and forgotten, just another banal event, something virtuously commonplace and unimportant. But it was the best book Wanda had ever had the pleasure of reading in her life (Cathy and Heathcliff hopelessly being a couple of degenerates viscerally obsessed with each other to the grave), and all of that because of you. That was undeniable proof that she just needed you.

She didn't need her father who confined her to a psych ward when she was younger (when she was accused of loving too much another young lady in high school who kind of didn't want her around), or the twin brother whom she no longer exchanged a word with after that said incident. In Wanda's life, since that cataclysmic day branded on her skin like a hot iron, the only gap left was the hole she'd dug in the shape of you to fill in her own chest.

ᗢ

A slow zephyr of warm air shimmered through the strands of Wanda's dark hair, swinging her locks behind her ears like flags on a long pole. That long Manhattan street in a late afternoon, interspersed with a stone landscape of tall townhouses, carried with it a blissful aspect in its structures and, certainly, even a little threatening to the glances of the less fortunate. Everything there screamed refinement, pomposity, latent ostentation – the smell of rich people in the air (woody perfumes with a scent of gold).

It was a handful of long houses that encompassed the entire residential block, which were slightly tapered from the street in openings in round, heavy, asymmetrical arches, in a residential style whose architecture alluded to the revival of the English Romantic movement; buildings clad in red brick trimmed with rough stone and smooth terracotta, with rustic wood accents and slate tiles.

The house that Wanda's eyes gazed at with exciting fervor was your dwelling – a faithful one about to force her way onto the hallowed ground of the temple of salutation to her god, an estate acquired by the vast capital of your parents who were a couple of retired surgeons (Wanda dig up this on your social media that she fervently rummaged through each post and comment, sifting through every picture, until she discovered that your family was particularly wealthy and that you attended boarding school in upper state until you get your high school diploma, always doing it with great mastery).

Two floors that looked out with three rows of windows flattened on the inside by the thick fabric of long pastel-toned curtains, which appeared like a waterfall over the panes arranged towards the sidewalk, to the life outside. A house with an imposing facade, but not enough to be frightening. It was kind of left on the edge of the seat, as if the really scary part was the unknown that was imminent inside those walls.

Your home, where you went to rest and take your time before the start of another new day—two or three days of quietly tracking you down, like a silent disease, were enough for Wanda to carve your address into her memory, and never allow herself to forget it. She might as well tattoo it on her own pale forearm if need be, and she wouldn't even have a problem doing it at all. She did for love, after all. She did it for you.

A silver car passed with its wheels skidding on the asphalt. Wanda's palms sweated as she moved the kneecap of her right knee, hidden inside a tall dark sock, so that she was crossing the street with her chin turning left and right, swinging with her hands long strands of rich coffee color that slipped down the line of her pale pretty face.

And then green eyes looked up to the windows of your house that grew above her head, stopping the footsteps of heavy boots strapped to her ankles in the front door. Wanda snorted, her chest rising and falling heavily, a smile tugging at the corner of her rosy lips against the dark wood. She might as well break down in tears right there. So close – so treacherously, lusciously close. She's never been this close. Wanda knew you weren't home because she knew all about you.

“Hiya, hon! What are you doing there?” called a ringing voice from behind her shoulders, a high-pitched tone that icy climbed the length of her spine.

Startled was the muscle in her right forearm that had crept into her cross-strap messenger bag diagonally across her chest, shrewd fingertips searching for silver tweezers and an aluminum clip.

Turning slowly with the curve of her chin over her right shoulder as if in a horror movie scene where one is faced with a lurking beast, Wanda was greeted by a wide pearly-white smile from a thin-nosed woman already bordering on her in her late forties, dressed in running gear with thick brown hair pulled back in a high ponytail that swung back from her head. Wanda blinked once at her.

“Who are you?” she tilted her head a little to the side, eyes wide and dark like a deer caught in the headlights of a car on a dim road. Ice-cold sweat pooled Wanda's palms, which drooped close to the hem of her black miniskirt.

“Who are you?” returned the older woman standing on the sidewalk, just a few steps away from her. She had a superfluously high, saucy voice, a bit like a macaw, maybe like a enchantingly hot witch.

The tone had been a little sharper than her grin seemed to plan it to be, which is why the woman soon tried to narrow her blue eyes, as if to assuage her onslaught.

“I'm Miss Harkness, dear, but you can call me Agatha. I live right next door – to my left, not yours,” and then there was a long, loud laugh that Wanda, still so ecstatic, didn't follow at all, “I've known the young woman who's lived here since she moved in, but I never saw you around here...?”

“Oh, L-Liz,” the feign name slipped like water out of Wanda's lips pressed together in a rough, uncertain lie, almost even a high-pitched question, “It's Liz. Lizzie.”

“Lizzie,” Agatha repeated, as if to savor the veracity of the information inside her own mouth, “Well, what are you doing there, Lizzie? Do you have a problem? Need some help, sweetie?”

“I–I,” Wanda swallowed the spittle that pooled on the back of her tongue with a hard jerk, like a ball of concrete scraping down the inside of a plastic pipe, “I—I'm Y/n's friend from college. She asked me to... to come get something for her while she's at her tennis practice.”

A second of silence tore the tension between the green gaze that was pinned from afar by the blue gaze. The other woman's sharp eyebrows rose in practical acknowledgment – after all, you were indeed a casual racquet sporter, and you always told your neighbor that you did it to keep your own body fit and healthy. Wanda only wished that nosy neighbor was swayable enough to buckle under her scattering, but Miss Harkness didn't seem like an easy egg to crack.

“Oh, I see…” Agatha muttered under her breath, in a tone that seemed intrinsic to a hunch that prompted a brief frown on Wanda's part.

“Y/n is always having the company of some, um, friends... of hers around. I mean, a young stud like that, attending med school in her prime... she strikes me as the very popular college type, huh. Geez, I wish I had studied with her back in my day, I won't lie to you, hon. If you know what I mean.”

Again the older woman laughed, throwing her head back, her ponytail swinging – and again Wanda didn't follow, a smoldering repugnance seeping into her bones, scarlet vapor rising its way to her larynx, the veins bristling, the tree of possessiveness branching off from a bad seed planted inside her chest (don't you dare talk about Y/n like that, you old fucking rag).

“Oh, but don't let me hold you back, Lizzie dear, I bet you need to get ready for tonight,” Agatha smiled with an odd glow, “Well, I'll be right next door if you need me for anything. Have fun, honey. Some of us have to, don't we?”

“Right…”

If Wanda could, she would have split Agatha's head open with a sharp axe; bits of brain mass and cracked bone littering your front door.

ᗢ

“Y/n...”

Wanda lay languid, transverse in your king size bed. White sheets touched her skin just below her back. Emerald irises were hidden behind closed eyelids, lashes closed, mouth half-open where moans trickled down like raindrops. The shrewd walls of your bedroom were the witnesses of that body, naked and of abandoned modesty, far from any prying eyes she was aware of, away from every judicious mind bent on condemning her actions.

Finding your bedroom on the top floor had not been at all a difficult activity after a tourist-oriented excursion unrolled through the walls of your home, Wanda's fingertips slithering lethargically over the surface of the exquisite furniture – your wardrobe filled with neatly folded clothes and pressed shirts, your bathroom with your favorite perfume whose Wanda promptly slipped the bottle into her bag, your dirty clothes discarded into an open-lid basket. She couldn't contain her sharp nerves at the sight of one of your worn panties.

Wanda then found herself free of all shame, but adorned by the secrecy of an unbuttoned soft silk shirt of yours that wore her body, smelling like you. Your sheets, your pillowcase, your shirt – everything smelled like you. It was as if a flood of yours had swamped Wanda's senses, submerging her in a bubble of you. As if you were on top of her, inside her, everywhere around her. Her hands skimmed over her pearly body, advancing slyly along the line of her belly, teasing herself at what traced the elastic of her panties.

The nerve bundles of her muscles were taut and dense as curious fingers ventured along the edge of her stomach, staying in the body band where her torso ended, gliding along the slit that determined the start of her smooth thighs.

A thin moan escaped the pulps of her lips as Wanda's hand finally touched the length of her pleasure, finding a wet meeting to lean on. She fantasized that it would be you there, the cheek of your thumbs pressing against the sensitive skin of her thighs as you spread them apart so that you could cup the bridge of your nose there and sip what she had to offer you.

“Y/n, please... p-please...”

A finger, shy and cautious, exploring avidly, ran the length of her moist lips, pouring into them in a long descent, capturing some of her sap that had escaped around it, returning to a slow rise in search of her center in flames. Bending to her own will, a victim of her own actions, she found herself stretching out her slender, alabaster-skinned thighs. Touch me, Y/n. Make me yours.

Her silken back arched eagerly at the mercy of the flooding pleasure that spread in quivering waves through her limbs. The hand, which until that moment had not dared to make a move, approached boldly the pale mounds that were her breasts, seeking the nipples that, like petunias, had opened in swellings from the redundant heat that enveloped them.

The delicate tip of her own finger slid over the soft skin of the areola, inching toward the turgid nipple, capturing it in a gentle grip, stimulating the senses, heightening the pleasure. Wanda's upper teeth dug into the outline of her lower lip.

“Fuck…”

A second finger took its place inside her, reaching for the heat of the skin in relief, and she moved boldly back and forth, still testing, experiencing the paroxysm that only the apogee of climax could provide. It was then that the green eyes opened, revealing the button-dark pupils, deep as a river, dilated with the specter of lust.

“F-fuck, fuck! Fuck me, Y/n, fuck me! Fuck me harder! Ah-!”

The splendor of orgasm peaked at its epicenter. Her back was arched, her legs closed around her own hand, pressing insistently to the center of her spread body, enclosing the crook of her own wrist between the hollow of her groin. The inner walls of her intimacy opened and closed in a symbiosis synchronous with the bursts of pleasure that bombarded her internal organs. Just a few seconds, a few glorious seconds of pure pleasure dissolved around her own fingers. One of several orgasms wrested from her in honor of you.

Wanda felt her body melt under the action of a terribly agonizing act; her heart pounding against her ribcage, clouding her mind, descending to her stomach in a trail of fire. Her breath hitched for a few moments, coming in harder as the orgasm ceased, causing her chest to rise and fall frantically.

On her lips, a name that she ended up whispering to the one that escaped her control (as so much more besides this one had done during the peak of her orgasm), while her tense body eased against the mattress extensions.

“I love you, Y/n... I love you... I fucking love you...”

But it was at the latest, however, with her curious eyes scrutinizing and dissecting every measly element that made up the layout of your bedroom arrangements—the books crammed in long rows on the shelves of your bookshelf (the sight of an edition of Wuthering Heights had made her beam delightfully like a child in a candy store, as in an inside joke between you and her), the notes on sticky note paper on your desk in exquisite cursive handwriting, the thin television screwed to the pale wall erected directly in front of your bed—that Wanda’s attention was magnetized to a tiny silhouette on a shelf at the top of your wardrobe.

Wanda looked the box up and down and curiosity got the better of her. A small, polished, dark wooden box, perfectly square, that the tips of her right fingers skidded for after she stretched out her shins and elbow to grope blindly up there, standing on tiptoe to do so.

Something in Wanda cried out in interested inquisitiveness when it was that she deposited the little box on the floor just in front of the wardrobe and, sinking down on her bare knees (since all that covered her slender body was a pair of dark panties and your silk shirt unbuttoned across her chest), she curved her spine in front of the quadrilateral container, elbows bent so her fingertips brushed and lifted the lid. Her brow creased in an irresolutely astonished manner.

“Oh…”

Driver's licenses. Wanda blinked, trying to figure out what it was that lay before her like unearthed treasure. You had a box full of driver's licenses tucked at the top of your wardrobe, slipped away from the eyes of other visitants who wouldn't be as wary as Wanda's – a veritable gathering of names and faces, all dealing with other female figures, like a gallery with tiny souvenirs that alluded to encounters that have already passed through your lifetime.

The frivolous lace effigies of young women approaching her age gazed at her with excruciating stares, their busts ridged in dozens of small laminated cards like the cards in a boardgame. It was like you collected young college girls – she knew all about your gathering nature, after all. Wanda needed to see them up close; she desired to comprehend them, to know who they were, and what they did in your room, so close to you. The reason you wanted them there with you.

The first one whose jadish eyes evaluated, the fingertips of her right hand slipping a lock of dark-brown hair behind the shell of her ear while the other hand held the small card near the tip of her nose, was Jennifer Walters's document followed by Hope Van Dyne’s, Maria Hill and Laura Barton and then Elizabeth Ross, Virginia Potts, Daisy Johnson, Karolina Dean and Christine Palmer, and then a dozen more names and faces that Wanda didn't bother to distinguish from the rest of them.

Some of the young girls there sounded familiar to Wanda's remembered cognitions, others could never be more than just foreign figures. The count would be no more than a stipulated enumeration of around forty-five names, but it wouldn't be an inferior calculation to the number thirty either. Wanda counted to the number thirty-seven before closing the lid of the box again, and even then there were still a few more names missing to complete the whole.

She blinked once, looking down at the wood box placed between her spread thighs, just trying to understand. And then she wondered why her name wasn't inside that box too. Was she not interesting enough? Did she not meet your parameters? Maybe you didn't want her name there with the others for a reason. Maybe it had to do with Christine Palmer's decapitated head that she found inside your fridge a few hours ago.

ᗢ

The late afternoon sun had set for its idleness set behind the concrete buildings in the distance, making for a bright cease to that particularly warm evening. White glow from the streetlights streamed in through the high paneled windows of the townhouses down the block, casting pale artificial stains on the affluent fullness of the prosperous Upper Manhattan.

Your biceps muscles were fatigued from a long afternoon hitting and bouncing rubber balls when you turned off your car's ignition and unbuckled your seat belt, pushing it away with your elbow.

A line of pale windows contributed with its share of mystery to the casual observer who passed through the streets that little by little fell into the spills in pools of synthetic light, the pale facades gleamed like light bronze, giving the mansions an air of wealth and of pride; and you always wondered, looking up and fantasizing, what went on behind those windows. One would unquestionably be surprised to know what was going on behind your own curtains, anyway.

However, it was in front of your own residence as you got out of the parked car – your right digits searching inside the cross bag in the middle of your chest for your set of keys – that Miss Harkness, your nosey neighbor, opened the bright door of her own house to greet you with a plastic smile on her long face, wearing the skimpy-length clothes that she always tended to tuck in when being around you (particularly on late Wednesday afternoons like that, when you showed up in your tennis clothes and Agatha tried to take advantage of your bare legs).

“Good afternoon, cupcake,” smiled your luscious, chocolate-colored hair neighbor dressed in very short white shorts, “Or would it be good night already? I'm never sure, this time of day is always so vague...”

“I think it's good night by now, Miss Harkness,” was your reply in an almost machine-friendly, rehearsed tone that might well be controversial if it came from someone lacking a smile as captivating as your own.

“Oh yes, good night,” Agatha's right shoulder slumped over her own doorframe, her breasts tucked into a teenage-type tank top, her thin lips covered in a slim layer of glossy chapstick, “So, hot stuff, how is that little friend of yours doing?”

“My… little friend...?” your hand flinched from searching the inside of your bag, your brow creasing at the figure of the older woman with piercing sapphire eyes, hungry like a wolf for new information she could glean from your own personal life.

“Yeah, that pretty girl with those big green eyes, kinda dressed like an edgy teenager, um, Liz… Lizzie, isn't it? Yes, Lizzie,” Agatha's lips pursed into an embellished, deceitfully thoughtful pout, “The one who came to drop you something earlier. Or to grab something for you, I don't know. You know, honey, your... friend from college.”

You frowned even more at the figure of your neighbor, your lips curled in an intemperate way, your countenance almost distorting so that your social mask would eject from the folds of your facial muscles, revealing to Agatha a portion of a feature she wouldn't need to see. A shiver running down your spine from the back of your neck alerted you that something was wrong.

Your friends weren't regulars at your house and you, in fact, didn't know any girl named Lizzie (or any derivative that was of that name just so strange to your ears when mixed with physical characteristics which you couldn't assimilate with the description of a girl unknown, offered to you by Agatha).

“She… L-Lizzie,” a hesitant, thoughtful second passed, “She… was she here? Did she enter my house? Has she been inside?” You shrugged, on an impulse of marine fearlessness that went somewhat unnoticed by Miss Harkness's unshakable smile.

“Yeah, but I haven't actually seen her leave yet,” your neighbor singsong, and then offered you a peculiar smirk imbued with a meaning you played ignorant to, “Maybe she's waiting for you, huh, heartbreaker? Tonight will be a long one, right?”

Saliva choked in your mouth. The blood coursing through your veins cooled – terror climbing the length of your esophagus, hands trembling along the length of the single strap of your bag, and “Fuck” was what you swore under your breath, your mind already in a far cry from the exaggerated figure of Agatha standing there, next door to yours. It only took a few seconds for you to slip your key into the metal lock.

“Well, honey, if you girls need anything—” but the front door to your house closed before the over-the-top Miss Harkness could even finish her own rehearsed sentence.

The entrance hall was sinisterly dim after the door closed behind you. The room was a little appalling, and in such a way, it also had a watery atmosphere that gave birth to an opalescent darkness, swamped by a deluge of empty, sharp silence.

You could well hear your own breath rising and falling if you took the trouble to do so; it was like hunting in the dusky depths of a forest, your senses heightened within your own home, into the profundities of your own sanctuary where you should once have felt at peace and at ease.

The ghostly atmosphere inside the room was lazy, cloudy, and perhaps partially dead. The simple mirror right next to the entrance door was frosted over because of a layer of light that had ended up beguiling its translucent face, and in it, amorphous and weird images that led nowhere were created.

Walking around in leisurely strides in your athletic shoes, the opaque structure of the house was lit only by the silvery light of the leafy moon that had just risen to the top of the cinertian sky outside the two-story house, which affected the furniture set back by the hulking panes of glass constricted, pale light sneaking through the always closed curtains (no one would need to know what was happening behind them), causing, in the environment, an adventitious platinum-blue coloration somewhat withered, which there was no way to be something common and ordinary.

Nothing seemed out of place, but you could tell it felt outlandish, atypical even, as if someone had broken through the sacred layer of peace of mind that used to wash over your home. Your privacy had been invaded.

Rounding the kitchen island, you went to the tall fridge and opened it with a quick flick of your right elbow, a pale shaft of light breaking through the eerie darkness that tapered the spacious room. And then you allowed yourself to lift the air out of your constricted lungs. She was still there, well preserved by the ice that wouldn't melt. A warm sigh escaped between your parted lips – icy sweat starting to form a thin layer on the back of your neck.

The vacant eyes of Christine Palmer's dead head stared back at you as if begging you to give her a dignified end; only to say that your last capture was still where you'd left it, half lying on its side on the last shelf, close by a set of sweaty water bottles, so far from the rest of her other severed limbs, you just reassured yourself of the fact that she still belonged to you.

But above your own head, a tiny sound of movement piqued your sharp ears, immediately drawing your sharp attention because you soon realized that some unexpected visitor was still in the house. Then your gaze dropped to that piece of dead flesh with hair dyed a vivid red like crayons. It was certain that Christine would soon have a companion for her icy storage.

Your predatory instincts lashed into her temples, and a rush of adrenaline coursing through your despondent system, as both of your shrewd hands plunged once more into your crossbody bag, in a silent warm grip on the part of your nimble fingers, you searched for something metallic cool to the touch, whereupon you drew out a small, heavy, iron-fuse revolver with a short barrel.

The gun has always been around since your clueless parents came to believe faithfully that a young girl should defend herself from the predators of the far reaches of the world in the alleys of the big city, and even though you never actually fired a projectile, the miserable threat of doing so used to be enough to get what you wanted. After all, if there was going to be a predator, that degenerate figure would have to be you.

You followed, then, with the lightest and most silent studious strides, down a small corridor of bare and soiled floors, up the red oak steps of the straight stairs that led to another compendious rectangular corridor carrying very little furniture, the last door being the one at the entrance to your large bedroom. You couldn't ignore the ominous tension that seemed to hang through the air, mixed with oxygen, like a heavy fog.

Being high above the kitchen, the hallway was provided with a flickering luminescence from the lights outside the house that did not lighten the walls or ceiling either, with a wooden door at its front end, and two smoky windows separated by diameter of a head on your left.

Between the door and the floor, a crack the thickness of a pen was formed, and from there, a beam of white light was regurgitated, announcing the existence of someone inside the private room that was your bedroom. Adrenaline throbbed through your ruffled veins as the extensions of your left fingers then touched the frigid silver doorknob. You took a deep breath before opening the door, holding the barrel of the gun right in front of your torso.

“Don't fucking move.”

There was something lurid in the speech that came from behind her shoulder – something ominous, something from the depths of another world, a parallel reality. Gone was all the tenderness of your existence, for you, at that moment, were nothing more than a parody of that fake social persona of yours; appearances were turned to dust, and there was no longer any need to emulate the benevolence of the human creature you could never be.

A shiver made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck curl as she sat on the floor in front of the box, an icy breath spraying from her nostrils.

The silver material of a revolver flashed a beam of artificial light toward the emerald eyes as it was when Wanda turned and you harpooned, with a flick of your wrist, the weapon in front of the open door to the bedroom, the fierce barrel aimed straight ahead the middle of her forehead. Wanda blinked once in your direction, her jadish eyes acquiescing to the situation, understanding what was happening there, what it was that unfolded before her.

It was you. In front of her, in the same room as her, addressing her directly as you had in the library last semester. You. You.

You looked different with that hideous darkness corrupting the ever-present indulgence in your gaze, but either way it was you – the real vision of what you would be, that wild animal she would gladly let devour her completely, from the inside out, consuming her insides in splashes of warm blood. The creature had crept out of the cracks of your good girl performance, and only violence could be aimed at the void of your pupils.

“Y/n...” Wanda whimpered almost into a sweet sigh, her chest heaving with fiery contentment, dropped to her knees and as submissive as she was there in your room, “Y/n, you're here... you're here...”

“Who the fuck are you?” Your tone had been impassive, and something in Wanda had sunk completely, a painful twinge brushing the middle of her chest, “Are you–are you wearing my shirt…?”

“Y/n,” she half-cried on her knees in front of you, dark brows furrowing, “Don't you remember me? From the library...? We– we met last semester. You told me to read Wuthering Heights, it was one of your favorites–”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Wanda blinked once in mistrust with her dark-green eyes, completely disbelieving in her spirit at the words she had heard leave her lover's lips that hit her like clenched fists in the stomach and ribs. She remembered you, so you would have to remember her too; there would be reciprocity in fantasy, there would be love in unilateralism, there would have to be love and love in particular would have to be mutual.

Even though Wanda knew that physiologically a creature like you was lacking in the ability to love – as a good psychology student she had diagnosed you, she knew your pathologies, and like a good maniac, she just knew everything about the person that she treasured so dearly. But there would be no science that could explain Wanda's need for more and more of you. After all, you were Cathy and Heathclilff, not Elizabeth and Darcy.

The calloused emptiness of the barrel of the revolver was like a vortex that dispossessed her soul from her body, but Wanda couldn't care less about the gun pointed at her mideyebrow as her heartstrings tightened—the pain of lack of recognition in your eyes before her supplanted the idea that a flick of your finger would be enough for the insides of her skull to stick to the floor of your bedroom.

“I saw you in the library, Y/n,” she tried again, exasperated by the unrequited love, “Last semester...you smiled at me and said that was a great book...”

But then there was a glimmer of hope to warm the kneeling young woman's spirits – your gaze raked over Wanda's sharp, pretty features, and after a good long minute had at her chest area (her pale breasts partially exposed in front of her skimpy white silk shirt unbuttoned, the gap between them descending to a milky abdomen just as appetizing to the touch), a string tugged at your memory and a shrewd realization slipped behind your brain, bringing back the day you decided not to murder that library girl because it was fun to play with the idea that her life hung by a thread, and she never knew that.

Like a puppeteer operating the strings of life around you, Wanda was only there, on her knees in your bedroom, because you wanted to revel in the idea that her life was in the palm of your hands and, as a deity (or least holding the power of such), you resolved to spare her for only a base and simple whim of yours.

“Oh, wait… wait, I remember you…” slipped out of your lips, the gun still gripped tightly in your right hand, “W… Wanda, yeah. Your name is Wanda.”

“Yes,” the answer was immediate, almost a high-pitched, smiling yelp, emerald green shimmering into her lepidopteran lashes, “Wanda Maximoff. You remembered me...”

“Wanda Maximoff, the library girl, huh… fuck, what are you doing here? It's been so long...” you muttered to yourself, “Wait, don't tell me you're a goddamn stalker or something like that. Home invasion is a crime, did you know that? You can go to jail if I call the police. Is that what you want, Wanda? That I call the police?”

She looked down at you with a predatory gaze, as if she was going to rip your jugular apart with her own teeth. It caught you off guard, in fact, for you had never seen this emptiness darken someone else's gaze before.

“There's a girl's head in your fridge, Y/n,” Wanda countered, an amused smile then breaking at the corners of her rosy lips, doe eyes looking you up and down, two animals of similar species recognizing each other in an uninterrupted cadence of sickly stares, “You're not going to call the police.”

It was a challenge thrown up in the air, because she was bold and could just push your buttons until she knew you fully, unfolded you beneath her fingertips; Wanda relished the moment because she just knew that no one alive knew you like that – that side of you, that butcher look of yours. It was the only connection she had with you slowly growing stronger.

“Pff, of course I'm not going to call the fucking police, I'm not an idiot,” and you took a step closer to her, invading her personal space, the barrel of the gun so cold against the pale skin of her forehead.

“But I could just pull that trigger, couldn't I? Or maybe rip your pretty neck off and put your head next to hers and the matter would be over, wouldn't it? I can do many things with you, Wanda. I can hurt you. I can break you. I can kill you.”

“You,” Wanda snorted, pupils dark and dilated into an abyss of greenish doom, “Do you really think my neck is pretty?”

A lame chuckle escaped in disbelief between your nostrils – she was practically salivating like a dog (a beautiful bitch in heat, the insides of her thighs sticky), and something about you liked that. Really liked that.

“Fuck, you've got to be kidding me. Was that all you understood from what I told you? I literally threatened to kill you, Wanda. Shit, pretty girl… you're a sick bitch, you know that? There's something very wrong going on inside your head.”

“No,” Wanda muttered, her gaze misting into her excited irises, her nerves fraying at the compliment that couldn't be missed, “I… I love you, Y/n. I just… I just love you so much.”

“Oh, you love me, do you?" It was then that you sort of chuckled in derision, shaking your head in sardonic disdain – an act laced with haughtiness and condescension that made Wanda's heart flutter against her rib cage.

“I love you,” she nodded in an almost desperate, justified affirmation, “I really love you so much, I love you so much, Y/n, I just need you. I don't care about the rest or what you did to them, I... I just need you. I really need you. Your real self.”

“Damn,” you knelt before her, the gun still pointed firmly at Wanda's forehead, the sweet scent of her dry shampoo soothing against your nostrils, her firm features even more stunning when viewed up close, “You're crazy. Like, really crazy. Totally insane.”

“It takes a madman to recognize the other,” she mussed back, enjoying this game of cat and mouse as much as you, the distance between you less than a foot, “And you killed those girls.”

“And yet you're begging me to fuck you with your eyes even though you know I killed those girls. Which one of us is the worst, huh?”

“Well,” Wanda smirked like a broken doll, “I'm not the one who dismembers my classmates here. I’m just in love. I just… I just fell in love with you, Y/n. But... it makes no difference to me how bad you can be sometimes, or what you do to other people. You're everything to me. I love you just the way you are.”

“No, Wanda, you don’t,” you whispered, “Really, you have no idea who I really am, and… I don't think you'd like what you might find.”

“Try me,” her chin tilted to the left, towards her collarbone. You frowned for a while; she was not afraid. She was uniquely interested.

Your gazes swallowed each other in midair, one striving to comprehend, to unwrap the other, to make the other give in to the oppression of their own wills. You wanted to break her, but she was already broken, and she longed for you to break herself even more; the two of you on the edge, waiting for the last push for one to fall and take the other with them to the bottom of that precipice. You haven't had this much fun in a while.

“Fuck, at least I'm not a desperate mutt like you, though... you're a perv, Wanda. A fucking weirdo, a stalker who broke into my house, found out about my, um, hobby, and yet you still stayed here until I arrived... and all while wearing my shirt? Look at you, I bet you were touching yourself like a bitch in heat before I arrived.”

Your gaze dropped to her pale, exposed thighs.

“You're such a creep, pretty girl. Honestly, if anything, it's kinda pathetic. But, hey,” the barrel of the revolver then lowered until it skimmed the pulp of Wanda's lips, and a devilishly smile broke into the corner of your mouth, “I had a great idea just now. If you do really love me as much as you say you do… how about you prove to me how much you need me, huh, Wanda? Prove your love to me. Open your pretty mouth.”

And then she stuck her tongue out of her pearly lips, as receptive as she could be. Wanda smeared the icy metal of the revolver's short barrel with a string of thick spit, a circle of vulpine pink tongue licking the outline of the gun wedged between the thumb and bent forefinger of your right hand.

Moving with your wrist, you soon proceeded to shove the gun deep into Wanda's open mouth, translucent spittle running from the corner of her lips to the contour of her lovely chin when it was that gagging whines coiled from the back of her throat.

“Look at you...” you mussed, your eyes never leaving the drooling figure of the girl in front of you, “Give me a show, slut. Breathe through your nose, just like that.”

Wanda moaned softly as she screwed her plump puffy lips onto the barrel of the revolver that only went down her throat until you decided to pull it out, puckering the length of her mouth as if she were planting a kiss on the cheek of a lollipop, releasing it with a hollow sound, a loud and purposefully audible metal-flavored pop, droplets of saliva pouring up her pale, bare thighs.

“I,” she sighed, her jaw tightening, the saliva pooling in bubbles at the corners of her mouth, “Did I… did I do well?”

“Oh, you did great, Wanda. You did it like the little bitch that I know that you are.”

With sly hooded eyes clouded by tears pooling in her dark lashes, Wanda saw you stare at her with obscure eyes of desire and mouth aflame with craving, and she smirked, sideways, like a prize girl with lust on her slobbered lips, addicted to something rotten inside you.

“I bet you're wet as fuck right now. You're loving every second of it, aren't you? You really are sick. But hold still, you whore,” you decreed to her in a harsh, bestial voice, “Or I fucking kill you.”

You then touched the barrel soaked in glistening saliva against the hard bone of Wanda's sternum, through the valley of firm, rosy breasts, in a poignantly lethargic motion pouring through the bristling skin toward the south of her body, leaving a trail behind of icy drool that made shiver the baby hairs from the back of her neck. Her rib cage rose and fell heavily, her nails adorned with matte black nail polish digging like razors into her shaggy skin, just waiting, just hoping for more.

The pit of Wanda's stomach constricted inside her abdomen when, after circling her navel cavity, you lowered the gun to the waistband of her dark panties, stopping dangerously close to the place where she craved your touch, the slackening of her thirsts that only you were the only one able to heal. You could even hear her instable breath echoing through the walls of the silent bedroom.

“Do you want me to touch you here, Wanda?” you snorted, her cheeks taking on sickly scarlet crimson intonations, “You want this, don't you? It's what you've been wanting all this time – for me to ruin that slutty cunt of yours. God, you're so predictable...”

“P-please,” Wanda whimpered in a needy gasp, her chin wet with an amalgamation of pale tears with thick saliva, her brows twitching so that a pained look settled on her heaving features, “P-please, Y/n, please touch me, touch me there, please– argh!”

The palm of your left hand closed against the outline of Wanda's pulsing jugular damp in sticking hot sweat, five fingers screwing tight into the pale skin as in a hard jolt you brought her face closer to yours – purposefully brushing the gun against the wetness of the garment of the other girl that only grew between her legs, pushing her throbbing clit against the barrel of the revolver, a very heavy change in the rhythm of her breathing.

She was just a sweaty, drooling mess, moaning aloud, and you found yourself to be a great appreciator of the pathetic state of mind in which Wanda was apt to submit to you and your sadistic whims.

“You're perfect,” something vile in you snatched from her tears, the ever-fast movement between Wanda's hips, the insides of her sticky thighs swallowing your wrist, “You're perfect for me, Wanda. You’re my perfect girl. I knew there had to be some reason I hadn't gutted you that day.”

“I am,” she whimpered back, her hips tense, “I'm your perfect girl, Y/n. I can be anything you want me to be.”

“Well, I think I know what I want you to be,” you hissed in lewd intonation, the tip of your nose almost touching her crimson-tinged cheekbone, “I want you to be my whore.”

Wanda gasped against your chronic staining grip on her neck. It was like you wanted to kill her and eat her right there. And then, the distastefulness of the metal darted through your lips as you took her saliva for yourself to taste, pressing your strangled tongue against the gap between Wanda's teeth, discharging into your mouth a metallic, foul, jarring taste when the two of you shared a needy kiss, almost as if you were a ravenous beast devouring a still-warm carcass.

The metallic taste stemmed by blood from her split lip was no longer just something from the gun you made Wanda suck on. And her tears of pleasure gave way to tears of genuine, unhinged exhilaration in a frightened and frantic ecstasy, for you were kissing her, you were consummating her.

You, however, between mutters and yelps, increased the pressure on her little bundle of nerves through Wanda’s damned garment in a speedy torture, only to see her writhe above your revolver and groan in uncertain verbiage, libertines and so stupidly discordant with each other.

“I owe you now. You’re mine. You’re mine to break, Wanda. You're mine to do whatever I want to, and I bet you don't even care if I do. Seriously, you're just pathetic.”

“I love you, Y/n,” tussled Wanda then in a tiny, drooling yelp, snorting against your parted mouth, “I–I love you, I love you, I love you, I–I love you, I love you, I love you–”

It didn't take long for the emerald-eyed girl's body to stiffen in front of you, splintering intoxicatingly as her eyes squeezed into tearful lines and Wanda's brow furrowed into a painful scrunch of skin. She squeaked in a funneled scream, low in pitch and melting.

And, feeling the characteristic sting of orgasm poke her lower belly, Wanda went down and up against the barrel of the gun for a few seconds until, in total frenzy, she felt the world around her go out, spewing through her throbbing entrance a wet trickle of warm cum that covered the entire length of the revolver, even though she was still wearing a thin underwear to cover her rosy, puffy cunt.

With her head weighing more than the rest of her body, Wanda fell forward, falling gasping with her forehead against the bone of your right shoulder, her chest heaving in and out with impressive weight. And then she snuggled against you, against your neck, as if you were a couple who had just fallen in love with each other, and not a duo of animals drawing blood from your flesh. But you held her. For a moment, you just held like you've known her for longer than you could count.

You then took a good look at her, the sweaty girl slumped against your very white polo shirt, wearing in her figure a silky shirt that she had stolen from within your wardrobe. Her silhouette, the perfect nose, the round, rosy lips, the firm cheekbone, the thick eyelashes – Wanda Maximoff was a beautiful young woman indeed. A nice prize, like a puppy, a pet. Something worth keeping around for a while.

“I love you, Y/n,” Wanda exhaled tenderly against the collar of your shirt, her warm breath brushing the bare skin of your neck, “I really love you…”

You licked the tip of your tongue at the metallic layer of Wanda's blood pooling at the pulp of your lips, “You're mine now, pretty girl,” was a murmur against her dark hair, “And I won't let you get away anytime soon.”

ᗢ

The world moved in an ecstatic frenzy when you were around her, spiraling into a frantic, dizzying cataclysm, dangerous as a dynamite fuse in a short flame; Wanda would soon put you on fire. It was as if something sick in her needed you to explode and for the blast's radius to consume her along with you, turning the two of you to dust together. It took about less than a full month for Wanda to become, then, your permanent companion within the walls of your home. You two were living together.

Normalcy was mostly covert (her toothbrush next to yours suddenly felt like a tremendous breach of privacy, as if she hadn't previously invaded your house), a self-righteous sobriety, because watching her cook European dishes humming through your kitchen while there was a severed human head in the fridge instilled a kind of fascination in you.

“You need to eat better, Y/n,” she'd said on one particular night, her hips nestled against your hips on the cream-colored sofa in the living room, a fork with a fresh strawberry on a skewer being offered to you, “Let me take care of you, baby.”

The world seen in the light of Wanda's gaze could be of a bizarre appreciation that urged you to keep her close to you.

Navigating through the ups and downs like any other official couple you could find walking hand in hand in the world out there, in the meantime you've noticed her as much as you could in such a narrow window of time; even though Wanda's wardrobe mostly consisted of darker colors and countercultural embellishments, her favorite color was red and she was terribly allergic to felines. Her fondness for old sitcoms could be traced to an attachment to a fond childhood memory.

She ate her breakfast cereal laughably in an awkward wrist fold, and had a twin brother who was studying abroad on an athletic scholarship; her father, an uncompromising man of German descent, was a major political figure in her hometown somewhere in New Jersey, and her mother was a Slovak immigrant who had passed away (in situations she didn't bother to clarify) when Wanda and her brother were just too young to be able to digest the nuances of such a sudden loss, their first abandonment in life. Both husband and wife were a non-practicing Jewish couple.

Wanda got what she wanted by sharing a warm bed with you on sleepless nights, and you, a tormentor possessing an ever so solemnly sadistic nature, merely kept her tamed on an emotional leash, since that meant it was in your domain whether her heart would stop beating or not. Before anyone else, however, the two of you were just a couple of two shy girlfriends who had been together since last semester, only having made public the relationship that came imperiously to the surface with the blossoming of the fastidious zenith of spring.

“Man, I still don't quite get this,” Yelena grumbled, then, once you accompanied her along with Darcy Lewis and Kate Bishop on a walk over the university campus, “You two were dating, like, this whole time, and you never bothered to tell us? You know, your best fucking friends?”

“It’s not like that, dude, it’s just—”

Your speech was abruptly cut short before the end, however, when, in the back pocket of your jeans, your phone trembled off the track, immediately catching your attention. Eyes turned to you.

You reached down to your pocket, where you grabbed your smartphone – on which the word “Wanda” flashed on the flat screen and, after realizing that it was your girlfriend who was contacting you, something in you had to restrain yourself before your eyes swiveled in their sockets. You slid your thumb horizontally across the screen glass and reclined the call, taking the plastic and carbide device back into your pocket.

“Was it her again?” it was Kate who questioned, to which you offered her a tiny nod in confirmation mode, a corroborating buzz of “mhmm” choking out of your throat, “Dude, okay, don't get me wrong but don't you think Wanda is kinda… um, you know, kinda…”

“Obsessed with you,” Darcy, the girl with the round glasses and dark hair, mussed in a smooth tone, frankly clarifying something Kate might have said, even if she didn't want to sound so impertinent when she said it.

“This is like, the tenth time she's called you in half an hour. Not to mention that now she lives on top of you all the time like a fucking eagle. We can't even have time with you alone anymore, she's there, like, the whole damn time.”

“It's not like that, c’mon,” you mussed in a bad way, still walking in the warm sun next to the other three girls, “Wanda is just, well… she's a worried person, that's all. She likes to make sure the people she cares about are okay.”

“It's one thing to be a worrier,” countered Yelena then, the three of them in tune in a train of thought that obviously pointed to the fact that your new girlfriend was a walking red flag.

“It's another thing to be obsessed with someone else. Like, borderline obsessed. Dude, Y/n, I know you're the kind of person who sees the good in everyone and is so altruistic that you get sick and all that nice girl shit, but... your girlfriend is weird. That's it, I said it. Wanda is weird. She gives me creeps, man, I swear.”

“Don't say my girlfriend is weird,” you frowned into the amber eyes of the blonde girl walking to your left, “That's offensive, you know? You can't just–”

But then the ringing of your phone was present again, and your hand went to your pocket again to pick up the device. You had never formally given your phone number to Wanda, but of course she already knew what it would be without even having to ask you. Your three friends crossed each other in tacit glances imbued with a mutual sense when a smothered sigh escaped through a half-open gap in the pulp of your lips.

"Look, I... I promised to have a study session with Wanda and I'm late, okay?" you hissed, your tongue clicking against the roof of your mouth, “I catch up with you guys latter.”

Turning on your heels, you set off in the opposite direction the rest of the group was walking. The silence was broken only when you were far away, out of reach of Darcy's brooding voice, who spoke first of the other two girls in her company – three pairs of eyes following your silhouette dwindling onto the well-cut grass puddled by a hot midday sun.

“Guys,” the bespectacled girl had said, “I might be sounding crazy, I know, but… don’t you think Wanda could have… kinda gotten rid of Christine so she wouldn’t have anything to stop her from being with Y/n...?”

Yelena blinked once at Darcy.

“I think your obsession with true crime media is starting to get a little weird”

ᗢ

“F-fuck, right there—!”

Wanda's voice gasped, strangled inside your ear, needing to take you fully inside her. The sounds of skin hitting skin muffled the dripping water from a poorly turned off faucet. The cramped bathroom stall at the back of the library could be one of the most discourteous and defamatory places you've ever had the misfortune of sneaking in to have sex with someone.

If you weren't too busy moaning into the crook of Wanda's sweaty neck, brows furrowed inside a public restroom where anyone could walk in at any second, you'd most likely have already teased your dear, disheveled lover for making your crawl in in that narrow place just to fuck her – but with the thirsty girl desperately splaying her hands over the bulge in your pants in an arduous search for the long scarlet silicone toy Wanda had bought for the two of you, yearning for the physical contact to alleviate her desire to be satiated, you just couldn't deny her altogether.

“You,” your speech was airy, somewhat disconnected from reality, the material of the strap delighting you as much as it did her, “You really couldn't wait, huh? Such a needy whore… I was busy, you know?”

You groaned, encouraging her with a mischievous half-smile as you felt the girl purposefully tighten around your entire wet length, which practically slid straight in and out of her.

“Y-you weren't busy,” Wanda moaned too, practically cried in performative innocence into the shell of your ear, purposely stoking you so you'd get rougher and increase the speed at which you thrust her, “You- ugh, fuck! – y-you were just walking—walking around with your… y-your stupid friends...”

“Stupid friends? That's bold.”

You stared at the familiar contorted face of pleasure your girlfriend expressed, popping in and out of Wanda fast and hard, with the green-eyed girl with pale legs curled around your waist, one hand buried in your tangle hair, scraping her splintered black-painted fingernails across your scalp. The hem of her red and gray plaid skirt bunched up over her damp thighs.

And indeed, something in you loved having her so primitively. As raw and animalistic as it could be; Wanda delivered, a mess completely at your mercy. The back of her head rested on the laminate on the wall, her wet red mouth half-open. Her forehead tensed, her white skin gleaming with sweat, pleading, begging for more.

It was like a real red rose blooming before your malevolent eyes. And that adrenaline aroused you, scarlet running scorching through your bristling veins. Anyone listening outside the bathroom would assume that the two of you were competing to see who was making the most of the situation.

“Damn, you look so pretty with my cock inside you,” you gasped in a breath in front of Wanda's face, “It makes me want to rip you in half.”

“Please Y/n! I'm almost- almost-! A-ah!” The girl gasped for air when she felt that you suddenly pressed her swollen clit between your rough and atrocious middle and index fingers, digging her dark nails into the skin of your neck where there was your hairline.

In a muffled cry, Wanda reached the peak of her orgasm around the false length that was stretching her deliciously inside. And you continued to burrow into her sensitive walls for a few more long seconds, filling her beyond acceptable, letting out cavernous whines until you too came with the strap being nestled inside her walls. The two of you, panting and tired, your chests rising and falling, stared at each other with sharp, floppy eyes. A brief smirk was mirrored on your mischievous faces.

“You don't need any of your friends anymore, baby,” Wanda mussed, panting, placing her pale hand on the warm skin of your flushed cheek, “You've got me now.”

It was a fact that she was in possession of a restless invidious nature, and the dependency could gnaw at her spirits so that an imperative need for control over you would well up in her core. Wanda might just be too possessive for your own good or even hers, and so the fastige of your relationship soon degenerated into a volatile debacle.

By the latest of the same week, then, with both of you already in the shelter of your residence on the outskirts of Manhattan, you could see yourself instituting dinner preparations, peeling potatoes and slicing carrots, when was it that hurried passes could be picked up by your ears upstairs, then down the stairs, to finally implode into the kitchen walls.

“What do you mean,” snarled Wanda in a frivolous tone of voice, exasperating behind your shoulder blades, “What do you mean you're going out with those bitches this fucking weekend?! I thought we were going out on a date, Y/n, what the fuck! You said you were going out with me!”

“Kate invited me to go to a bar with them,” you retorted in a sounding bordering on monotone, slicing a carrot, not giving much thought to Wanda's annoyances, “If you want, you can go too. But wait, how do you...?” the knife edge pressed against the plastic board, “You were looking through my phone again?!”

“These bitches are trying to take you away from me!” snapped Wanda immediately, her dark brows furrowing, “They hate me and you fucking know it!”

“They don't hate you Wanda, stop being dramatic, that's irritating,” you grumbled in a bad way, “I swear, sometimes I feel like getting rid of them all just so I don't have to listen to you bitching about them all the goddamn time.”

“Then get rid of them all,” she spat behind you, “Kill them all if you want, damn it, I don't give a shit about that! I just want them to know that you're mine!”

There was a momentary silence to behold, and Wanda peered up at you with a troubled, obsessed gaze in half a second when your chin reoriented itself over the bone of your right shoulder—jade eyes staring back at you, green soaked in the darkness, a gloom from which you were no longer able to hide from that psychoneurosis that so unnerved you when Wanda engaged in a bratty attitude.

She took her lower lip in her mouth and opened and closed her eyes, expelling a gust of warm air through her nostrils when, abandoning the shredded vegetables on the counter, you walked up to her face wielding that sharp knife in an ominous way.

“It's very bold of you to throw a tantrum and tell me to kill someone when I have a knife in my hand,” you blurted out the words slowly, not even fully mobilizing your pursed lips.

“You've been pissing me off a lot lately, you know that? Acting like a spoiled fucking brat who needs attention all the time because you're terrified I'll leave you when I feel like it. You're terrified of me rejecting you, aren't you, Wanda?”

“You wouldn't do that,” she muttered under her breath, the tips of your noses almost brushing through the air.

“Wouldn’t I?” The blade of the curvy, ravenous knife then pressed icy against the sharp right cheekbone of Wanda's pale face, still not cutting right into her skin, “Do you really think I wouldn't do that?”

“No, you wouldn't,” she, however, was unwavering in front of you, “I'm the only person in this entire world who understands you. Who really understands you, understands who you really are and is not afraid of you. Who knows your true self.”

"Look at you, you think you’re important,” a dark chuckle skimmed the flesh of your lips, the knife point trailing along the outline of Wanda's jaw then being held against the pale, smooth skin that covered the artery throbbing through her milk-white neck.

“It’s cute. You know, your lack of self-esteem to the point where you don't even bat an eye when I hold a knife to your neck because you know it will please me. Cute. Your pathetic submission is cute.”

“See,” Wanda smiled small, her irises brimming with emerald love that shimmered in the pale light of the pearl lamps above your heads, “I know you, Y/n. I love you. I love you so much that you don't need anyone else in your life. I also don't need anyone else but you. Only you.”

“This is sad. This is really, really sad,” your wrist constrained the knife blade against her collarbone, “Don't move.”

Wanda, ever so obedient, stood still when you carved your initial into her skin – the material of her shirt soaking in a big pool of fresh blood that sprinkled in a trickle onto the laminate kitchen floor; drops the size of a coin. Watching your deed etched atop that sharp bone, she looking so pretty and receptive with hot tears pooling before her clouded emerald eyes, an intrusive thought stabbed the back of your skull like a malignant tumor; maybe you needed Wanda in your life. Maybe you were as needy for her as she was for you.

As she slept later that same night, standing in front of the bathroom mirror you carved the letter "W" against the skin of your own left ribs.

ᗢ

About a month and a few days more had passed, as slowly as the blooming of spring flowers was already leaning towards the final touches of the season, since when your acquaintances learned about your relationship with Wanda of a nature no less than how controversial. You were spiraling down an intense, one-way descent, and you liked it.

The roar of raging thunder broke through the dead of night in an eager burst, so close to the house that, through its windows, in a tiny broken second, cold beams of white light cleared the downpour that raged outside the house, before re-submersing the world in the ambiguities of the nocturnal darkness. The streetlights in the region creaked and shook like lost souls, while the stiff gale gradually swelled as the interminable minutes of the storm passed.

Wanda, however, had not been awakened by the tyrannical, punishing thunder, or by the water hitting the tiles above her head assiduously, as if they were boulders of ice. She, in fact, hadn't even been able to fall asleep to a less-than-light sleep since she'd been snuggled into your king-size bed and comfortable sheets for about a few hours before the storm broke. She had woken up because you weren't in bed with her.

Finding tribulations in her actions, lethargically and slowly, she was able to get to her feet, albeit with difficulty because of the naughty worry radiating through her agitated body. Another thunder tore through the night sky as she left the bedroom. You out of her sight might as well be like a death sentence. The light from the guest bathroom with the door open inward was the only thing illuminating the dark hallway—the warm smell of cigarettes wafted through the air. Wanda knew you used nicotine as a companion in reflective moments.

The room was dark when Wanda entered it. It was just pearly pitch lit by the silver light above the mirror, which cluttered the bathroom up to the stained-glass windows, turning everything an odd platinum blue color that wasn't natural. The atmosphere inside was cold and hazy – as it would be in an authentic cemetery during autumn, when the leaves on the trees are orange and shedding from their branches like children leaving home for the first time.

“Y/n…?”

Wanda found your poor figure hunched over in the corner of the bathtub devoid of water to fill it, hugging your bare legs, wrapping your own slender arms around your knees like an abandoned child, staring at a tile beam on the wall. Your hair was tucked behind both of your ears, soaked in water and another dark liquid, thicker and more compact, which clotted at the ends of your hair and reflected vividly in the fluorescent light. Red.

The wallpaper and the floor tile and the clothes you were wearing were all splattered with great splashes of red, as if a can of scarlet paint had imploded in there – red spilling over everything, the ceiling and the floor and the towels, running down the drain of about five centimeters in diameter.

Her eyelids heaved at the mournful gaze that formed at the edge of the thick green of her snowy irises. On the other side of the tub, just in front of you, she found the inert body of a bloodied girl – her jugular open like a grinning face vomiting clotted blood. Her blood ran thick and heavy from your face; a flickering cigarette dangling from the corner of your lips, smoke rising into the air and only being stopped by the bathroom ceiling, hanging around like a toxic fog.

In cautious strides, Wanda carefully approached the bloodied tub, “Y/n, are you okay, baby?”

“Yes, I am,” you replied in a low voice, still not looking at Wanda standing beside you, “It was raining and I couldn't sleep. So I went out for a while and… she asked me for a ride.”

Wanda glanced at the corpse before sitting on the edge of the rectangular enameled steel tub, like a rag doll full of open patches, still wearing a tube party dress soaked in the color of hemoglobin. As she did, your head dropped down the cheek of her right thigh, blood staining the material of the pajama bottoms she was wearing. She was actually surprised, because you weren't the type to express so much physical affection towards her – yet Wanda's fingers found the crown of your bloodstained head, and there her fingertips bestowed a soothing caress on your scalp.

You took another drag of the cigarette and then dropped the butt on the floor of the bathtub, between your bare feet.

“She said her name is Madison, Madisynn, whatever,” you whispered to Wanda in a low voice, “Kinda reminded me of you. Her appearance, I mean. That's why I chose her.”

“Because you think she looks like me?” The low tone echoed through the bloodied wallpaper.

“Yeah, I guess,” you mussed, “I stayed up all night thinking about how I could kill you. But then I realized that I… I don't want to kill you, Wanda,” you lifted your head, your gaze boring into the vivid green of her eyes, “And then I left and she came asking me for a ride and she looked a lot like you. So it wasn't all that satisfying... because it was kinda like killing you. And I don't think I want that.”

"You don’t want that?"

“No,” again you sunk the skin of your face against Wanda's stained cotton pants, “I think I prefer you alive. It's more fun that way. I like that you’re my girlfriend.”

Her heart rose high in Wanda's chest as soon as the idea became apparent that she would no longer have to live on secretive glances and whispers of love in dark corners, because then, you were girlfriends. You said so. And there was no one else alive in that room that you had to lie to, so it had to be true. You were together, if any unsuspecting onlookers asked you, raising their eyebrows as they did so. You were dating.

Wanda then smiled at you sight, hunched over in a pool of blood in a bathtub and lit by trickles of artificial light. Her victory, her defeat, her obsession. Her girlfriend (touched up by gut marks that crisscrossed your scrawny skin). And then, suddenly it was okay – there would be no severed head, shattered jugular or cut in her own skin (your initial pulsing in her collarbone) that would stop Wanda from loving you as much as she did.

“I also like that you’re my girlfriend, Y/n,” she whispered, her hands smeared with the blood that soaked through your hair, “I love you. I love you so, so much.”

And Wanda didn't care at all when, minutes later, you nearly choked the life out of her when you fucked her just a feet away from a dead body.

2K notes · View notes

necroromantics · 5 months

Text

🧺 — Laundry And Taxes

the prologue. // (masterlist)

“We have to get out of here now, Toby!” The gruff older man shouted through a hurried breath. The man's arm was draped over Brian's shoulder, as they rushed to get out of the surrounding destruction. The trees that once stood so tall, unshakable, were shrieking and collapsing like injured tendrils. Skies once a cool gray were now consumed by a deep, dark red illuminating the woods. The earth beneath their racing feet was wilting and convulsing, as though it was attempting to reject a virus.

“I can’t leave without her,” Toby’s voice cracked with worry. As the forest collapsed around them, the younger boy desperately shouted out, hoping somewhere, she was still out there looking for him too. His heart was beating like a violent drum in his chest, his hands were bloody from searching recklessly through the debris.

Just mere hours ago, the group of men had been sitting idly in their meet-up point, a small worn down cabin deep within the depths of the woods. Staking out, taking apart guns and putting them together again, catching up on much needed rest. It wasn’t long though before they heard a series of loud, thundering booms roaring across the wide dark spread of the evening sky. They quickly exited to the outdoors, just in time to witness the blue-gray skies be overtaken by crimson clouds rolling in. The red hue that surrounded them was almost blinding, and everything fell silent. They held their breath, eyeing the environment for any sign of life or movement. It was as if, for a moment, every creature, being, entity, life, in that makeshift forest had died.

In an instant, everything exploded out into a rough and quick series of sudden demolition. It was loud, terrible, like the tortured screams of 5th hell, commanded by the end of the world itself. And if those men didn’t make it out in time, they would’ve been consumed by the destruction as well. There was no time to think, they needed to act, and they needed to act quickly.

Dread filled their strong hearts as they sprinted through the forest terrain. Shrill shrieks in the heavy atmosphere, loud crashing of trees collapsing, ground shaking, darkened red skies falling. Running faster than his legs could keep up with, Toby came to a sudden halt, which caused him to jerk forward and stumble for a moment before he turned heel and began to run back from where he came.

“What the fuck are you doing kid?” Tim shouted out after him.

“I need to find Natalie!” The boy screamed back as he continued rushing through the battlefield, trying desperately to avoid the hurling branches and rocks that had been picked up by the rough winds.

As he ran aimlessly around the wreckage looking for the girl the other men knew as ‘Clockwork’, Toby felt himself choking back grief, fear, a melting pot of despair and desperation. He shouted his throat bloody, yelling out her name over and over again, creating a dark symphony alongside the screaming trees. Everything was happening so quickly. The ground beneath him was collapsing. The life around him was shriveling and dying. He had no time, he needed more time, he pleaded for more time. Debris was flying around him, nipping at him, beating into his rushing body.

His knees got increasingly weak as he began to get dizzier and dizzier. His thoughts faded to static, a rough pressure in the boy's rotting lungs forced him to cough dryly until there was nothing coming out of his mouth but blood. Toby’s body collided into a tree as he stumbled through the dying forest. The smell of smoke overtook him, and he felt something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. It devoured him, robbed the fighting boy of his last ounce of strength. His dark, tired eyes gave in to the weight of the world, and he was swallowed whole by the sickness. The last thing he felt was his battered body crashing into the ground beneath him.

#tombwrites #tombfic #creepypasta #ticci toby #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta headcanon #ticci toby headcanons #creepypasta ticci toby #ticci toby creepypasta #ticci toby fanfic #creepypasta fanfiction #toby rogers #tim wright #brian thomas

59 notes · View notes

famwhy · 1 year

Text

Saviour Complex (III)

Yandere! Tangerine X Reader

Act 1 | Act 2 | Act 3

Synopsis: One night, you're pushed straight into an incoming train, causing everything to go black. When your eyes open up once more, you find yourself in a completely different country and face-to-face with your favourite character whose demise was right around the corner. Too attached to the man, you find yourself hatching a plan to save him - unaware of the consequences.

Word Count: 11,699

Act 3 - Loss Results in Gain

The night sky was filled to the brim with numerous stars of which created millions of different patterns that were all unique to those who gazed at them. They twinkled and sparkled, illuminating the world underneath them so effortlessly; so beautifully.

It was the perfect view.

Too bad you couldn't really enjoy it from your current position.

Your fingers curled and your nails dug into Tangerine's skin through his shirt, clinging for dear life. The stars of the night sky whizzed by at rapid speeds as the wind cut through your flesh like the sharp blades you were oh-so-familiar with.

Your whole body was swimming through the air, bobbing up and down as the currents tried desperately to pull you towards what would most certainly be your death. You refused to let it be so, though - opting to cling even tighter onto your favourite character instead.

Said character had a firm grip around Ladybug's leg as the lucky individual held onto the seatbelt in his arms as tightly as he could and used it to gradually pull himself back inside the train.

This enabled Tangerine to pull himself inside too and, as soon as he caught solid ground once more, his arms wound around your own to secure your grip around him before yanking your whole form towards his.

You let out a yelp as the dark colour of the night sky was soon replaced by the glistening silver of the train and the sharp feeling of the wind against you was replaced by a firm chest pressed into your front - pulling you straight into a safe, secure hold.

"You alright there, love?"

Your head tilted up and your eyes met with a mesmerising pair of blue that never failed to enrapture you and have you absolutely smitten; the actions of the person that the pair belonged to, further flooring you as your heart picked up its pace. Well, it was either the close proximity that quickened your pulse or the pure amount of adrenaline that ran through your veins from such a dangerous situation.

"Yeah."

Wait a minute- it was a little too easy to meet his eyes there.

Wasn't something usually obscuring the top of your vision..?

Something like- your hat!

Your sunhat! Where was your sunhat?!

A light gasp left your lips as your hand reached up to your head, fingers making contact with the texture of your hair instead of the smoother material you were used to; the material that made up your sunhat.

Oh no, did it get sent flying off your head when you were clinging onto Tangerine for dear life?

"Shit."

What about your plan? What would happen to your dear back-up plan that would basically guarantee Tangerine's life?!

You pulled away from the embrace (that you would have usually enjoyed) in a panic, eyes flitting around the room as you searched for your precious accessory and the unloaded gun that was hidden beneath it. It was probably inevitable that you would come up with nothing but if there was even the slightest chance, just the tiniest probability, that you could have dropped it on the train - you had to find it, you just had to!

So you scurried around the carriage, ignoring the sounds of crashing behind you - eyes only focused on one goal: finding your sunhat.

As you searched and searched, the feeling of utter despair clogged your lungs and grew, travelling through your veins to every single muscle in your body; straining them and selfishly consuming you whole, until every cell in your body oozed with it. But even then, a small flame of hope still shone brightly; hope in the form of the next carriage over.

Pushing through the constricting feeling of despair, your body whirled around - landing on the forms of Tangerine and Ladybug, the former of which had an unrelenting hold on the latter - two chopsticks mere moments away from piercing the blonde's eyes. But, quite frankly, you didn't care - and so, with a look of pure determination on your face, you took a few steps back before dashing straight towards them, drawing both of their attentions your way as their eyes widened and their lips parted slightly.

Once you were a few feet away, you pushed against the ground with as much force as you could - leaping straight over the two bodies and landing in the next carriage, the snack carriage, with a quick roll on the ground.

And then, to your utter delight, a familiar peach accessory caught your eye.

With a gasp, you crouched down and clasped your fingers around the rim, lifting it slightly and feeling relief flood through you, pushing all the previous despair straight out.

There, laying under your hat like it should, was the unloaded gun you carried with you throughout the whole movie.

It seemed like Ladybug passed some of his luck over to you.

A huge grin spread across your lips as you took the gun before placing it on your head and quickly hiding it underneath your sunhat, pushing down on the peach material until it was clamped extremely securely around your scalp.

Once done, you swerved around - meeting with both men laying on the ground as Tangerine held his phone in his hand, a voice coming from the other side.

"The White Death says get off at next stop holding the briefcase or he will kill everyone on that train."

"Okay, yeah, I can make it but uh," Tangerine starts, "Lemon, he's a li'le tied up right now."

"Both of you, this time, with the case, or everyone dies."

The call ended there and Tangerine let out a frustrated sigh.

"Fuckin' paranoid, this lot. You don't happen to have the case on ya, do ya?" He asked Ladybug.

The male let out a hesitant 'no' as a response.

"Yeah, I don't think I'd reach Lemon in time anyway." Sighed the other assassin. "You still got his phone. D'you have a gun on ya?"

Ladybug shook his head. "Don't like 'em."

Your favourite character then turned to you. "What about you, love?"

"Don't like them either." You shook your head from side-to-side.

"Well..." Tangerine then turned back to the other male, pausing a little before saying, in a tone of defeat, "game's up mate.

"For what it's worth," he continued, "you seem like a right fuckin' arsehole and I'm glad you're gonna fuckin' die with me."

Ladybug then pointed at you with a raised brow. "What about her?"

Tangerine turned your way and, almost instantaneously, his hardened gaze grew soft and a small, reassuring smile tugged on his lips. "Not her. Definitely not her."

His words caused your heart to flutter in your chest; the feeling of butterflies, once more, lifting up your stomach and allowing you to send your own, grateful smile back at him.

And then, Ladybug spoke up, "hate to ruin the moment but- just curious, do they even know what Lemon looks like?"

You grinned as he proposed the idea, watching as Tangerine's eyes lit up.

This section of the movie may have seemed hopeless but it really wasn't - it actually led straight into quite the funny segment right after.

But that didn't come until the train stopped. And, while it cut straight to that scene in the movie, you knew that the characters had to have done some preparation beforehand.

So that then led you here, in one of the many luggage capsules on the train, searching for an identical silver briefcase to the one that belonged to the White Death. Beside you was Tangerine - Ladybug, however, was in another capsule, reducing the time it would take to find one by splitting up. You suggested Tangerine do the same but he refused to leave your side and, while you would usually insist on being fine alone, this was your favourite character you were talking about, of course you would choose not to protest.

You were both currently scurrying through the shelves, side-by-side, searching for that case.

"So, Tangerine?" You started, not too keen on spending this time in silence.

"Yes, love?"

"You ever..." you searched your thoughts, looking for a question to ask the male, "...had a girlfriend before?"

Of all the things you could have asked, the list of possible questions you would have loved to mention, you just had to say that one, huh?

"Never 'ad the time for one." He answered without a second thought, eyes still scouring the white mini platforms use to stash valuables. "I'm a busy man."

You had to refrain yourself from letting out a triumphant 'yes!' after his words.

He then snuck a glance towards you before narrowing his eyes. "And a dangerous one, though I'm sure you've gathered as much from that call."

You were dangerous too. And deadly. You were both - once upon a time. There was once a past where you could call a gun your best friend; a pal you took along with you almost everywhere; a buddy you trusted with your life.

But that time had long since passed.

You still ran from it to this day.

Even if your legs were rendered immobile, torn off by some sort of vengeful spirit coming back to haunt you for your past, you would still crawl away. You would make sure that distance between you and what once was grew further and further and further.

"What about you, love?" Tangerine brought you back with his lovely cockney accent. "You 'ad any past dick'eads I need to know about?"

You?

Well, similarly to Tangerine, you had never really thought of love much. Despite being a hopeless romantic when it came to your favourite character, you couldn't say you ever had any crushes. Besides, who needed love when you had your beloved sister by your side? Annoying her every day was good enough for you.

"Nope. Never really thought about it." You shook your head from side-to-side.

"What about now? Are you thinking about it now?"

"Are you?"

He didn't respond.

But that was enough to tell you that it did cross his mind - a thought which caused a burst of ecstasy to flood through your veins - traversing until it hit every nerve in your body and heightened all your senses.

To be considered as a future lover to such a handsome man with a voice you could listen to for hours on end and never grow sick of - it was just such an honour.

If Lena were here, she would roll her eyes and claim you to be an absolutely hopeless case - which you were but nevermind that.

"Hey, Tangerine?" You called out again and earned a 'hmm?' In response. "Your brother... what's he like?"

"Lemon? 'e's a bloody bell-end."

You snorted at the answer.

"Too obsessed with Thomas the Tank Engine at 'is big age." The male rolled his eyes - then, the next moment, his brows furrowed and his lips tugged down in a more serious expression. "Though, earlier, 'e seemed to be really skeptical of a Diesel on this train."

Yeah, The Prince.

"I don't know if 'e's talking straight out of 'is arse though."

"Well..." you trailed off a little, "does he usually do that kind of thing?"

"What? Read people? Beg your pardon- all the fuckin' time."

"And is he usually right?"

"Yeah...?" He rose a brow, fully turning towards you now.

That was when you decided to push against the ground and spring up from your crouching position, hands dusting your knees off before trailing upwards and landing on the handsome male's waistcoat. They then slowly inched their way up to his tie, wrapping around the silk material and tugging very slightly.

"Then," you started, your lips slowly forming a smile as your eyes found the swirling blue seas that belonged to him, "you should trust him and be a bit more cautious."

His hands then slowly rose up, rough fingers touching the back of your hand before they slowly cupped over your own with a level of tender, love and care you couldn't fathom coming from him.

Though your actions seemed confident on the outside - on the inside, your brain pretty much just short-circuited as Tangerine drew closer to you; lips moving from inches away, to centimetres away, to millimeters away... and then - finally - closing the distance between the two of you.

His kiss was gentle at first, but it didn't take long for it to grow more rabid, one of his hands moving from its position to make its way over to the back of your neck and further push you into him. The other hand fell to one of your legs and hooked around the underside of your knee before pulling it upwards and pressing you right up against his body.

The pure amount of heat that radiated off both of your forms was so overwhelming, you had to pull away and let out a breath. This allowed you to get a good view of the half-lidded eyes of your favourite character before you, glazed over in lust as they stayed trained on your form.

Then, your ears perked up as the sound of the automatic doors opening caused you to fling yourself out of Tangerine's grasp and onto the other side of the cart. Just in time too, for the next moment, Ladybug stood there with a silver briefcase, looking identical to the one that held the ransome money, in his grasp.

"I found a case, guys." He looked proud of himself, holding the case up with a huge grin spread from one side of his face to the other.

His grin then faltered a little, probably due to the way no one responded - what with you being too busy coughing and refraining from making any sort of eye-contact with you-know-who while said person merely smirked your way.

"Guys? Why aren't you saying anything?" The blonde asked, causing Tangerine to roll his eyes.

"Well, what d'you want us to say?" He scoffed. "Well-fucking-done mate. Now we're one step closer to not getting fucked in the arsehole by the White Death." He said with heavy sarcasm.

"You know, you-" Ladybug narrowed his eyes, "-need to learn to control that temper of yours."

"And you need a foot shoved up your arse, you fuckin' bell-end." Tangerine grit his teeth and you saw the way his muscles tensed as he slowly stopped leaning against the wall.

It was probably best to stop this before they end up missing the next stop.

"Gentleman, gentleman, please." You rose both of your hands, getting between the two. "We need to work together so that we don't all end up dying on this train."

"I would love to, dahlin', but this fucking dick'ead isn't exactly making it any easier."

"Well, you're not exactly a delight to deal with yourself."

"Guys." You hissed.

Thankfully, they finally let up; and just in time too - for, not even a second longer, the train was put to a stop.

You all shared a glance.

"Let's run over the plan one more time, guys." Ladybug started.

"Yeah, yeah I know." Scoffed Tangerine. "Act like you're Lemon and show the don the briefcase then be done with it." He then turned towards you. "Stay inside, love, best he don't see you."

Like hell you were going to miss your front row seats to your favourite movie.

"Alright, let's go."

As soon as they stepped off the train, you waited a little before popping your head out very slightly.

"...twins..."

Your brows furrowed as you found yourself unable to make out any words - thus choosing to lean your head out a little more.

"...got the case..."

Maybe just a little more.

"Hm?"

Unfortunately, you seemed to have peeked your head out a little too much because, before you even knew it, the henchman noticed you and announced your presence.

"Who is she? Is she one of yours? You know it not good to bring your woman on job like this."

"Yeah? Well, who she is doesn't concern you." The brown-haired male narrowed his gaze with one hand held up, drawing the Russian's attention away from you almost protectively. "I'll ask again, now what?"

The Russian male took a few steps forward. "Still take the train to Kyoto Station."

"Mhm. Yep, okay, we can do that. Wonderful." Tangerine responded, beginning to make his way back over to you.

"Hey!"

The yell caused all three of you to turn to the Russian.

"Have you opened the case?"

"No, o'course not." The British male was quick to deny. "D'ya know what? I never asked for the combination, ya know what I mean? Keepin' it safe that way."

And then, stupidly, in the most rubbish British accent ever, Ladybug lifted the briefcase and said, "yeah, so no one gets greedy," before spinning the digits and getting the perfect combination to the fake briefcase, causing it to fling open as a bunch of inappropriate toys fell out.

The scene played out just like it had in the movie and you couldn't help it anymore, you bursted straight out into laughter, doubling over and clutching your stomach as both males dashed into the train straight away.

Tangerine then turned to Ladybug with a look that further caused your laughter to increase tenfold.

"Agh," the 'unlucky' individual groaned, "I know, I know. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"Haha- you-" you spoke between laughter, "-you! Ha!"

"-I, I have this bad luck thing and-"

"Oh, is that what you call it?" Tangerine rose a brow. "So... why the- what was that? Why did you even bother trying?"

"I was trying to sell it, I was trying-"

"Well, I don't think they were in the market for fuckin' dildos and panty'ose, were they?"

"Nah but, they were buying it." The blonde groaned, clenching his fists and throwing his head up. "I had 'em."

They both then turned to your form that remained doubled over with laughter.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just-" you held out one hand, the other remaining on your stomach to support you. "C'mon, haha, the comedic timing there was just too perfect."

Tangerine then placed his fists on his hips, eyes narrowing as they looked at you akin to the way a mother would look at their child when scolding them; before saying, "you, dahlin', still need to explain why you peeked out like that."

You then started hacking up a little, inhaling through your nose slowly with pauses in-between so as to calm yourself down from the fit of laughter you just dove head-first into.

The last time you had a laugh that hard was when your sister first tried flirting with a guy, ending up very awkwardly threatening him into giving her his number which later turned out to be the wrong number anyway. It was hilarious to witness but she begged to differ.

"You know you could have died because of that stunt you pulled?" Tangerine frowned. "In fact, you could've died from that time you jumped on me earlier."

Oh right, when you thought you saw the Boomslang snake.

"I didn't though." You gave him a quick, carefree grin.

"It doesn't matter if you didn't," he dismissed your words, "you could've. You're too careless, don't you get scared for your life?"

The words struck a nerve in you, eyes widening as your muscles stiffened and you froze completely in place; as though you were just incased in ice.

ㅤ

"You're too careless! It'll cost us the mission and your life! What would I do then, huh? Without you?!"

Lena screamed at you in frustration, hands clenching down on your shoulders so hard, her nails dug into your skin and drew blood - not that it was recognisable beside the copious amount of blood that was already there; blood that wasn't even yours.

"Relax, I didn't die." You waved a hand over your form, smile as carefree as ever. "See?"

"You could've though, you could've." Tears streamed down her cheeks as she rested her head against your collarbone, soaking your dark clothes even further than they were already.

"Shh."

ㅤ

"-ove?! Y/n!"

You were shaken out of your state by the pair of hands on your shoulders, different to the way your sister would dig into them to try to clench onto the last bit of sanity she had left - way softer than that.

"Are you alright?" The beautiful hues of your favourite character greeted you with a glint of concern and that same care he allowed you to feel in his touch earlier.

Were you alright?

No, you weren't, and you probably wouldn't be until you were a hundred percent certain he wouldn't die; until you saw him and his brother reunite with the most relieved expressions in the world.

But until then, you supposed one little hug wouldn't hurt.

And so, you looped your arms around his neck and leaned your head against his chest, hearing and feeling the beat against it. A rhythm which soothed your nerves and allowed you - if just for a moment - to forget your circumstance.

It wasn't long before his arms wound around your waist and he pressed you up against him once more - this time, though, the heat radiating off of him was less sensual and more... comforting.

Soon, however, your little moment was put to a stop as the train started to slow down once more before completely halting as the doors opened.

Ladybug stood there; a little bloody, courtesy of your favourite character, and with a soft look on his face as the smile he previously had on faltered.

"You know what's waiting for us in Kyoto?" He asked.

"Mhm." Tangerine responded as you pulled away.

"We should just get off this train. Now."

The brown-haired male rose a brow. "If you think I'm stepping off this train without Lemon or the case, you must be mistaken."

"Okay, well, the case is in the first class lounge, it's behind the bar - it's in the trash can. It's yours." The blonde was quick to accept his words. "Me? I'm getting off, I'm gonna go find a temple and reevaluate my choices or something."

He started walking in the direction of the door and you watched as Tangerine moved in front of him to block his path. "Ooh, that sounds very lovely but here's the deal: I still need a fall guy."

Your lips twitched up in amusement as Brad Pitt let out a sigh. This guy was super unlucky, but, at the same time, he was incredibly lucky too. It was clever how the movie played into that though - another reason why you loved it so much.

"Ah, shit." He cussed after a sigh. "I have to be the fall guy... no I understand - I get it."

"It's a bit of a conundrum really, 'cause, y'know, I'm thinking, 'do I hand him back in one piece or do I chop ya up into little pieces and stuff you inside a fucking Momomon or not?' That's what's going through my head right now."

"Mhm." Ladybug nodded. "Or..."

"Oh what? You got a be'er idea, do ya?"

"Y'know, between us right now is just a wall, but it's an illusion, man, it's a construct. Y'know? 'Cause within that wall... sits a window, a window of opportunity- dammit, it's a door. It's a- within that wall... is a door." He fumbled over his words but only the keen eye would be able to observe the way his eyes stayed glued to his watch - counting down the time it took for the door to close, if you remembered correctly.

'Why was he counting down the time it took for the door to close?' One might wonder.

"I'm finding it very hard to follow this story."

Why, because of this of course.

"My point is: that door is closing."

In an instant, he pulled his legs up with his upper body strength before slamming them straight into Tangerine and kicking him out of the train just as the doors closed - effectively getting rid of his problem if only temporarily.

Why did you say it was temporarily? Well, because Tangerine was able to achieve the impossible in the movie and jumped onto the train while it was moving.

Incredible, truly incredible.

He was just so amazing and so perfect and so dreamy-

"Y'know," your moment of gushing over Tangerine was put to a halt when Ladybug's voice reached your ears. "You should probably get off soon too. It's not safe here, though I'm assuming you already know that, huh?"

Ah, right, he caught you with a gun when you first went on the train - he definitely knew something was up with you.

"I have... a few things to do first."

Those things included finding the revolver Tangerine would later take; unknowing of the fact that it would cause his own undoing.

See, earlier, you came to a realisation.

Tangerine never had the gun on him initially.

How did you come to this conclusion?

Well, when he asked if you or Ladybug had a gun on yourselves - you safely concluded the fact that he, himself, didn't have one on his person. Why? Because he handed it to Lemon earlier on.

And if he handed it to Lemon earlier on, then your best bet on finding it was to find Lemon after he fell unconscious from drinking the water that Ladybug tampered with. That way, you were able to replace it with your pistol quick and easy.

You probably glossed over this detail in the movie. It was a good thing you figured it out now though - that could've ended in a huge disaster.

Just the thought of Tangerine's expression shifting into a scowl, eyes narrowing and staring at your form in contempt as he yelled cusses at you for bumping into him had your heart clenching and your chest constricting; completely stopping you from breathing.

Good thing you didn't have to go through that.

There was still one problem though, your gun was quite obviously missing the cartridge at the bottom. If Tangerine saw it, he'd know it wasn't loaded and he would look for other means to kill The Prince which you had no doubt would end up in him dying anyway.

Think, Y/N, think!

Where else could you find the cartridge of a gun?

You came across The Prince and Kimura earlier, both of which had a gun but, if you were completely honest, the probability you would find it again was low.

Who else did you meet on the train with a gun?

Then, as though a switch flipped on in your head, you suddenly remembered something.

Lemon had a gun before Ladybug knocked him out earlier. You even witnessed the blonde stash it away on one of the top shelves of the carriage.

If you could reach it and take out the cartridge before emptying all the bullets out, you could attach the empty cartridge to the gun you had and be able to make it seem like it was a loaded gun.

With that plan in mind, you finally set off to where you wished to go; though that wasn't before you noticed that Ladybug was already gone. You probably spent way too long in your thoughts there. You developed that problem ever since... you left your previous job.

Your head shook from side-to-side, dismissing your thoughts as both of your hands rose up to clutch onto the ridge of your beloved sunhat, footsteps echoing down the mostly empty carriages.

The White Death claimed to have bought each and every ticket on the train so that it would be empty by the time it reached Kyoto - you were pretty sure even the staff weren't present at Kyoto. A pretty powerful man, he was.

But nevermind that, you were nearing the quiet carriage.

You stepped through the automatic doors before making your way over to the dead body of The Son which now had spit lying on his face and clothes. You didn't know how it got there, must've been another thing you glossed over in the movie.

But, again, that was irrelevant.

So, with another shake of your head, you dismissed your thoughts before lifting one leg up onto the seat and pushing down against it, sending the rest of your body up and quickly latching your hands onto the metal platforms that were used to hold luggage above seating areas.

Once you caught ahold of it, you peered through to find the firearm.

Luckily, you didn't have to search for too long as it showed up right in front of your very eyes.

After taking a deep breath, you released the grip of one of your hands to reach out for the pistol, palm growing slightly sweaty as it shook. Thankfully, however, it was much less of a reaction than before. You didn't know if you should really be thankful for it though; it meant that you were getting used to holding the damned thing again; and you never wanted to get used to holding it ever again.

Another sigh left your lips as you hopped down, guns now laying on both of your shaking hands.

You were quick with your next movements; not wanting to hold that wretched, loaded weapon in your hands for any longer than necessary. The cartridge was out of the gun and unloaded within mere moments before you tossed the empty gun back up and took off your sunhat to click the empty cartridge into place before stashing the gun you had back on top of your head.

Once you successfully completed your little side quest, you moved on to try to find Lemon's unconscious body - something which was not a hard feat to accomplish at all; what, considering the fact that his blood created a trail on the floor that led you straight to him.

He was hidden in one of the toilets, the door shut tight using metal wires - nothing too hard to deal with, you had it open in no time.

Inside, you found the unconscious bodies of both Kimura and Lemon, each one coated in their own blood, sticky and overall unpleasant to look at.

You were never really fond of the crimson substance; always opting for the less messy ways to get the job done. If there wasn't a need to spill crimson, you saw no point in doing so; no point in making your actions more disgusting than they already were. No point in inflicting more pain than necessary.

But that was in the past. Right now, you were looking at blood that wasn't caused by you.

Carefully, you lifted Lemon's body up, wincing a little at how heavy he was before propping him against the wall temporarily - vision locked on the revolver in Kimura's hand.

It wasn't long before the empty pistol you had went from being on top of your head to being in Kimura's hand instead and the revolver that was previously there to now laying ontop of both your unsteady palms.

You clicked the barrel out of place instantly shaking all the bullets out of place before you clicked it back into place.

After that, you sat there for a while, just letting out a few deep breaths to calm yourself down a little. Holding two loaded guns within the span of a few minutes wasn't doing your heart any wonders.

The sound of faint thuds against the ground put an abrupt halt to your rest time, causing you to shoot up in alarm.

Tangerine was coming.

Shit!

Quickly, you grabbed all the bullets scattered across the ground and your head frantically looked from side-to-side to find somewhere you could hide them.

The footsteps grew louder and so did your heartbeat, no hiding spots for bullets in sight. So, you did what only a moron would think of doing.

You stuffed the bullets into your mouth and jumped up, heading straight for the tiny compartment to the opposite side of the toilets after slamming the door shut. Once you were cramped inside, you pulled the curtains shut just as the sound of the automatic doors opening made its way to your ears.

Well, guess your plan to stall Ladybug went down the drain.

The taste of copper on your tongue was hard to describe but it was definitely not pleasant in the least and had your whole face scrunching up as Tangerine walked by.

As soon as he was gone, you spat them all out and rose both hands to your mouth to begin scraping the flavour off your tongue.

Gross.

You didn't leave your hidey-hole though.

Why?

Well... because of the fact that the same pair of footsteps that left were heading straight back.

Seemed like he found Lemon's blood trail.

The sound of the restroom door opening again instantly brought your mind to the scene in the movie. The look on his face when he saw his brother laying down and felt no pulse. The way he refrained from crying, eyes buldging out as he took off his gold necklace and placed it around his brother's neck instead.

Such a saddening scene that beckoned tears straight out of your eyes.

Even now, hearing his wavered sigh for what was probably the twelfth time as he tried to keep himself from crying, was enough to make you cup a hand over your mouth to refrain from letting out any noise, heart aching a little in your chest.

Then he sniffled and the sound of a phone vibrating made itself known to your ears.

Well, if you weren't able to carry out your plan to stall Ladybug then you might as well follow after Tangerine to check if your back-up will work.

With that thought in mind, you ran straight behind him as the automatic doors opened up, quickly hiding behind seats as he picked up his phone and held it to his ear, not bothering with a greeting.

"You have been lying to me, my friend."

It was the White Death.

"Ooh, cat's out the bag now i'nn'it?" His tone was sarcastic but held no life to it, like his whole world came crashing down on him.

"You were responsible for keeping my son safe, for keeping my money safe."

As he moved, you jumped to the next sets of seats straight after him; being sure to keep him in your line of sight as you tried desperately to catch a glimpse of the gun in his hand.

You just needed to confirm if it was the pistol or not.

"You know, I don't know a thing or two about being a parent but you know what I would do, being that it's your son, and your money," he started, voice still dead even as he emphasised the word 'your', "I'd stop crying about your dead wife, get on with your fuckin' lazy arse, come 'ere and finish the job yourself.

"But as we're having a bi' of a heart-to-heart," he continued, "got a couple things to tell ya. Your son's a complete bell-end and a fucking deserves to be bleeding out of 'is eye sockets and as for your case, I haven't seen it since Tokyo and I 'ope someone's fucking found it, put it all on red, and they're having a fucking wonderful time."

The pressure of his job and the death of his brother all fell on him at once in that moment and if you thought you could tell during the movie, you sure as hell knew even better now, seeing it happen right in front of you.

"I will meet you at Kyoto Station."

"Oh how wonderful, I can't fucking wait."

"I want to look in your eyes when I kill you... and your brother."

Tangerine fell silent after that and your eyes softened, feeling the devastation that radiated off of him. The loss of a sibling always hurt, you could definitely empathise.

After a little while of silence, he finally mustered up the courage to speak again. "My brother..."

He sighed.

And then, he turned, luckily it was to the side of seats you weren't hidden behind. Well, it wasn't really luck as much as it was a calculated move on your end considering the fact that you watched the movie enough times to know which way he would turn.

But that was irrelevant.

"Well then, rush hour's rollin' quite nicely, uh, what's your plan, mate? You gonna fuckin' waltz up here and blow my brains out in front of a whole fucking carriage of witnesses?"

He did another turn as he said those words, causing you to instantly duck down to avoid his gaze before popping back up after a few seconds.

"There is no one left on that train-"

You were cut off from hearing the rest of what the White Death had to say as Tangerine moved over to the next carriage, instantly causing you to leap over the many seats in your way before you went to the capsule between the two carriages and pressed your ear up against the wall to try to continue listening.

You believed this was finally the second scene where he would encounter The Prince.

"And then this lady showed up and-"

"'Ang on, what lady?"

"I don't know, this- this woman in a peach sunhat."

What the hell?! Was this little bitch trying to turn your beloved favourite character against you?!

You clenched your jaw, grinding your upper and lower sets of teeth against each other as your eyes clouded over in rage.

If that little cunt thought for a second that she could chat shit about you to your favourite character to change his view of you - she had another thing coming.

...okay, maybe you were overreacting a little. Besides, you were pretty sure Tangerine spent enough time with you by now to be skeptical of the bullshit The Prince was spewing.

Any more of that rage and you would have let it blind you. Your days of rage blinding you were long gone.

Anyways, it was probably about time you headed into the carriage.

"-you dirty, li'le Diesel!"

Those words... you remembered hearing those words when you first watched the movie, witnessing his expression shift as he tried desperately to hold back any tears threatening to flow down his face; thoughts of, what looked to him like, his brother's dead body flashing through his eyes so clearly, it almost seemed real.

You deeply commended Aaron Taylor-Johnson for that tremendous performance.

"Oh my god, mister, please help me!"

The words that followed after were spoken by a more feminine voice and caused your eyes to instantly widen as you barged straight into the carriage; moving so fast that a light breeze passed by.

The automatic doors opened to let you see The Prince stood there while two males wrestled for control over the gun - Ladybug and Tangerine.

Then, a resounding 'click!' echoed through the carriage.

And, to your absolute, utter relief, no red substance sprayed out of the character you loved so much's neck.

"Is this gun not even fuckin' loaded?"

They both stared at the pistol incredulously, probably not registering the ridiculous situation they were the participants of.

Meanwhile, your head tilted forward and you let out a huge sigh of relief. Unfortunately, this sigh of relief came with a risk; a moment of weakness, if you would.

You felt it before it registered; the metal that slid down your scalp, cool against your skin and causing your face to scrunch up as it bumped against your nose before falling to the ground with a 'clang!'.

You blinked as all three gazes landed on you.

"Is that... a gun?"

"Y/N..." Tangerine called out to you, eyes holding an emotion you never wanted to see him look at you with. "...you didn't..?"

"I would never." You shook your head violently, vigorously and with a sense of franticness like no other. "At least... not anymore."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" He raised his voice and you winced, watching the hysteria that clouded his eyes. "Y/N, what type of bollocks have you told me?! You said you didn't like guns! You had one on you this whole time?!"

"It's not loaded, look!" With a quick jerk of your foot, you sent the firearm sliding against the floor to be picked up by Tangerine and observed. "I don't like loaded guns. I would never use one to hurt you, directly or indirectly."

His chest heaved up and down, eyes near bulging out from how hard he seemed to try to keep in his tears; to not seem weak in front of a bunch of killers. But at least he was breathing, at least he was alive.

You accomplished your mission.

"I need an explanation." His eyes met yours, hysteria still clouding them but, it also looked like his pupils were cracked in two; as though his heart was broken.

"I would like one too." Ladybug piped in but you paid him little mind.

"I guess I am overdue for an explanation, huh?"

ㅤ

"Become assassins?" Lena gave you an incredulous look, utter disbelief shining through her gaze. "Y/N, we can't."

"We have to." You sat beside her, placing one hand on her back. "We're short on money and this is the perfect thing to pick us back up again."

She said nothing.

"You don't have to if you don't want to. Leave it all to me. I'm your big sister, I'll make you sure you never end up on the streets."

ㅤ

"What's this job for again?" One of your fingers rose up to your scalp, itching from underneath the silk material of your glove.

"Aren't you the one who received the briefings before forwarding them to me?" Lena narrowed her eyes at you, one of her hands wound firmly around the handle of a revolver as the index and thumb of her other hand loaded it up with bullets.

"Yeah, but I never really read them." You shrugged, sending her a little smirk.

In response to your carelessness, she let out a sigh before saying, in a tone of exasperation, "and you're supposed to be the older one."

"Aww, don't be mad just cause I came out the womb two years before you, lil' sis."

"You are absolutely unbelievable."

Her annoyance merely drew a chuckle out of your lips, the corners of your eyes crinkling up in your mirth.

Teasing your little sister was just what you did.

"Our target is the five foot-six guy surrounded by the guards. They never leave his side so we're gonna need a distraction to be able to pick 'em off one by one." Your sister shifted her head down, directing your gaze straight through the gaps of the vent you were hidden in to land on a smug-looking male sat at a desk.

"Looks like a prick."

"He is a prick, that's why we were hired to take him down."

"Well, lucky for you," your lips tugged up even further as you spoke, "I'm the queen of distractions."

She rolled her eyes at your antics but chose not to say any more. You took that as cue to swing into action.

And swing into action you did, for, the next second, you grabbed the metal pipe attached to the top of the vent before pushing down on the hatch with as much force as you could, sending it flying open. You then released the metal pipe before quickly wrapping your fingers around the gaps of the hatchet as you appeared right before the gentlemen's eyes.

You were greeted with a blinding flash of light that caused you to squint and your eyes to sting as you let out a groan. "Agh! Fucking hate getting the sun in my eyes!"

It took you a few seconds to adjust to the new lighting but once you did, you were finally able to see the hung-open jaws that belonged to the men underneath you - the sight causing your infamous smirk to make its way back onto your face.

"It's showtime, boys!"

ㅤ

"Here."

Your eyes trailed down, landing on the box held out to you with an inquisitive look.

"We're not gonna make it home in time to celebrate your birthday so here's your gift."

You almost couldn't help the smile that fought its way onto your face, softening your eyes as your hand reached out for the box and slowly lifted open the lid.

Inside was a peach sunhat made of a rigid material that kept it upright. A light blue ribbon wound all around it and was tied up as a bow on the side, adding to the pleasing yet simplistic look of it.

"You're always complaining about the sun in your eyes so-"

You couldn't control the waterworks that came bursting out of your eyes the next second - years of bottled up emotions spilling over in just that one moment; the next was spent wrapping your arms around your sibling and dragging her into a suffocating hug as you whispered,

"Thank you... so much."

ㅤ

"I can't do it anymore, Lena. I can't." You buried your head straight into your hands, voice wavering with each word.

"Hey, hey. It's okay." She placed a hand over your back, gently patting it. "If you can't do it anymore then we don't have to. Let's leave it all behind. We can start anew. Somewhere they won't find us. It's okay."

Though she was comforting you, the gap in your fingers allowed you to peer through them and see the tears that flowed down her own face, eyes swirling in pure relief.

You were finally going to leave this horrendous job.

ㅤ

"You worked with your sister?" Tangerine questioned, brows furrowed but eyes softening nonetheless.

"Yeah, I did. I was- we were- I-"

The tears started to gather in your eyes before you could even process them. They piled up until they could no longer do so; until they spilled over onto your cheeks

Your sister... would you ever be able to see her again?

"You know what's funny?" You sniffled, gathering yourself up enough to refrain from spluttering. "I'm the older one and yet she was the one always taking care of me."

It was silent for a moment, no one saying a word. They were probably shocked and appalled by what you did previously, weren't they?

No, they couldn't be. You were speaking straight out of your arse. They were all killers too, they didn't have a right to judge you.

No one but your sister could do that.

"I miss her." Your voice wavered as you grabbed the ridge of your hat and pulled it down to obscure your eyes.

Soon, however, your elbows were pushed right up against your chest and another pair of arms wrapped straight around your person.

"I understand how you feel."

No he didn't. His sibling was still alive; still with him. He just didn't know it yet.

"I supposed this all explains why you weren't at all bothered when I had that phone call in front o' ya and how unfazed you were by all the violence." He thought aloud.

"Hey, man, if it makes you feel any better, I feel the exact same way." Smiled Ladybug.

"I'm sorry?"

Her voice cut through the air, faking the fear that echoed after it.

And then, the arms around you were no longer there.

"You fuckin' Diesel." The handsome male spat the sentence out with pure venom, hands clenching into fists as he glared at the girl. "You killed my brother!"

No later than a second after he shouted those words did he lunge at her, bloodlust swirling in those beautiful blue eyes of his.

However, before he could get anywhere near her, Ladybug grabbed her and pulled her behind him while you lunged after Tangerine and locked your arms around his waist, pulling in the opposite direction to him.

"Dahlin', I really don't want to hurt you so how 'bout you let go and let me deal with that dir'y, li'le Diesel!" He practically snarled at both Ladybug and The Prince while trying to rip out of your hold.

"You and your brother are both loonies that call innocent people Diesels as an excuse to murder them, dude! Calm down!" Ladybug widened his stance, hiding the younger girl behind him.

You felt the force Tangerine was exhibiting against you grow tenfold after the words of his rival. "Don't you dare talk about Lemon like that! I'll gut you alive, you fuckin' bell-end!"

"Let's all just sit down and calm down for a bit, yeah?" You let out a little nervous laugh, glancing over your shoulder to the previous carriage.

"She made Lemon bleed! Nobody makes Lemon bleed! You expect me to just sit down and leave her be?!" Scoffed the extremely aggressive male.

While you knew that The Prince was indeed Lemon's 'killer', you also were aware of the fact that you weren't supposed to know that. So as much as you have liked to let him have at her, you chose not to in spirit of not looking extremely suspicious. Or, at least, not to Tangerine or Ladybug. The Prince herself would probably end up being suspicious of you since you saw what she was like earlier when she ordered Kimura to kill you.

But, she couldn't reveal any of that without exposing herself so it wasn't too much of a problem.

"No, I don't-" you spoke firmly and with a certain sense of resilience about you, "-but, I do know that Ladybug would never let you hurt her so it would just be a waste of your time. Let's just all sit down and figure this out, okay?"

Suddenly, the resistance fighting against you faded away, causing your own muscles to relax. He must've relented, you thought.

Keyword: thought.

The next second, you felt a tug and luckily, you were quick enough to react - enhanced reflexes allowing you to flex your muscles once more and restrict the man in your arms quite harshly, nails digging into his sides.

"Agh! Fuck me!" He cussed before throwing two of his hands up in the air and giving up on pulling against you once more. "Alright, alright. I'm done."

With one raised brow and a skeptical glare, you unwound your arms from around his waste, leaving them hovering over for a few more seconds before finally withdrawing after seeing no movement whatsoever.

Once you withdrew, he turned around, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you back, straight towards the capsules between the previous carriage and the Momonga one you were just in.

As soon as you were both inside the capsule, he slammed your body against the side, pinning you there.

Being at such a close proximity to him finally let you see the pure amount of distress that swirled in his eyes; the frustration and hurt in his mesmerising hues. He was lost, lost without his sibling.

Maybe you should tell him that Lemon was fine?

Take him back to his brother and wait for the male to wake up from that very heavy dose of the drug mixed into his water; a dose which was so heavy, it stopped his heartbeat temporarily.

If you told Tangerine all of that though, there was no doubt in your mind that he would find you extremely suspicious for knowing such things in so much detail too.

It was probably best to wait for Kimura's father, The Elder, to board the train.

A sudden burst of hot air against your lips caused your clouded eyes to clear up and finally see the fact that Tangerine had neared your lips.

You barely had enough time to react as he pressed his against your own, pushing you up against the wall and pressing his body up against yours like he had done the first time.

Your eyes fluttered close and you enjoyed it for just a few seconds before they opened once more as you frowned.

The heat this time wasn't coming off of both of you, no. Instead, it only seemed to come off him and it was in no way sensual - instead, feeling like it was coming from his anger and frustration.

It felt wrong.

So, you tapped his shoulders a few times before he finally pulled away, panting a little with a small glare directed at the ground. Soon, however, it faded away and his head tilted back up towards yours.

"Beg your pardon. Sorry, love. I wasn't thinking much there."

The fact that he cared enough to apologise was enough to make you swoon.

"It's alright, let's go take a seat and collect ourselves, okay?" You smiled.

He nodded after your words, agreeing wholeheartedly with what you were saying.

And then, the both of you made your way back to the economy seats, sitting beside each other with different thoughts plaguing your minds.

Soon, the train would stop and Ladybug would try getting off but be unable to when The Prince pretends to have her bag stuck on a seat and begs him not to leave her.

Speaking of those two, they entered the cart after a while of you just sitting with Tangerine; the male's gaze immediately having hardened after landing on the two.

Then, the train reached a stop and you watched as Ladybug immediately made a beeline towards the door. Before he could reach it however, Tangerine used the seats to propel himself forward and land in front of the blonde with his arms crossed.

"Oh no, you are not leaving with her." Your favourite character scowled.

"Dude, what is your problem?" Ladybug threw his hands up.

"My problem is that my brother is six-fucking-foot under and the White Death is on my fuckin' arse about his son and his money!" The other assassin practically hissed the last part out through gritted teeth, venom coating his tongue.

You let out a sigh. This scene definitely didn't happen in the movie; but, you supposed that saving a character that was originally meant to be killed off would definitely drastically change the plot in some way.

Soon, the doors to the train closed and both males made their way back to their seats; one with an exasperated sigh and the other with rage seeping off of him.

You watched as Tangerine clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes in The Prince's direction, looking like he wanted to kill her with just his gaze.

"You really hate her?" You asked, breaking the prolonged silence between you two.

"Of course I do, she killed my brother."

His response had you biting your bottom lip, brows furrowing and gaze drifting off to the side.

Oh how badly you wished to tell him his brother was fine; that he didn't, in fact, relate with you losing your sister. It would be so lovely to see both of the males reunite with a hug, tears pricking at least one of their eyes because they thought the other was dead.

Soon, Y/N, soon.

Just wait for when The Elder boarded the train, then you could finally see the scene you had been longing to witness ever since you first watched the movie.

For now, though, a little comfort should be fine.

With that thought in mind, your hand found its way to his arm and trailed downwards, slowly prying his fingers open before slotting your own digits between his and giving his hand a firm squeeze. The cold metal of his gold rings sent shivers down your spine; pleasant ones.

He tensed for a moment before his hardened gaze landed on your form for a few seconds, gazing into your eyes before letting his own soften as his muscles relaxed and he reciprocated your gesture with a firm, but gentle, squeeze of his own.

The action brought a smile onto your lips and you leaned in to place a light peck on his cheek.

Unfortunately, the moment was then ruined when a posh accent made its way to both of your ears and had Tangerine whipping his head back in the direction of the young girl and unlucky/lucky man.

The next thing you knew, his hand completely slipped out of your grasp and he stood up completely, fixing his collar before angrily strutting down the hall and scoffing as he said, "I can't fuckin' sit in the same bloody carriage as that li'le shit."

You stood up and called out to him but he refused to stop and continued walking off.

Just as you were about to scooch out from between the seat and table, Ladybug shook his head before speaking up himself. "Leave him be, he prolly needs time to cool off."

You frowned before relenting and sitting back down.

Guess now you just had to wait for The Elder to get on at the next stop.

Except... that didn't happen.

Instead, the train completely sped by the stop he was meant to board it on; doors not even giving a single sign of opening.

You sat up in alarm. So did Ladybug.

"Why didn't it stop?" He asked, looking at you in alarm.

"I don't know." Your wide eyes landed on his own pair, both of you gazing at each other in shock.

"What's going on? Why didn't we stop?" The Prince was the next one to voice her thoughts, though she was just echoing what you were already thinking.

This never happened in the movie.

The train was meant to stop there.

The Elder was meant to board and everyone was meant to have a little interaction before The Prince ran off and both The Elder and Ladybug discovered that Lemon and Kimura weren't really dead.

Why wasn't that happening?

What was going on?

Did you- did you mess up the plot?

Was keeping Tangerine alive really such a drastic change?

Shaking your head, you rushed over to the other side of the carriage, eyes immediately looking out the window.

The view of an incoming stop greeted you on the other side of the window. Specifically, the last stop - Kyoto.

But... how was that possible?

The train wasn't due to arrive at Kyoto until another good 10 minutes or so. How had you already arrived?

Well, you said 'arrived' but the train, once again, hadn't even stopped; zooming straight passed Kyoto Station where all the White Death's men were stationed along with the White Death himself.

Due to Kyoto being the final stop and the train not being intended to go any further, there was a barricade right in front of it. A barricade which it crashed straight through.

Although this did happen in the original movie, it happened after the White Death boarded the train - not before he could even get on! Furthermore, there was the fact that Lemon was the one to cause the train to keep going but, you were pretty sure he was still unconscious right now.

So then... who was causing the train to keep going?

Alright, Y/N, now would be a good time to recall your knowledge of the movie.

Was it even reliable at this point?

Up until now you had your knowledge to constantly fall back on but, seeing as what just happened was not in the movie whatsoever, could you use it anymore?

For the first time since transporting into the movie, you had no clue what was going on.

And it terrified you.

Your hands shook and your vision grew blurry, the hold you had on the world slipping from between your fingertips.

You had to regain it.

You had to hold onto something.

Trembling hands caught the fabric of a nearby seat as your arms wound themselves around it, clenching with a grip so strong, your nails started to rip into the comforting cushion as your veins buldged out your hands.

And then a huge force jolted the train as a gigantic proportion of metal got ripped straight off the carriage, exposing it to the outside. Wheels belonging to another bullet train appeared where the chunk of metal once was, ploughing through this train like a digger truck would through the ground.

Your body suspended itself in the air, swimming through it like it had when you were first ejected from the train earlier on - the only difference now being that you were clinging to the seat to keep yourself from dying rather than Tangerine's waist.

It was then that you recalled how, in the movie, when the train sped by the final stop, it crashed straight into another stagnant bullet train on the other side, taking out a huge proportion of its metal.

How did you forget such a detail?

It was then that your eyes caught a pink blouse accompanied by a dark set of locks flying over your head, following the figure they belonged to as their head slammed straight into the roof of the automatic door; a resounding 'crack!' erupting through the carriage not long after.

Your eyes widened, whipping back around to catch Ladybug gazing at The Prince's dead body in the same expression of disbelief and horror.

She had died right in front of your eyes.

You hadn't a moment longer to process anything that just happened, for soon, the train landed back on the tracks with a crooked balance before another large force jolted it; one larger than the first; so large, in fact, that it caused your hands to lose their grip, sending your body flying straight through the air.

Multiple bits of debris flew passed you, including bricks belonging to the wall you just crashed straight through, as you helplessly fell through the air, wind flitting across your body in triumph, finally able to take you to the sweet embrace of death like it had intended to earlier on. Your head started to feel light as you grew faint, slowly closing your eyes.

The last thing you remembered was the feeling of arms wrapping straight around you, a whole body pressing itself against your back in a lovely, warm embrace.

And then, nothing.

When you finally came to again, a dull ache coursed through your whole body - the beginning of a migraine springing onto you.

Your vision was blurry as your hand reached up to rub against your temple, barely able to make it due to the spikes of pain that objected against your movement, a certain sticky substance coating your hand.

You squinted, slowly adjusting your vision before your pupils shrunk at the sight before you.

There, suspended in the air with a piece of metal impaled straight through his chest, was Lemon. He bled continuously, a waterfall of crimson leaving his form and falling to the ground.

He was dead.

He wasn't supposed to be.

He never died in the movie.

How... how did this happen?

Flames flickered around you, heating up your form further than it already was; burnt debris intoxicating the air and causing you to cough rapidly in succession as you contemplated if you were the problem - if all of this happened because you decided to meddle.

Oh who were you kidding?

Of course it was your fault.

Lemon never died in the original movie.

The only possible way he could have now was because of your interference.

You had done it again; you had caused the death of someone once again.

"Lemon." A raspy voice spoke from behind you; a familiar cockney accent coating their tongue, "he was a don that was absolutely brilliant. My brother. He woulda wanted me to keep living."

Your head did a quick one-eighty, landing on the bloody form of Tangerine sat right behind you; his arms wrapped straight around your waist. The two beautiful sets of blue oceans he owned now brew storms within, dull and lifeless as he stared at the body of his dead sibling, heartbroken.

"But see, he woulda also wanted me to get revenge on the bastard that killed him," continued he, "so I did. And that fuckin' Ladybug prick too."

"You..?" The words were forced out your mouth with a cough. "You sent the train..."

"Well you're a smart one, aren't ya?" His tone was snarky but definitely not as much as usual. "What's it matter anyway? White Death woulda killed us all in the end when we got to the station. If anythin', I did us all a favour. This was merciful compared to what he would've done."

You said nothing, continuing to stare at his form with those wide set of frightened eyes.

"Oh what's that look for? You 'ad a be'er idea, did ya? I did what I 'ad to." A small, crooked smirk itched onto his face, hues looking more and more deranged as the seconds passed. "And look 'ow it all turned out. Both of us, still alive in each other's embrace. That's got to be the most romantic thing you've ever 'eard, i'nn'it?"

He let out a raw chuckle, grip on you growing tighter and more constricting.

"It's alright, love, I'll do be'er this time. I'll make sure no one can hurt who I love ever again. Just one thing though-"

He looked you straight in the eyes, his own pair swirling with madness and a terrifying sense of possession you never once imagined coming from him.

"-you don't happen to mind being locked away, do ya?"

Previous Act

Annnnd that's a wrap! Thank you all so much for reading my fanfic of Bullet Train. If, by now, you still haven't watched the movie I really recommend it. It's very funny and just an overall great, chaotic movie to watch (but like, good chaotic). Plus, this fic isn't able to do Tangerine's voice enough justice so you wanna watch the movie to really get what I mean when I say he has an amazing accent. ㅤ Also, although I said that's a wrap, I sort of didn't mean it. I have another chapter planned in Tangerine's perspective and an extra AU planned but I can't write those rn because I've got important exams coming up. ㅤ Now onto some explanations.

As you can see, Tangerine went Yandere due to seeing, what he thought was, his brother's dead body and right after that, receiving a call from the White Death threatening his life. This was more of a 'snapping' type of Yandere cause I really can't see him becoming a Yandere any other way. I mean, all in all, he's not a very healthy lover in the first place - y'know, seeing the fact that he's a contractual killer and stuff - so that in and of itself ain't rlly healthy. But yeah, the only way I could write him into an obsessive guy is by bouncing off the fact that his brother died and he got pressured by the White Death so much, he snapped.

Another thing I want to add is that while the White Death is a major antagonist in the movie. He was never planned to be a major antagonist for this book - that role, obviously, falls on Tangerine.

Oh yeah, there's also one more thing. This is absolutely not Reader's fault as she couldn't have known but Tangerine would not have snapped like that if she told him that his brother was still alive and led him back to his brother's body. So uh yeah, just unfortunate timing there, man. It happens.

BTW, if y'all are wondering how the gun fell off Reader's head - basically, what happened was when she ran into the carriage, she ran so fast a breeze was created and that breeze pushed back on her sunhat which loosened it from her head. This made it so that when she later bowed her head, the gun fell right off and exposed her to everyone.

Oh yeah, last thing, I promise. Ladybug ain't acc dead, Tangerine just assumed he was cuz of the crash

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere male #tangerine #yandere tangerine #x reader #female reader #yandere male x female reader #bullet train #ladybug bullet train #lemon and tangerine #lemon bullet train #tangerine x you #tangerine x reader #the prince bullet train #kimura bullet train

302 notes · View notes

chl-owo-e · 1 year

Text

★-{Wild Sunflowers}-★

(Daryl Dixon X Reader)

Summary; Stumbling upon each other, with weapons pointed straight in the other's face. Nothing was lost yet there was a lot to gain, but for what?

Warnings; Slow burn?, TWD stuff, blood, gore, wounds, killing of animals.

________________________________

_______________________________

[Chapter One/001]

-(It’s mine)-

_______________________________

—The morning air was cold and stale, and the sound of crows were still cawing throughout the cloudy pale blue sky. You held onto the black strap of your bag as you continue to walk through the dense woods. Leaves, sticks, and rocks breaking under your feet leaving crunchy noises below.

Beads of sweat was dribbling down your face, as you made your way breaking branches and grass. All of your senses were in hyper drive, any noises that were made were louder than anything. Currently you were crouching with your bow in hand and pointed at a helpless brown rabbit.

The animal looked around the wooded scenery, the ears were on high alert from any other being trying to get it killed. You take a shallow deep breath before you shoot at the animal. There was a small squeak that left its mouth right before it died. You happily stand up and run towards your food. A small laugh leaves your lips, you pull the arrow out of the neck and picked up the thing by its ears

Next you wrapped some thin rope around its neck so you could hold it better, then you tied the rope tightly to the handle on your dark green backpack. Taking another breath you continue on your journey to absolutely no where. You had nothing in mind when you had left the sanctity of your home. You didn’t even think you could have lasted this long. Even though its been a month, it still feels like no one is alive except for you.

The only place you had in mind was somewhere far far away from others, and somewhere that is safe from the undead. You had no clue what had started this, seemingly you didn’t care. You didn’t want to know anything about this ‘virus’, as you didn’t want to accept that there is no cure and the government is not going to save you. Sleep was still evident in your eyes, as your eye-bags were puffy and a dark color.

Forcing your yawn to stay down, you push through the woods. Its wasn’t long till you found tracks in the softish soil. It was a adult males shoe prints. You continue to look around for more tracks hoping its not a group trying to ambush you. Thats until you felt eyes on you, your body tenses thinking quickly on a way to stay calm and not to get killed.

But on second thought if they wanted that they would have shot you, unless they dont have a gun. Either or you continued to walk forward slowly. Your heart rate was speeding at an alarming rate, and your eyes continue to scan the woods around you making sure not to stare too long at the area you feel like you’re being watched at.

With shaking hands you ready your bow and arrow in a position where you can easily shoot. You felt the person stalk closer to you, the only thought that roams in your head is death. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ Is repeated over and over again. Just hoping the guy makes a sound so you could look at who was about to kill you.

God seemed to be on your side as a stick snaps under the persons foot. Without thinking you spun around to face them. You sucked in when you saw the man in front of you. He looked like he knew what he was doing out here. He had short brown hair, a noticeable mole above his lip, and most importantly he had a crossbow loaded and pointed straight at you.

Your body seemed to tense more than you thought it could. Your head was racing with every question on earth. Your breathing was shortened whilst you got a good look at the man. Your body was shaking and the tension in the air gotten thicker and thicker. It felt like it was silent for years before he spoke in a raspy southern accent.

“Hand over your rabbit an’ nobody gets hurt.” As he spoke he walked to the side trying to get a good angle at what you have. “The only person whose gunna get hurt is you, so I suggest you walk away with your tail between your legs while you can.” You mustered up a strong voice but failed miserably as there was a shaky undertone.

The man scoffs out a dry laugh, he knew you couldn’t do anything to him. Yet he still understood that you had a bit more control over the situation than him. With your bow, depending of your reflexes you could kill him faster than he could pull the trigger to his crossbow. “I need that rabbit more than you, so I suggest hand it over.” His country accent became deeper as the sentence ended.

He wasn’t playing around, but you weren’t either. You had just caught this thing your not gonna hand it over to some guy that points his weapon at you. ‘Who does he think he is?’ your body slowly stops shaking as that thought makes its rounds in your head. ‘Who does he think he is?’ Your face scrunches up at him with a scowl.

“I don’t care that you ‘need this more than me’. I caught it, it’s mine, so fuck off and find you your own food.” Your voice came out firm this time, you clench your weapon tightly ignoring the small ache in your palms from your nails digging into it. His eyebrows furrow in anger before he yells directly at you.

“Just hand me the goddamn thing you fucking bitch! Or you’ll become one of those walkers before you know it!” He continues to yell profanities at you letting his anger get the better of him. Everything was directed at you, even his full attention. He didn’t seem to notice one of the undead people walking behind him on his right side (or your left).

Before he knew what was coming you shot straight at the undead. Bullseye, the dark red blood squirts out of its eye and drops to the leafy ground. The man was in a shocked state, the blood from the walker had splattered onto his cheek. Even though it wasn’t much it was still visible from where you were standing.

He had dropped his crossbow from pointing at you once he figured out what you had done. He had looked back and seen the creature lying there lifeless. “You have a bit of something there on your face there.” You teasingly point out to him, like it wasn’t obvious to him. He quickly wipes off the blood that stained his cheek. It wasn’t long till you continued to talk to the man.

“Look, Im willing to make a deal with you.” You took a deep breath before continuing. “Ill give you this animal, and in return let me stay at your camp for a while.” You finished your statement before you walked towards the rotten corpse and violently yank out the arrow from its eye.

The guy kept a reasonable distance from you, considering your proposal. You stood away from him and stared off till he gave you an answer. “Fine, but if you do anything to harm me or the group ill kill you right then and there, you got it?” He walked closer to you with every word that came out of his mouth.

“Aye-eye captain.” You agreed in a monotone voice. He rolled his eyes and scoffed right before you walked off, presumably to his little camp site. You followed behind leaving a big gap in between the both of you. You were greatful that hes letting you stay at his camp for a while. But you are also regretting your decision to give him the whole rabbit as it was a fairly large one.

The two of you continued your walk in silence, which is giving you time to think about what had happened over and over again. You didn’t even ask for his name, nor did he ask for yours yet you didn’t really care for his name at all. You only felt a strong annoyance to the guy, you had just met him but he just reeks of ‘Im better than you’ vibes.

It wasn’t long till you reached a clearing from out of the woods. Even when the two of you gotten that far you still felt the need to have yourself ready to attack him just in case this is just a whole elaborate trap to kill you. Your dominant hand clenches on your blade that you have strapped to your thigh. Your heart rate speeds up again and your hearing is focused on your surroundings as your brain only focused on the red neck man in front of you.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard laughing and screaming from kids playing. Your body slowly relaxes again when you see a RV and some tents signaling that a lot of people stayed here. You where snapped out of your head by the red neck speaking again. “We’re here, give me the rabbit.” His voice was annoyed as his hand was reached out for the dead animal.

You take off your bag and cut the string that held the poor thing to you and you handed it to him. As your hand touched his rough ones you heard another male’s voice. It was an older one, and it led to a old man in his 50s perhaps maybe older. He had a rifle strapped to his back as he jogged towards the both of you.

“Daryl! You got something?” He didn’t seem to notice you as you were behind him crouching at your bag. “Someone is more like it.” You guess his name is Daryl grumbled under his breath. The older man questioned him before he looked down and spotted you. “Oh, you found a drifter. Are you lookin’ to stay here with us?” The oldie spoke as he put his hands on his hips and took a breather. “For as long as Im welcome here.” You decide to play it off nice for now, you didn’t want to cause too much trouble when you only just got there.

“Im Dale, I own that RV right over there, if you need me just holler.” He smiles right at you. “Of course, Im Y/n I hope I wont need anyones help. I dont want to burden people.” You smile back to Dale. “Oh don’t worry about that. You’re always welcome.” Dale waves his hand around in front of him. A guy yells for Dale and you make your goodbyes and he left with a smile.

‘He’s nice, I guess.’ You nervously thought about meeting all the others. Not wanting to come off too nice and people get attached to you. But also not wanting to come off too mean and people want to kick you out of the camp. So you’ll just stick to how you’re already doing things. Be nice, but dont get too close with anyone. “Hey Dar-?” You spoke but as you looked around the man was gone. Apparently Daryl gad left you when you were talking with Dale, now you’ll have to figure out where you will sleep for the night on your own.

———————————————————————

A/N; First chapter to the fic- I hope I will always have the energy to keep up writing this :)

#daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #daryl x y/n #twd daryl #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixion x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fluff #daryl imagines #daryl dixon 🏹🐇

134 notes · View notes

captain-mj · 1 year

Note

I’m asking. Here it is. Ghoap outlander au. I have nothing to offer but my left kidney

Keep your kidney. Ive been shaking and waiting for someone to send me this ask. Real quick though, besides the basics of “modern person gets sent into 1700s Scotland” This won’t follow the show that much. Also, we are IGNORING homophobia. Realistically they were Catholic at the time but i do not care. Chances are there's going to be quite a few historical accuracies (plus I'm planning on making multiple parts because I fucking adore this idea) so just like... little heads up about that

Also, I'm doing this based off og SoapGhost, obviously it doesn't matter much, but I wanted you guys to know :)

Ghost had never believed in... well anything mystical really. He thought it was nonsense. For some people, it was helpful, but it meant nothing to him. Gunpowder held more meaning than a cross. He was a medic in the army for fuck’s sake.

So when he walked into an area he was told was sacred and asked to be careful, he treated it the same way he treated everything else of this nature. That was not to say he was in any way disrespectful, but he didn't treasure it the way his colleagues did. He was a soldier first, person second. The dark stones reached up to the sky, unnerving in their monolith, but they didn’t strike the fear of God into him.

And then, he felt a knife go through him. It aimed for one of his organs. He didn't remember hitting the ground, just knew that he was on it suddenly. Blood filled his mouth and he couldn't breath. Silently, he prepared himself for the next blow. Accepting death was maybe a bit too easy for him.

But he didn't die. He just laid there in a puddle of his own blood. Weird. It hurt a lot more than a regular stab wound but he was alive.

Ghost tried to get up to call for the others but someone's boot landed on his back, pushing him into the ground. The person started to speak, though he didn't understand the language.

"Get off of me." He tried to stand up and then a blade was against his neck. A sword. The person had a fucking sword. Ghost managed to glance up.

The person must be some kind of weirdo fucking larper. They had a mohawk with braids in it and blue swirling tattoos all over their shoulders and chest. As for their clothing... it was traditional. Kilt, furs over their upper half. He was hot but that was besides the point.

The person looked irritated, barking at him in his language again.

Ghost thought it through. "I can't understand you. I'm English?" He hoped the word “English” would mean something to him.

The man made a very upset face when he said English and that wasn’t what Ghost had in mind when he said something. He hissed at him and dug his heel in. Ghost groaned and gritted his teeth, glaring.

Someone spoke from elsewhere and he paused.

The man stepped off of Ghost and made a motion to get up, sword still pointed at him. Ghost got up and went for his gun, only to find the holsters empty. All of them. Even his assault rifle, which he was pretty sure only landed a few inches from his hand, was gone.

What the hell.

He looked up at him cautiously.

The man looked down at him and slowly used the blade to force him to tilt his head back.

His mask. Ghost's eyes widened as he thought about it. The stranger knelt down and went to remove it and Ghost tried to shove him off. Quickly they were surrounded by more men and something blunt hit the back of Ghost's head.

It was hours later when he woke up. He groaned softly and sat up, feeling thin restraints tug at his wrists. They were just thin leather straps, clearly more of a message than to keep him down.

Ghost looked around the room. It wasn't that well furnished, but it was rather cozy. The few pieces of furnishings he could see had clearly been hand carved. That did not mean they weren't well made, just it was clear they weren't machine manufactured.

He slipped from the binds anyway, touching himself to check for injuries. The knife wound had been well stitched and bandaged perfectly. Funnily enough, it looked like the supplies came from his own bag which was next to him on the floor. His shirt had been taken but the blanket had been pulled to his collar, so he had some privacy.

His mask. Fuck. He quickly touched his face, but luckily, his fingers met the soft fabric. They hadn't taken his mask.

Ghost started to get up but someone came in. The same mohawked person from before. They stared at each other before the man set the plate on the dresser.

They were roughly the same height, but Ghost was sure he could fight him off if needed. However, he was injured and the man brought food.

"English?" He said slowly, like he was feeling out the word. Ghost had a feeling it wasn't his native language. His thick scottish accent grated on the words.

"Yes... Speak it?" Ghost held his wound.

"Vaguely. Soap."

Ghost blinked, a little taken back. "Soap?"

Soap pointed at himself and nodded before pointing at Ghost.

"Ghost." He didn't want to tell him his real name. "What do you speak?"

"Gaelic."

"Don't speak that..." Ghost backed up and tried to joke.

Soap smiled and held out the food. It looked simple. Meat, potatoes, almost laughably what you'd expect from a Scottish person. "Eat."

Ghost reached out slowly and took it from him. The plate felt funny under his hands. He held it to himself, but Soap wasn't leaving.

Ghost decided to try to get some information. "Where am I?"

"Highlands."

"Here with a lot of people?" Maybe if there weren't too many, he could fight his way out. Or maybe just escape silently.

"Dozens. Better you stay here." Soap reached out and Ghost backed up, pressing against the wall. He pulled his hand back though it still lingered in the air.

Ghost slowly pulled his mask up and started to eat. He was starving. It tasted pretty good. His sunglasses were gone and the candle lighting of the room made Soap look otherworldly. A angel. He quickly glanced away again.

“You’re injured. Shouldn’t be out of bed.” Soap chided him, his head tilting slightly. He waited though until Ghost was done eating, hand reaching out for the plate. Once it was set to the side, Soap grabbed him, wrestling him back down.

Ghost fought back, trying to get away from him, but Soap had the advantage of not being fucking stabbed. He ended up straddling him to the bed as he retied him, this time much more securely.

Ghost tensed, feeling Soap’s weight on him. Panic filled his mind until it overflowed and he was kicking and thrashing. He didn’t make a sound, but he didn’t really need to.

Soap grabbed his face. “Breath.” It was a command and Ghost found himself following it. “Good.” He took a deep breath for Ghost to mirror and soon, his head was slightly clearer.

“Don’t touch me.” Ghost managed to spit out.

Soap nodded and got off of him. “Stay down, yes?”

Ghost glared and Soap put his hand firmly in his chest. “Won’t have to touch you if you stay down. Now. Stay. Down.”

Slowly, Ghost nodded.

“Good boy.” Soap grinned and Ghost felt heat rush to his face. He patted him gently and left Ghost alone again.

Ghost started to plan how he would escape.

#cod #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare ii #soap call of duty #johnny soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #simon riley

146 notes · View notes

khaoticdax · 1 year

Text

Silence

Here it is! My first Valeria x reader fic. I hope you all enjoy. Might write another if y'all like this one!

The sound of helicopter blades filled y/n's ears as the helicopter finally set down on the pad and the doors slid open. Sighing quietly, y/n swung their legs over the edge of the helicopter and did a small hop to stand up on the asphalt - gun in hand. Their hand shot up instantly to block the glare coming from the sun and y/n heard the footsteps of someone approaching them. Squinting towards the blurred figure jogging towards, "Sergeant?.." they called out.

"You the one Laswell sent?" The figure called as they came into view of y/n. It was a man, and y/n assumed it was the one they called 'Soap'. Nodding, y/n reached out his hand and shook Soap's.

"Good. We've been waiting. They've got her held up in one of their makeshift cells." His Scottish accent was quite obvious when he spoke. Y/n nodded and followed the Scottish man as he walked off the helipad. 'Her?' y/n thought. There was no way that El Sin Nombre was a woman. After everything they had heard that they had done?

Heading towards what looked to be an airplane hanger, y/n yelled out to the man in front of them, "Have you all gotten any of the information you need yet?"

Soap quickly turned and gave y/n the side eye, "If we had - you wouldn't be here." He yelled back with a smirk. Y/n huffed under their breath as the two of them finally entered the building.

"She's being held in there." Soap pointed to what looked to be a small room, about the size of two cargo containers. There were no windows, only one door. Definitely looked like a makeshift cell. Y/n nodded and headed over towards the group of men standing near the doorway. They all turned to look at the new arrival.

"You must be y/n? The merc Laswell sent to get information out of our little guest?" Ghost asked, and y/n nodded in return.

"It's why I was hired, and it's what I plan to do. It's why I'm one of the best in my field." Y/n stated as plainly as someone would say the sky was blue. Ghost nodded and turned to Alejandro, "They're with us. Let them in with El Sin Nombre."

Alejandro turned to look at y/n, "What? So you're going to let this merc do your job for you? You think you can trust mercenaries?" He asked with a bit of hostility - his question obviously not directed towards y/n.

"If we couldn't trust them, Laswell wouldn't have hired them." Ghost answered before Alejandro mumbled something under his breath and grabbed the set of keys from off the table.

"Fine. Follow me." Alejandro's voice finally directed at y/n as he walked over to the door of the makeshift cell, with y/n in tow. Alejandro unlocked and swung the door open, gesturing y/n inside. "Just knock four times when you have the information and are ready to be let out." He muttered to y/n as they stepped inside before Alejandro shut the door behind them.

Finally being in the room with their target, y/n set their gun down to lean against the well before taking a small step towards the female that had already been in the cell. She was chained up to the back wall. Hands chained above her head and ankles chained to the wall. From what y/n could tell, it looked like 141 had already tried to get the information out of her, unsuccessfully though.

"So you're the El Sin Nombre. You're quite famous. The CIA flew me all the way down here just to talk to you." Y/n spoke directly, trying their best to project their voice. It didn't seem to get the woman's attention - their head still hung low, not even looking up to see who had entered the room. Placing their hands on their hips, y/n sighed, "What? I don't even get 'fuck you'?"

Silence.

It felt like minutes before the woman spoke, "You'll have to kill me before I tell you anything…" She muttered. It sounded like it took all she could muster just for that sentence. However, that voice sounded vaguely familiar to y/n. But, no. It couldn't be, right?

Walking closer to the chained woman, y/n could clearly see the signs of what was an attempt at torture to get her to talk. There were stains of blood on the floor and obvious scars that hadn't healed properly all over her body. She had jet black hair that was short, it stopped just above her shoulders. She still hadn't even lifted her head to look at them. Y/n's shoe had to be in the field of vision of the women.

"Hmm… I don't plan on killing you, but this would be a lot easier for you if you'd just tell me what I want to know. It's obvious the people before me tried to get the information out of you, but it didn't work out very well for them." They paused, taking a deep breath, "See.. I could do more than hurt you physically so… just tell me where Hassan and the missiles are and I'll be on my way. Out of your hair."

Again. Silence.

Slowly, the woman lifted her head to finally glare at y/n before spatting out a 'fuck you'. Taken aback, y/n took a few steps back with a very confused look on their face. It wasn't the cursing that got to y/n. No. It was something - worse? The woman's face. They knew that face. They knew that face over a decade ago. That face of the chained up woman was the face of Valeria Garza. But y/n had thought they died?

Shaking their head, y/n turned around not wanting their reaction to be seen by the prisoner. Their hands covered their face as memories started to flood the forefront of their mind.

Being young and always hanging out with Valeria after school.

Having Valeria come over to y/n's house in Las Almas for dinner when her parents weren't home.

When they got older; hanging out more. Skipping school together. Doing things their parents wouldn't approve of.

Slowly, the two of them grew quite close. They would stay up at night talking to each other about things. Whether it be how shitty their classes were, or how shitty they felt their lives were.

The closest they had gotten to even considering being in a romantic relationship at the time was y/n giving Valeria a kiss on the forehead after she had talked about how her parents treated her. Apparently something she had never told anyone else.

Their happy little relationship took a turn for the worse one night. Some fighting had happened due to some local gangs, and y/n's house caught on fire - their parents inside. It was horrendous, but Valeria insisted that y/n stay with her until they figured something out. Well, as y/n was born in America - that plan didn't last very long. It was only days after the house fire when American men came to haul y/n away, back to the states. It wasn't a pretty sight. Neither y/n nor Valeria wanted this to happen - so they did what any kid who grew up in Las Almas would do, fight it. One of the men had to practically hold Valeria down, while two others dragged y/n away and into a truck. The last thing y/n remembered hearing from Valeria was her calling their name. It turned y/n's life upside down; completely changing the trajectory of their life. Especially since they never had gotten the chance to tell Valeria what she really meant to them. Y/n went from wanting to help people, to joining the military right when they turned eighteen. From there, they did their time, got out, and became a mercenary with a knack for stealth and gathering information - however necessary.

Of course, once y/n had used all their resources to try and find Valeria. To make sure she was okay, alive at least. But nothing ever came up. It was as if Valeria had never existed in the first place. So, y/n assumed something terrible had happened and she had died. But now? Valeria was chained up in the same room with y/n. Not only that, she was their target - the person they were to get information from by any means necessary.

Fuck.

Y/n's shoulders visibly dropped before they spoke again, "They…" They tried their best to keep their emotions in check. "They call you El Sin Nombre, but that's not your real name…" y/n could hear the rustling of the chains coming from behind them. "Your name… Well, you are Valeria Garza. You grew up here in Las Almas."

"Ha… If that's too intimidate me, tell your friends to give you better information." Valeria spoke the best she could. Y/n shook their head and turned halfway to face her.

"No. No. They didn't tell me that. They told me nothing about you." Now it was Valeria's turn to be confused. "I only knew you were El Sin Nombre before I walked in here, but… your face..."

"Normally looks better than it does now." She quipped back.

Y/n let out a soft chuckle and shook their head, "I believe you, but no. That's not it. I know your face, Valeria. I know your face because I know you."

Silence.

Y/n turned to face Valeria head on and took a step towards her - her confusion written all over her face. "I know you because I grew up with you."

As y/n got closer to the woman in chains, it finally hit her. Her eyes slowly went from confused to shocked. "y/n?..." Valeria muttered almost too quiet for them to hear. A small smile appeared upon their face and they nodded before squatting down to be eye level with Valeria.

"Yeah… Yeah, it's me…" y/n muttered, slowly placing their right hand on Valeria's bruised cheek. She let out a quiet whimper and leaned into the touch. "I thought you died." They added.

"I might as well be dead." Valeria whispered, making eye contact with the mercenary. Y/n shook their head and muttered a string of curse words under their breath.

"I- no. I won't - no. Fuck." They dropped their hand and stood - beginning to pace in front of the woman. "Fuck!" It was quiet except for the noise of y/n's boots stepping across the metal floor. What were they supposed to do? Torture someone they cared about, leave, and basically sentence them to their death? It wasn't like anyone knew the two of them were going to know each other. The information was vital, but was it vital enough to be worth Valeria's death?

Finally stopping in their tracks and turning back to face Valeria, it was obvious she hadn't taken her eyes off of y/n the whole time. Sighing and rubbing the back of their neck, y/n finally spoke again - breaking the silence.

"Okay, okay. I - look. Just. Just, give me the information. Okay? Tell me where Hassan is and the missiles. Please. I can't -" They stopped. The idea of even thinking about torturing Valeria almost making them sick to their stomach. Shaking the thought out of their head, "I won't hurt you. Please, just. Tell me." Their hands dropped to their sides in defeat.

"Even if I was to tell you, I'm still as good as dead." Valeria muttered after what felt like an eternity.

"No!.." y/n shot back. "I won't let them."

"I don't think they're going to give a mercenary a say in the decision." Valeria whispered before she lowered her head back down out of exhaustion.

Quick bootsteps led y/n to squat down in front of Valeria again, lifting her chin carefully so they could look at each other. "No… no. I won't let them kill you. I just learned you're alive after over a decade. I won't lose you again…"

Defeated and obviously in shock of the situation, Valeria gave up the information not long after that. Y/n listened the best they could while trying to figure out how they were going to get Valeria out of here alive. Once she was done talking, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I thought you died too. When they - when they dragged you away. I-I never thought I'd see you again…" She whispered and y/n answered with a soft smile.

"I missed you too, Valeria." y/n whispered back before giving her a soft kiss on the forehead.

They stayed looking at each other for a while before y/n knew something had to be done.

"Okay, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to take the information you gave me and give it to the task force. I'm going to get paid in full and be expected to leave, but I'm not leaving you here. I'm going to get you out."

Valeria chuckled softly, "As much as I like the idea, and your enthusiasm. I doubt one person could get me out of here."

Y/n smirked, "That sounds like a challenge. I just need you to trust me. I don't know how long, but I'm getting you out of here. I won't let them kill you. Just trust me, okay?" y/n said before standing up. "Just trust me."

"I never stopped trusting you." Valeria responded with a pained smile. A small huff left y/n's throat before they turned and walked back to pick up their gun. They had no idea how long they had been in there, but it was time to leave. Before they knocked on the door to be let out, they turned back to Valeria one last time - her head already hung low.

Knocking on the door four times, Alejandro opened the door for y/n. Once they were out and the door was shut, Ghost turned to the merc and asked, "Did you get the intel?" y/n nodded and proceeded to give them the information Valeria had given up. Ghost nodded and walked away to inform Laswell, as Soap and Alejandro thanked y/n and began to escort them out of the hangar. Y/n didn't dare turn around to look back at the makeshift cell as they left. A truck had been prepared for y/n, as a way to get them off the base and they were handed the keys by Alejandro.

"Thank you for your help." He spoke quickly before turning and rejoining Ghost and Soap to plan their attack to get Hassan and his missiles. Y/n turned back to the black pickup truck and then back to the hangar. How were they going to get Valeria out of that makeshift cell without making the whole situation worse. Getting in the truck, y/n drove off the base, staring in the rearview mirror the whole drive there.

It wasn’t but a mere couple of miles before y/n had found a spare hotel room fairly close to the base. Inside of the room that was a disgusting, faded yellow color, y/n sat on the bed with their laptop staring at the blueprints of the base. They had paid good money for the blueprints from one of their contacts. It wasn’t going to be easy getting Valeria out of there alive, especially without starting a full blown attack on the base. Even as good as y/n was as a mercenary, they knew they would not be able to take on a whole base on their own. They would have to sneak in and sneak out with Valeria. Perhaps they could use the truck they had given them? Probably the best chance anyone would get.

Okay, but once they got out of the base, where would they go? As far as y/n knew, Valeria’s contacts in the cartel all thought she was dead. Racing to grab their phone, they knew they had one more phone call to make before this could even be attempted.

Y/n stayed and waited in the hotel until the stars out shown the streetlights before they got back in the pickup truck that they were given. Leaving the parking lot behind, the silence in the truck almost deafening. It was a long drive back to the base. Felt like eternity. Were they really going to possibly ruin their career for someone they knew over a decade ago? Even though it was someone they cared maybe a bit too much about?

As the gate to the base finally came into view of the windshield, y/n gave a deep sigh and knew it was now or never. They pulled up to the guard stand and rolled down the window. The guard was rightly confused, but before they could even speak y/n blurted out, "I left one of my guns back in the hangar. It's custom made and modded and I really need it for my next job. I'll be in and out." The guard just stared at him for a moment, most likely trying to make out his English since his Spanish was definitely rusty, before he nodded, "Ser rápido," the guard muttered before he opened the gate for the truck to pull through.

Step one of the plan was completed. y/n was in the base. Now there was really no turning back. Driving the truck back up to the hangar, the silence on the base was astounding. It seemed empty. Y/n assumed all capable soldiers went to help round up the missiles and Hassan. That was just going to make their job easier, so it was a good thing.

Stopping outside the hangar they were holding Valeria in, y/n hopped out and opened the big hangar door to be able to pull the truck in. Of course, the door made a horrendous noise and in the silence it made it ever so louder. Once it was up, they pulled the truck in and closed it behind them - hoping no one would come to see what the noise actually was except for those in the hangar. There was one guard, standing post by the desk that they had all gathered around less than a day ago. Checking their side pocket for their essentials, y/n quickly hopped out of the car and walked up to the guard. Hopefully, this guard knew better English.

"Hey! I apologize, I just left something important here and I came to pick it up. Real quick… uh. Ser rápido!" y/n muttered, and the guard just stared at them for a moment.

"A nadie se le permite estar aquí." Of course it couldn't be English. y/n sighed and nodded.

"Lo prometo, seré rápido?" They nodded, trying to get the guard on board. Even with their mask on y/n could tell the guard rolled their eyes and turned to head back to their desk. Y/n let out a big sigh and quickly reached into their side pocket. They grabbed a syringe and quickly took two steps to stand behind the guard before placing the needle in his neck - administering the sedative.

"Sorry, pal. Nothing personal but you just need to take a nap for a while." y/n joked as they carefully laid the man down over by the desk and stole the keys from his keyring. They walked over to the door to the makeshift cell and fumbled with the keys for a moment - trying to find the right key for the door. Finally, they found the right key and quickly entered the cell, checking behind them to make sure no one had seen them go in. They left the door ajar, since there was no way to stop it from locking once you were inside.

Step two completed. The first two were going to be the hardest to accomplish, that was until it was time to get off of the base. But at that time, y/n wasn’t against just ramming the gate to get out. Turning their head from the door over to where they still had Valeria chained up, y/n’s nerves shot through the roof once again. All they could hope was that she was still alive.

Flipping the switch next to the cell door turned on the mostly dim overhead light, causing the woman to slowly lift her head to see who in the world decided to annoy her this time.

"Y/n?" She questioned and y/n nodded before quickly making their way over to her. It was quite obvious she had not been treated very well, especially after y/n had left for the last time.

"I told you I'd get you out of here." They responded as they quickly looked over her injuries. Cuts all across her chest that had not been treated. What seemed to be knife marks up and down her arms. She had some black and blue bruises over her lower abdomen and legs. This was nothing compared to the cuts and scrapes on her face. But there she was, still alive.

It was silent between the two of them for a moment before Valeria quipped at the other, "Well? Are you going to actually get me out of here or just stare at me?" y/n chuckled and carefully placed their hand across Valeria's right cheek.

"I'm sorry I'm not moving fast enough for you, your highness." Valeria glanced up into y/n's eyes and a small smile crept across her lips. Crouching down so they could reach the chains on her ankles, y/n carefully - well as carefully as someone can be while saving someone they care about - found the right key and unlocked the first lock. Valeria let out a soft whimper of pain, and y/n looked up. "Sorry, this is probably going to hurt worse than leaving you chained up. But we both know I'm not doing that." Valeria stayed silent, and y/n assumed it was to try and not make any more noise. Even though the two had known each other very well, Valeria still never liked to show them that she was not invincible. Even though y/n thought that doing so now seemed unreasonable.

Leaning over, y/n unlocked the other ankle chain and Valeria only let out a huff. They glanced back up towards the woman's face and gave a sad smile, "This is the part that's going to be worse. Because your arms have been held up there so long, once I unlock the chains it's going to hurt like Hell."

"I know. You think I've never tortured anyone before?" That made y/n laugh and they nodded and moved to the chain that was holding up her right arm. "You ready?" They asked and all Valeria could muster was a nod and to stare straight forward. They both knew this was not going to be fun - at all. y/n muttered an 'okay' under their breath and unlocked the chain. The chain clinked against the wall and Valeria let out a loud moan from pain.

"Merida!" She yelped and y/n tried their best to slowly lower Valeria's arm down to her side.

"I told you it was going to hurt like Hell…" y/n whispered and allowed Valeria to lean her body weight against them. "Just one painful part and then we can get out of here." They whispered again.

"Hazlo rápido…" y/n nodded and continued to support her weight but moved to the left side of her body. Placing the key into the lock, y/n muttered a quick one, two, three and unlocked the last lock. Another moan of pain left Valeria's throat as her legs couldn't support her anymore and she fell completely forward into y/n's arms.

"It's okay.. It's done, I got you." y/n whispered and carefully sat on the floor, cradling the woman carefully as to not cause anymore pain. Valeria slowly lifted one arm to grip onto y/n's shirt and closed her eyes. And for a moment, everything was silent and calm. For a moment, y/n forgot they were trying to accomplish a rescue.

Glancing over their shoulder towards the door, y/n knew the quicker they got out of here the better. Looking back down at Valeria, their heart stopped though. This woman was the reason they went into the military. To get the power to find her again. There was so much y/n never got to say before the two of them literally got dragged apart. So many emotions that probably shouldn't exist anymore, but at this moment, y/n was sure they did. Those emotions never disappeared, they just laid dormant for all those years, but now, holding Valeria in their arms again has awoken those emotions right up.

"Okay. We have to go before someone comes looking." y/n spoke as they maneuvered their arms to be able to bridal carry Valeria. She still had quite a good hold on y/n's shirt, but it seemed like she gave a small nod - which was good, even though y/n wasn't really asking at this point in time.

Carefully picking Valeria up in their arms, y/n quickly headed towards the door and quite gracefully kicked it open. Luckily, it didn't look like the sleeping guard had woken up nor had anyone else came into the hangar to check up. Walking a bit faster, y/n and Valeria - in their arms - approached the truck. "Not even a fancy ride out of here? Terrible.." Valeria muttered, it seemed like now that she was out of the chains, she was weaker than before. Not that this wasn't to be suspected, y/n had no idea how long she had been held up like that. Her body was too used to being in that position.

Y/n opened the door with their hand that was supporting Valeria's back and carefully placed her in the passenger seat. They pointed at her as if to indicate 'stay' before jogging to the other side of the car and hopping in.

Step three done. Now to get off the base and to the safe house y/n had lined up. Glancing to their right, y/n noticed Valeria still struggling, especially to remain upright. "Just be okay for a bit longer and it'll all be okay." They spoke and Valeria turned her head to look at them. Nothing but silence filled the air. "Just don't die on me, okay? I don't want to lose you again." y/n finished as they turned on the car and backed out of the hangar.

As the gate to the base came into view, y/n spotted the guard that let them in but told them to be quick. The guard held up his hand trying to get them to stop the car, but y/n wasn't in the mood and knew it wouldn't end well. They were trying to keep casualties to a minimum after all. Keeping their foot steady on the pedal, y/n rammed the gate leaving the guard in the dust, who seemed more annoyed now.

"Had to make the dramatic exit?" Valeria muttered next to y/n, who chuckled softly. "Always. You know that." That was the only conversation on the drive to the safe house. Y/n had too many emotions flying through their mind, and they assumed Valeria was trying not to die. Or well, they were hoping that's why she was so quiet.

Just as the truck turned into the town that the safe house was located in, y/n nudged Valeria as if to say 'we're almost there' but there was no reaction. Turning to look at her, they nudged her again - still nothing. Fuck!

"You couldn't have at least waited until I wasn't driving!"

Speeding up, y/n got to the safe house as quickly as the truck could get then. And without crashing into the six cars they passed on the way through town. Pulling into the open garage, y/n quickly hopped out and manually closed the garage door before rushing to the passenger side of the truck. They threw the door open and quickly checked on Valeria. She was still alive, it just seemed as if she had passed out. Being careful of her cuts, y/n picked her back up and carried her inside of the house. It looked like any normal house, but was stocked with supplies so that they could stay as long as they needed. Which is why y/n paid good money for it.

Once in the one bedroom of the house, y/n carefully laid Valeria down on the bed and stood there for a moment. They might be a mercenary, but they certainly aren't a doctor. Quickly, they left the room and looked for a container housing medical supplies. There wasn't much y/n knew they could do to help Valeria wake up, but they could take care of her cuts while she was out. Really, all they could do was hope she would wake up. Returning to the bedroom, y/n opened the container on the nightstand and grabbed all the gauze and alcohol wipes that were in there. Hopefully this was going to be enough, or hopefully there was more than this one container.

Slowly, y/n took their time and properly cleaned and bandaged all of Valeria's wounds. He used the skin glue that he dug and found in the container instead of stitches, which seemed to work fine. Sadly, none of this had woken her up, making y/n very nervous. She still had a pulse. She was still breathing. So all y/n could do now was wait.

And wait they did.

They sat on the couch, watched TV, ate the crappy food that was always found in safe houses. Nothing from the woman in the bedroom though.

It was seven hours of waiting before y/n heard anything come from the bedroom. They darted to the bedroom and thankfully saw Valeria with her eyes open. Letting out a deep sigh, y/n walked over to the bed.

"What did I say about being okay?" y/n joked and Valeria looked up at them, a small smile on her face. "Why would I want to make it easy for you?" She smirked, which was a good sign. Meant she was feeling better. Y/n helped her to prop herself up on the bed a bit before they sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I see you took the liberty of taking care of all my wounds." Valeria muttered as she seemingly glanced y/n up and down.

"Yeah, I didn't want you bleeding all over the sheets. It'd be a pain to get out." They joked, and both of them laughed.

Then it turned to silence.

The both of them just sat there, staring at each other. y/n wasn't sure they wanted to know what was going on in her head. Valeria slowly dragged her arm to rest her hand upon y/n's thigh.

"y/n…"

A soft 'hmm' came from y/n as they tilted their head.

"Why did you save me? Ruin your career for someone you haven't seen in years?" Her voice was soft.

And there it was. Y/n knew this was going to happen at some point. Valeria was going to basically scold them for saving her. Scoffing, y/n stood up and went to stand at the foot of the bed squarely looking over at Valeria.

"Why? Really? You have to ask me that?" y/n retorted. It had been a couple of days since they slept and the nerve of possibly having Valeria die was getting to them. "I don't know? Maybe because I care about you! Maybe, just maybe because even though I haven't seen you in years that I didn't stop caring about you! Or possibly that I've wanted nothing more than to see you again after all this time! That I missed you?! That ever since that day we got separated you've been on my mind everyday? Fuck Valeria… Look, I get you probably still don't care about me like you did. I understand. But fuck! I still love you like I did the day I lost you!"

Y/n's anger was quite apparent at this point, but that didn't stop the tears from welling up in their eyes. Valeria said nothing but just stared back at y/n with a tinge of anger in her eyes. It felt like minutes before y/n spoke again.

"Once you're feeling better, I'll help you get back to the Las Almas Cartel. Until then I'll stay away. I can't…" They paused, "I'll sleep on the couch."

Before they could even turn to head towards the door, Valeria yelled back at them. "You don't get to just walk away because you think you have everything figured out? Huh?! You think I asked you that because I don't care? Puta madre, y/n!"

Y/n stopped and turned to face Valeria, "Then why?" Their voice defeated.

"Because I don't want you to ruin your life for me, y/n. You aren't the only one who cared."

The silence between the two could have been cut with a knife. Y/n felt bad and apologized for getting all worked up and Valeria responded with a quick, "That's better.."

Y/n was now standing in the doorway and was about to turn to go back out to the couch but Valeria spoke before they could. "You said you loved me." Her tone was quiet, but y/n definitely heard it. It stopped them dead in their tracks and their cheeks now reddened in embarrassment.

"Yeah… We can just ignore that and like, I don't know, go back to being friends?" y/n muttered, rubbing the back of their neck. The only answer they got was an abrupt 'no', which was quite confusing to the merc. "What do you mean 'no'? You just said-"

"You always were so dense. It's because I've probably loved you longer than you've loved me." Valeria interrupted.

Y/n stood there in shock for a moment before smiling and nodding. "Wow. Well. Okay, so what? Don't want to be friends? Enemies to lovers?" They joked as they walked back over to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Mmm. I was thinking more like the Las Almas cartel would be smart to hire such an amazing mercenary. Make you my right-hand-man. Be more than friends…" Valeria whispered seductively, slowly moving her hand back onto y/n's thigh. Y/n looked down and nodded, before placing their left hand over hers.

"Well, I don't have another job lined up after this. And I meant what I said about not wanting to lose you again. As long as it means I get to kiss you and punch people, I'm in." Valeria laughed and nodded.

"You don't get to punch everyone. You have to save some for me." She smiled and y/n leaned in and carefully placed their lips upon hers. Something that y/n never thought would happen, but couldn't imagine not kissing her.

The silence after the kiss was only filled with the noises of the sheets rustling so y/n could lay next to their new boss.

#valeria garza #valeria x reader #MW2 #MWII #Modern Warfare 2 #el sin nombre #valeria garza x reader #fanfic #Silence

259 notes · View notes

youtellmeman · 3 months

Text

Montegues and Quaritchs alike

Part 1

Lo'ak x human! Reader

Prologue - part 2

Warnings- gun? some foul language

Tawtute- human

Yuh prologue and first chapter in one day cause i wanted to give yall something else. As usual everything under the break.

Lo’ak knew somehow this would fall on him, maybe that’s why he didn’t immediately call for his father over the com in his ear. He’d already been scolded today for being on the battlefield when he knew very well his father had already told him he was forbidden to go anywhere where there might be a chance of sky people. Let alone on the forefront of the battlefield.

All he’d wanted to do was help. That’s all Lo’ak ever wanted to do when it came to his father, prove that he could be of some assistance, that he could be useful. And maybe if Eywa hadn’t meddled in this whole situation he’d have been able to take out this random sky person, been able to prove that he was a strong ally to have on the field.

No, instead here he was trying to question it, or her he should say.

“Who the hell are you?” He pushed all the authority he could into his tone.

“Nobody, I’m nobody.” You say as you slowly lower the things in your hands to the ground in what would’ve been a show of submission. Had you not dropped the basket in favor of moving to grab the pistol from your holster, immediately taking aim. “So why don’t we call it and move our separate ways huh?”

He should’ve shot you when he had the chance, now instead he was stuck in standoff with a sky person. And even he knew that gun against bow, he wasn’t coming out on top. So instead he did what his father would’ve told him, for the first time ever maybe, and fell back. Taking slow steps backwards letting himself disappear into the brush, or at least that's what he lets you believe. Because as he backs off so do you, waiting until you can't hear his footsteps anymore before booking it back in the direction you came. Not bothering to pick up what you'd dropped instead keeping your gun held high as you ran through the forest ragged breaths leaving your chest, trying to stay as aware of your surroundings as possible with them changing so rapidly.

You’d ran straight for a long moment before finally pausing for a breath, trying to analyze what had just happened. Your father had raised you to believe that these savages would kill you on the spot. The tall blue people had filled your nightmares as a child and now your very first run in with one , not only had he not killed you, but spoke to you in your own language.

The interaction would plague your thoughts for the rest of the trek home, once you had returned, and through the next couple of days. Well in between being scared shitless about what would happen if your father found out you'd snuck off the compound. Thankfully though it seemed he’d remained unaware and so the next time you were given a day to recuperate, you did it again.

And this time you did it with the hope of meeting that same na’vi man again, plus you wanted to get your basket back. So here you were once more moving through the almost luminescent forest that covered the majority of pandora, this gun out to lead with. In no time you’re able to find the spot you’d first met him, and luckily your spot still lay where you’d left it and though your samples had wilted that was the least of your concern right now. Not when you were scanning the trees for any sign of blue skin or those piercing lime green eyes. You didn’t find it, not then, not in the next five, ten minutes, half hour, hour. And so you call it. Resigning yourself and instead moving to focus on the flora like you’d intended the first time you’d ventured out into the wilderness.

Unbeknownst to you someone else had been hoping to see you today. In fact Lo’ak had been hoping on running into for the last few days,coming to the same spot, though instead of approaching on foot he'd been in the trees, waiting and watching. Just as he was now.

Everything he’d learned about sky people was encapsulated by the fact that they were takers. The sky people only knew how to take and take and hurt. You however proved to be slightly different.

You still took, you took pieces of plants,flowers, roots, and seeds. Placing them in a basket. The difference was you didn’t seem to want to cause pain. Despite raising a gun to him you didn’t fire, and even in your taking of their forest plants you never took too much. Never uprooting the whole plant, killing mercilessly, instead taking small bits and pieces of what you wanted, leaving the rest unharmed.

So he sat watching, simply learning, trying to understand why Eywa had stopped him from extinguishing you. At least he had intended to simply watch and learn. But you were starting to lean towards an extremely dangerous plant for a small of its flowers.

“Don’t do that.” His voice cut through the ambiance of the forest. Perching himself on a branch in your eyeline. His voice has you whipping your gun from its holster in seconds pointing it in his direction. This time you find while he’s still armed his bow is thrown over his shoulder. No arrow pointed in your direction and hands empty. “Its fumes are poisonous and so is the sap covering its stem and leaves.”

“Oh.” Is all you can let slip from your lips. Confusion laces the one word you muttered and Lo’ak finds himself chuckling at your obliviousness.

“Oh is right. So unless you want to be dead in minutes I’d leave that alone if I were you.” There’s something analytic behind the playful grin he wears that you can see ever so clearly. Though you step away from the plant you still making no move to lower your gun. “Humans are so foolish. You should not touch things you know nothing about, Tawtute.”

“If I'm so foolish, why not let me figure it out on my own?” You ask and after a moment your head tilts in question, “Taughtoo?”

“Tawtute.” He repeats this time slower and you let your mouth try to form each syllable of the word silently. “It means human.” He clarifies.

“Why call me that; tawtute?” You ask, arms lowering as you continue to speak.

“That is what you are. No? Plus you haven’t exactly given me a name to work with.” He says before jumping down from the branch he was previously perched on. Now standing a few feet in front of you. “Unless you expect me to call you Nobody?” He asks playfully with a small squint of his eyes and a shake of his head to move the small braids that had fallen into his line of sight. You can't help the small grin that grows in response to his playfulness, finally holstering your gun once more before giving him your name, your first name only.

With whatever comradery you have growing between you two you don't need it sullied by what your father had done before your birth.

Lo’aks body relaxes slightly once you’ve put away your firearm, in fact once it's away completely he begins to circle you, not predatorily. Just curious, like you’re some kind of animal he’d never seen.

“You know usually when someone tells you there name, you introduce yourself back?” You comment, standing still letting him finish whatever investigation he had going on as he circled you.

“Usually people do that when the first meet instead of point a gun at you.” Lo’ak can’t help the way you intrigue him, the way you entrance him like a lighting bug a child.

“To be fair you aimed first.” You say finding his gaze once more, having to crane your neck to do so, with a small shrug. He looks you up and down from one more time from in front of you before locking eyes with you unblinkling before chuckling dryly with a small nod of his head.

“Lo’ak te Sully of the Omiticayan clan, second son to the Olo’eyktan.” Lo’ak chooses to introduce himself formally, giving a half bow while he watches you through his lashes and the few braids that fall forward. He doesn’t miss the flash of recognition on your face.

“...Sully?” You question and you can’t help the way you tense once more, every part of you that was once at ease now on high alert. “Like, like Jake Sully?”

“You know of my father?” Oh well this wasn’t good, you figured. Of course the first na’vi you meet happens to be the son of you fathers archnemisis. The whole reason youre on the damn planet is because of Lo’ak’s father.

“Him and my dad used to know eachother.” You mutter lowly, now refusing to meet his eyes.

“I take it by your expression they didn’t get along very well.” Lo’ak is quick to draw conclusions, but he isn’t exactly surprised. Save for the human allowed to stay on pandora not many sky people liked his father wether they used to know him or not. He just didnt know how much your fathers didn’t like eachother yet.

You’d heard the story of how Jake Sully betrayed your father tons of times, the way his wife had shot him nearly ending your his life, and the way your father tried his damndest to kill Jake and failed. It was one of the things you’d used a many times to piss him off.

“Understatement of the century dude.” You say to yourself before meeting his eyes. You weren’t sure how he’d react if he knew who you were, who your father was. So you said nothing. Rather safe then sorry. “Yeah well you know he kinda betrayed us, you can see the issue I’m sure.” You try to keep the answer casual and bare minimum, unaware that Lo’ak heard what you’d muttered below your breath. He chooses not to comment on that though, instead,

“My father didn’t betray anyone, he chose to learn and grow. Something the rest of your people should try out.” Quick to defend his father it seemed. Despite the way they might clash Lo’ak could never let anyone speak ill of his father .

“He chose your people over his own kind, that’s called betreyal.” You bite back, you knew what you’d learned and you had no reason to believe any different now, wether you were getting along with one of the blue bastards or not.

“He chose peace over war while your people chose war over peace. He fought for those who wanted peace, that is called maturity. Something else I see you all lack.” Lo’ak steps forward with that comment glaring down at you; he can’t help the way you glaring back so unafraid fills his veins with something electric.

It’s you who breaks the glaring match, rolling your eyes and sucking your teeth. Grip on your basket tightening in irritation when you step back from him. You think this has been enough time in the outdoors for today.

“See you around Lo’ak.” You respond curtly, ending this…whatever this had been. Turning to walk away, back to the compound, chest heavy with what you’d learned.

It was only once you were in bed later that night, undiscovered once more that you’d realize he’d never answered your question. Why not let you learn the hard way when it came to dangerous things?

—————

Reblogs appreciated <3

Chapter brought to you by my y2k playlist and brisk ice tea

Taglist (reply to be added!)

@wakanda-forever-andotherfandoms @bambithewriter

13 notes · View notes

astranite · 9 months

Text

Blue Skies

@edutainer2022 @janetm74 That whump prompt? Well, I wrote more. (Not what I had planned on doing, and it is definitely past my bed time that I finished this, but hey, what happens, happens.)

This was initially in its first part here, as a fill of a whump prompt by @fern-writes-whump. But this is now a part two and I’m putting it all here together for completeness sake.

I’ll stick this up on AO3, but not right now. (Link goes here)

Scott and Gordon. Whump. Hurt/comfort. Bereznik. Mostly about trauma (There’s a happy ending.)

Warnings: Injuries. Violence. Panic attacks. PTSD. Somewhat graphic but I wouldn’t say particularly bad? (Just tell me if I can warn things better.)

-----

Scott’s hands shook, one wrapped white knuckled around his holstered gun, the other balled into a fist by his side.

Bare desert surrounded him, scoured by relentless winds.

Cold sweat ran down the back of his neck, despite the heat. He shivered. The endless heat rippled above the ground, refracted light warping his sight.

He put one boot in front of the other, step after step. It didn’t matter how much his legs wanted to fold beneath him. Weak knees begging to give in and fall kneeling on the sand.

He kept going.

Scott missed his IR blues. This uniform fit the same, except it was dusty camouflage. His belt held ammunition clips, not rescue equipment. Or maybe it was. This had to be a rescue, Scott couldn’t face anything else.

A gust of wind stroked over his cheeks and Scott flinched. His saliva was tacky in his mouth as he swallowed. He could taste the sand.

When his radio hissed with static, Scott’s breath hitched. It resolved into Kayo’s voice, running through last positions. Approach by stealth. Scott snapped out a crisp military, “Acknowledged.” He hoped his sister would miss how hard it was to get out a single word without his voice breaking.

He marched on.

It loomed in the distance. The compound walls were stone, a single story high. It was made of the same rock as everything else here.

Scott hadn’t remembered that.

The paramilitary base was stout, sprawling, and as unassuming as any other settlement around here.

In Scott’s head it had loomed dark against the sands, rock the same colour as congealed bl--- as rust.

He still swore it was large enough to block out the sun.

All familiar, too familiar. He smelt blood and bitter fear. Scott stumbled to a halt. Something ran down his face, leaving a warm trail. He swiped his hand across his cheek.

His fingers came away damp and salty, but not red, they weren’t red. It was only sweat. The day was hot, he was sweaty, that was all.

The blood and fear were tricks of his mind.

(It didn’t matter for months that was all he could smell.)

Gritty rock, solid beneath his feet was real. The rest wasn’t, not now, not anymore.

The others had argued against Scott coming. Virgil had lain a hand on his shoulder and looked at him with soft, soft eyes. His brother would forgive him if Scott sat this one out. But Scott could never forgive himself. He knew the terrain best. He’d been there. Every crack of that place was carved into his bones. He was the tactical advantage.

Scott tore his eyes away for as long as he could. He stared up at the searing blue sky, desperately hoping for the light and the colour to sink into his skin. The sky’s promise of freedom if only he could reach it.

He took a step, then another. He just kept taking them.

(Kept taking the hits, even when there was no way he could stand it any longer.)

Every instinct told him to get the hell out of here. Turn back, flee, like the spooked animal he was. Scott ducked his head and ignored them like he had all the other warning signs in his life.

Bereznik. The place he’d swore to never set foot in again.

(On dark days, he still saw it in his dreams. Those were the ones his feet pounded the island tracks, before the sun even rose. When he ran until his muscles trembled with exhaustion and nothing else.)

(He dreamt of the island while he was there. Of blue skies, blue skies, his blue skies. He woke crying and desperately wiped the tears away because he couldn’t given them any more reasons.)

(Afterwards, he’d been wrenched awake more times than he could count to his brothers bursting into his room. They’d say they heard him screaming in his sleep.)

Bereznik. The place he’d spent years of his life trying to out run, out climb, out fly.

Because he couldn’t go back.

He had to. For his little brother.

He kept walking because Gordon was in there. His sunshine little brother who loved life itself with all the joy of the sea meeting the shore.

He couldn’t let them turn him into Scott.

He couldn’t.

He kept walking.

-----

Gordon took Scott’s spare side arm as he handed it to him, checked it over expertly, and followed Scott out of hell.

(The way Gordon never hesitated when he had to shoot would haunt Scott forever.)

They escaped that place. Running over shifting sands towards a stealth-hidden One. The kilometres left to go beneath their feet. Gordon’s stony, set face. Scott’s own heartbeat throbbing in his ears.

He kept going.

Gave into every instinct to flee he’d pushed down before, now he had his brother back.

His and Gordon’s breaths came in pants, out of time with each other and their dull footsteps on the sands.

The sun beat down on them, shadows stark, rippling, wavering, urging them on.

Scott stumbled on a rock, lurching, the desert coming up fast towards him, until Gordon caught his arm. Gordon who he was meant to be rescuing.

No time to fall, no time to stop. He didn't think he could even if he wanted to. He’d be crawling through the sands, dragging his body over the rocks, bleeding out before he stopped.

Dizzying adrenaline surged through his veins. Scott couldn’t tell the difference between fear and freedom any longer. They were the same, his heart pumping for further, faster, higher.

The sky closed in on them, holding them close, pulling them away from the sand.

They were alone in the desert. Pursued by enemies. Alone.

(The same alone of falling from the sky in a perfectly controlled dive, his hands the only ones on his ‘bird.)

(Or the same alone as trapped in a cell, where the thick walls blocked every sound.)

(They were both running from that place now.)

Clouds of dust were kicked up by their boots, eddying and swirling. The wind tossed what it wanted across the desert without a care in the world, picking up the sand and scarce plant life alike. Erasing foot prints like they were never there.

(Like it was all a bad dream. Too many times when he was there, Scott’s mind had taken him home. To his brothers around him, and the old farmhouse. To mum’s musical laugh accompanying the piano. Dad’s hands on Scott’s as he showed him how to fly, before he could even reach the foot pedals. He’d curl up in the big bed with his family around him, because it was just a nightmare.)

(Waking up was worse than anything his capturers could do to him.)

He and Gordon kept running. They hung onto each other, gripping far too tight, running together.

Running, running, running.

They climbed into One, pulling each other up. Scott’s hands fell to the controls, as blindly and as easily as breathing.

Gordon buckled himself into the passenger’s seat. The sound of his brother shouting, “Go, go, go, go go!” washed over Scott’s ears.

Something inside him was still screaming.

The Thunderbird’s engines thrummed at fever pitch, burning up in seconds.

Grounded landing shifted to VTOL, shifted to flight.

And Scott out flew them all.

His one grace, the one thing he couldn’t ever fail at. The only reason he was still alive, in too many ways.

Blue, his blue, swallowed them up.

Enemy planes were blips on his radar, dark specks beyond his windscreen. Then they were flashes of red and debris tumbling towards the ground. In his element, they never stood a chance.

That place, Bereznik was a tiny rectangle blot against a sea of beige from the air, not even able to touch the sky.

(Not able to touch him up here. Not able to take his brothers.)

It merged with the desert sands, blurring into the dust left behind them.

All was searing sunlight. The bright burned everything else away.

(Gordon had show him the sun, afterwards. Dragged Scott out of his room and out of his head, down to the beach. They lay on the sand, fine yellow sand, as the sun shone on them, soaking into their bones. Scott was drowning in blue, blue, blue in the way he loved, the way he’d lost and forgotten.)

The world opened up for him and all he had to do was fly.

As soon as he reached friendly skies, Scott switched to the autopilot. He got up from his seat and walked the length of Thunderbird One, to where Gordon was crouched by a locker, digging for a first aid kit.

Then, for Scott, the sky came crashing closed.

His legs gave way and his knees hit the metal flooring with a crack. He never felt it. Scott’s eyes were on Gordon, staring at the bruises on his face, the blood crusted on his upper lip.

They’d taken his brother. And they’d hurt him.

Scott made to say anything, anything at all, but he only managed a tiny croak.

He was frozen, kneeling on the floor, chest heaving.

(He fell to the floor, too weak to get up.)

He wasn't a fighter, everyone got that wrong about him. Commander of the IR was an act. He wasn't strong like his father, no matter how much he wanted to be. Scott was just pathetic and terrified.

(How quickly he’d learnt to keep his head down and his mouth shut, meekly following orders.)

Virgil knew, because of course he knew, Scott could never keep anything from him. John figured it out, so Scott didn't have to tell him.

(Screaming until his throat was raw. He’d promised himself he wouldn't make a sound and give them the satisfaction, but it just hurt too much.)

The little ones could never know. Not Alan and Gordon. He couldn't let that place touch them.

(Sobbing on the ground, just lying there because he was so, so tired.)

But Gordon was in front of him, black eye on the way to swelling closed.

(His arm cradled to his middle, and he was pretty sure it was broken with how it throbbed, but there wasn't anything he could do about it except hope the pain went way.)

Gordon’s lips were moving, he was saying something, Scott couldn't make out what he was saying.

(Blurry figures dragged him to his feet and he couldn’t stop them.)

Gently, gently, Gordon wrapped his arms around Scott.

Solid and warm and real and right here.

Scott choked out a gasping sob. Then another. Until he was just crying his eyes out between desperate gulps for air.

The edges of his sight went black and Scott swayed, clutching at Gordon’s torn uniform. There was no yellow baldric, somehow it was missing. Gordon held him tighter, still ever so gentle, until Scott was leaning on him for support.

Scott shut his eyes, and hid his face at Gordon’s shoulder.

He’d see who Scott really was and then it would be far too late for anything at all.

All Scott could do was pretend it wouldn't happen.

(Blankly watching trails of red make their way over his skin. He knew it was blood. It was his blood and he just didn't care anymore.)

(He could never escape the smell of blood and bitter fear that clung to him.)

He couldn’t pull away, not from Gordon, not from his little brother.

(Helpless, helpless, helpless, helpless, helpless.)

(Wrapping his arms around himself, desperately wishing they were his brothers. Knowing they weren’t and glad of it. This place could have him, he didn’t care anymore as long as the others were alright.)

But slowly, ever so slowly, the world filtered back in. Gordon was still there. He held Scott, rubbing a hand up and down his back. His breaths were deep and steady, clashing with Scott’s ragged ones. He’d been hyperventilating? Worn IR blue filled Scott’s vision when he tentatively opened his eyes, his eyelids gummed up with tears. Scott’s head swum, woozy from panic and lack of oxygen.

“We’re okay. I’m okay. I’ve got you Scotty, you’re okay.” Gordon’s babbling words came through, familiar, familiar in the way that meant he was safe.

Scott managed a small noise, a whimper when he thought Gordon was pulling away.

Gordon’s arms tightened, and Scott could breathe again.

“Shhh, shhh. I just wanna check on you. I’m not going to go anywhere.”

Reluctantly Scott let Gordon move until they could look each other in the face, still nearly nose to nose. He managed to avoid Gordon’s eyes.

Gordon’s glanced away, tugging at Scott’s hand a couple of times. Scott allowed him to, he trusted Gordon.

A small blue hologram appeared from his wrist comm, as Gordon activated it.

“Why the hell did you cut comms?!” John’s voice sliced the air, sharp and worried.

“He’s okay, Johnny,” Gordon answered, “We’re both a bit worse for wear, but everything is fine.”

John didn’t rise to the nickname. Instead he let out a relieved noise, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. The same sound he always made when he was scared for his brothers and finally got news they were alright.

Something passed between John and Gordon. Scott let it fly over his head, too tired to parse out the meaning.

“I can handle this. Just be there when we get home,” Gordon said, then signed off the call.

When Gordon let go of his hand, Scott let it fall limply into his lap.

He stared at their knees, his own in beige camouflage, Gordon’s in his wetsuit, both coated in desert dust.

“I’m sorry,” Scott blurted out. He took a shaky breath.

Gordon’s voice was steady, but tears glinted in the corners of his eyes. “You came for me. That’s all that matters.”

“You were there.” His voice cracked in the middle.

“I’m okay though. It’s just a few bruises, and you got me out.”

Scott reached for the first aid kit sitting on the floor beside them. There wasn’t anything he could do about the rest right now, but this was something he could do.

Gordon let him wipe away the blood from his face, along with the worst of the dirt. He turned his head with Scott’s gentle fingers on his chin. Neither of them commented on how Scott’s hands trembled ever so slightly.

(Cleaning up Gordon’s scrapes was the same, no matter how many years it had been since Scott had lifted Gordon up onto the kitchen bench because he was too short to hop up by himself, and applied fish bandaids to grazed knees.)

At home they could put an ice pack on the bruises. The dark circles beneath Gordon’s eyes could only be solved by sleep, safe with everyone on the island. It would probably help the worried crinkle between his brows too.

Gordon sagged in exaustion, now leaning on Scott. They rested on each other, half against the storage lockers.

Scott helped Gordon out of the top half of his wetsuit, wanting to check up on the cut beneath the tear in his uniform. Gordon wriggled his shoulders and body free, but kept his arms inside the sleeves. He winced when Scott dabbed antiseptic at the thin cut that stretched from collar bone to part way down his chest.

He gave Scott a big, shiny grin that didn’t reach his eyes. Blood started to ooze from the tiny split in his lower lip, caused by Gordon’s chapped lips and trying to smile for Scott.

Gently, Scott wiped it away.

He clenched slightly bloodied gauze in his fist, putting himself together enough to ask, “What happened, Gordon?”

Because no one came out of there okay. Gordon was avoiding the hurt, at the same time as he was trying to protect Scott from it. And what Scott needed most right now was to be able to be a big brother and help Gordon.

“Scotty, I’m okay. They mostly didn't hurt me. It was three days, they had you for months.” Gordon attempted to reassure him or maybe himself, by just telling himself he was fine.

Months. Scott could rattle off the exact timings from his after action report.

He didn’t remember much.

Mostly the snippets that he could put together were from the early days.

(Name, rank, serial number. Name, rank, serial number. Name, rank, serial number.)

(Setting his own dislocated shoulder by crashing into the walls, grunting and gasping. Because he knew he couldn't leave it like that, but it hurt worse than what they’d done and there were tears streaming down his face. Over and over, vision whiting out, until it grated back into position.)

(Gnawing hunger in his stomach, head pounding from dehydration. He wasn't sure when they last gave him a meal. Or when, or whether they would again.)

Later, everything blurred together.

(Darkness closing in.)

(He’d do anything just to see a glimpse of sky.)

(For his family to hold him close one last time.)

(Just to make the pain stop.)

What had they done to Gordon?

Three days was enough.

(They’d learnt how to tear Scott apart in minutes.)

Scott reached out to touch Gordon’s arm but he flinched away.

“I’m here Gordon. No matter how bad it is,” He said, to the second youngest of his little brothers. And he would be here, no matter how long it took for both of them.

Hesitantly, Gordon peeled away the rest of his wetsuit, hissing in pain, revealing his wrists. In amongst Gordon’s old hydrofoil scars, now only raised pink lines, his wrists were covered in red marks, his skin raw and torn. Some cut deep enough to be oozing blood.

Injuries Scott knew only came from desperately thrashing against restraints.

“Gordy.”

Gordon whispered, “They said they had you. That they’d hurt you again, like before.” His little brother sounded far too young.

Scott gathered him up in his arms. Hot tears ran down his face, he was crying again. They both were. Gordon was shakily sobbing against his chest.

They clung to each other.

Bereznik had taken something from both of them. Something had broken, cracked right down the centre. Scott still didn’t know whether it could ever be completely fixed.

But they had each other. They had their brothers, their family.

Neither of them were okay right now, but one day they would be at least a bit better. In the same way the clouds parted after the monsoon rains on the island, their blue skies would come again. They’d still have scars but the sunlight would reach Gordon’s ocean and Scott would fly.

Scott held onto Gordon, and Gordon held onto Scott for the rest of the way home.

Until Thunderbird One was in her hanger and they were both standing on the steady floor. Until the rest of their brothers, Virgil, Alan, John, all came up to hold onto them too.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #gordon tracy #AstraWrite

33 notes · View notes

tinycoded360 · 1 month

Text

In the darkness, I could use a little company Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Glowing wolves

The night was a canvas of black, pricked by the distant stars, when Mackenzie's gaze drifted upwards. A ripple of green and violet unfurled across the sky—the aurora, he knew, but not like any he'd ever seen. It pulsed with an unnatural rhythm, casting long, eerie green light across the landscape.

"What in God's name is going on here?" Mackenzie whispered to himself.

Shaking off the trance, he adjusted the weight of his pack and trudged forward, leaving a trail of deep footprints in the fresh snow. The silence of the night was his only companion until a low growl shattered the stillness.

He spun around, and his eyes met theirs—glowing like the aurora above, a pack of wolves emerged from the treeline. Their fur seemed to absorb the eerie glow from the sky above, giving them an appearance that was both stunning and terrifying. Mackenzie's hand found the blue marine grade flare, it worked great in the past in keeping wolves at bay. But these wolves were different. They kept pushing in, ignoring the flare. It seems the lights from the sky were making the wildlife more aggressive. Mackenzie draws out his flare gun and shoots at the pack. It distracts them for a bit of time, giving him a chance to turn tail and run. He climbs up a boulder, now he’s high enough, so the angry wolves cannot reach him. All he can do is wait till morning.

****

The cabin door creaked open, and Mackenzie stumbled inside, clutching the medicine and radio parts to his chest. Relief washed over him as he leaned against the rough wooden wall - he had made it back in one piece.

"You're alive!" came a tiny voice from the table. Sage's head popped up behind a bowl, her eyes wide. She scurried over to the edge of the nightstand, holding her tiny arms up to Mackenzie, her bare feet pattering against the wood.

Mackenzie lowered himself to the floor with a grunt. He held out a calloused hand, allowing the miniature girl to climb on. Her tiny body trembled against his palm.

"I was so worried. I thought the bear got you or the wolves..." Sage buried her face in Mackenzie's thumb. He curled his fingers around her protectively.

A smile tugged at Mackenzie's cracked lips. He felt a swell of affection for the pint-sized survivor.

Mackenzie cleared his throat gruffly. "It'll take more than a few wolves to finish me off. I'm too stubborn to die."

Sage giggled; the sound muffled against his skin. Mackenzie's heart constricted. He had to get the medicine to Jeremiah, but right now all he wanted was to cradle this tiny, trusting child in his hands and never let go.

Mackenzie managed to peel off his parka, he had to transfer the tiny girl from one hand to the other, Sage refusing to part with him. Once his parka was off it revealed a sweater stained with sweat and grime. His body was a tapestry of cuts and bruises, a testament to the relentless pursuit of the bear that had shadowed him through the woods.

Resting Sage atop his broad shoulder, Mackenzie moved with purpose to where Jeremiah lay. The old trapper's breaths were shallow and ragged.

Sage clung to Mackenzie's thick sweater, peering down at Jeremiah with wide, worried eyes.

Mackenzie carefully set Sage down on the table. "Let me check on Jeremiah. Then we can talk more."

"Jeremiah," Mackenzie called softly.

He unwrapped the bundle of medicinal supplies he had risked life and limb to retrieve.

With steady hands, he began cleaning the wounds. Jeremiah stirred but remained lost in a delirious haze, muttering incomprehensible words.

After disinfecting the deep gashes, Mackenzie carefully applied the antibiotic ointment. He then wrapped the wounds snugly, ensuring they were secure but not too tight.

"Get some rest, Jeremiah," Mackenzie murmured, standing back to assess his handiwork. "You're going to make it." With the wounds dressed and the medicine administered, all they could do now was wait and hope the fever would break.

Turning to Sage, he saw the fatigue in her posture and the relief on her face. "You did good, watching over him," he said, giving her a small, reassuring nod.

****

Mackenzie settled into the worn wooden rocking chair beside the flickering hearth, his mind finally allowing him a moment's reprieve from the relentless survival demands. He allowed himself to unfurl his map once more. He had been careful to draw in landmarks and record his journey.

He glanced at the radio parts scattered on the table, it was too dark now to work on it. The strange aroura was not present this night. He had found that it gave life to any electronics, but without it, he had no luck making any electronic work.

Sage sat in the crook of his arm, snuggled safely against his inner elbow. "Can I see?" Her voice was a delicate whisper, barely audible above the crackling flames.

"Sure," Mackenzie responded, careful to modulate his tone to match her gentleness. With great care, he lifted the corner of the map, bringing it closer to her.

Her eyes widened with curiosity. Mackenzie felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, watching her.

"Did you draw this?” the tiny borrower child asked.

"Yep," he said, nodding. "It’s good to keep track of where we’ve been.”

Mackenzie gently folded the map, tucking it away for the night.

"Get some rest," he told her, his voice soft but firm. "We've got a long day ahead."

As Sage snuggled closer to his arm. Mackenzie rocked in his chair, drawing the tiny child deeper into sleep.

***** Mackenzie's fingers moved with a deftness that belied his rugged exterior, carefully manipulating the delicate wires and components of the radio. He twisted wires into place, Mackenzie leaned back, rubbing his bearded chin thoughtfully, it looked like he got it right. He’d just have to wait for night fall and hope the lights would come tonight and grant them power.

He looked down to find Sage standing on the edge of the table, her tiny form barely visible amongst the clutter of parts and tools.

Gently, Mackenzie scooped Sage into the palm of his hand. She squeaked in surprise but didn't scramble away in fear like she would the first few days he had her.

Sage beamed up at him, she then threw her tiny arms as far around his thumb in a hug.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Mackenzie lightly returned the hug with the tip of his finger. This small, fragile being trusted him completely. He would protect her no matter what.

As Sage chattered up at him, asking about what odds and ends were inside of the cabin, Mackenzie would answer the best that he could. She was very curious when she wasn’t trembling in fear. Mackenzie's thoughts turned to Astrid. How would she react to Sage? Astrid had always been tender-hearted, quick to adopt strays of any kind. Hopefully she would accept Sage as he had.

******

The flicker of the firelight cast erratic shadows on the walls of Jeremiah's cabin as Mackenzie laid out his plans for the morning. They had run into another problem, while the radio worked, it wasn’t getting a signal. Something was wrong with the radio towers. He had to go out again and fix them. The radio towers loomed large in his mind, and the bear that still lurked outside.

"Make this," Jeremiah grunted, breaking through Mackenzie's reverie. He handed over a sketch, rough but clear enough: a spear designed to take down a bear. "You'll need it if that beast is still out there."

Mackenzie nodded, accepting the challenge.

As he stowed away the last of his gear for the night, Sage's small voice pierced the silence. "Don't go," she pleaded, her tiny face creased with worry. She clutched at his finger, her grip surprisingly strong for her minuscule size.

"Hey, now," Mackenzie soothed, lifting her gently. "I have to fix those towers if we're gonna call for help." He tucked her close to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of her heart against his own. "But I promise, I'll come back."

Her eyes brimmed with tears, reflecting the orange glow of the embers. She wrapped her arms around his thumb—the closest thing she could manage to an embrace. "Please be careful," she whispered.

"Always am," Mackenzie assured her with a half-smile. It was a promise he intended to keep, not just for Sage or Jeremiah, but for Astrid too.

He secured Sage in a tiny bed he made her. It was a small box, filled with soft wool scraps. He then settled into his makeshift bed. Tomorrow would come soon enough, bringing with it the cold light of dawn and the perilous journey ahead.

#g/t #g/t writing #giant/tiny #the-borrowers-au

3 notes · View notes

lahotelbellamuerte · 2 years

Text

𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗩𝗘𝗟 & 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗖𝗘 - episode 05. number five & eight

series masterlist! current: number five & eight ! next: vanilla milkshake

paring: five x eight (oc) warnings; suggestive language, suggestive sexy time, the handler being weird asf not proofread ! word count: 8.3k notes; not gonna lie i shipped the handler and five IF he had been older. anywayz this book was pretty vanilla with the sexy time, second book i think had like one scene not detailed either tho, idk, iM BAD AT WRITING SMUT

ASH still floated through the sky. Raining the painful reality that earth is no longer the same, but rather engulfed in flames. Five walked alone with a cart in hand, a bundled-up mannequin to join him as he walked up a long trail of cement. The cracked surfaces made his cart creak and tumble. Eight had left for the early years of the apocalypse, the two had gotten into a fight, and she took her belongings and left for good. Living her life in hell alone, just as Five did.

There was no denying that Eight didn't miss her ex-boyfriend during those years, but with the isolation, she was able to find herself adjusting to these new times. She was able to fend for herself, from many things that the world threw at her. Along with the time, she saw earth begin to take back what was hers. Plants, roots, bushes, and seasons began to return. It was like the human race had never graced the earth. Something so beautiful about seeing new life start once more.

As the blonde roamed the empty streets and plains, no longer a child but teenagers with a responsibility to stay alive. It was a lucky day for nineteen-year-old Eight when she found a working motorcycle. She was able to fix it up enough to where she gathered her stuff and rode off to find her old partner. It wasn't longer than a week that it took her to find him. Being as he was the only other human that lived on what was once earth. She hoped to rekindle their relationship.

Five had been lying on the ground, their hands holding the sniper close to him, in case of any danger. That was until he heard a distant growling noise. It didn't sound like any animal to him, but rather a machine. But what machine could be running during these times. Quickly he jumped to his feet and had his hands on the trigger.

"Shh," Five signed to the mannequin who was against the wall, who obviously wasn't going to say anything—I mean—

The growling halted, and footsteps coming closer could be heard. Crunching underneath booths was an easy sound to call. He wanted to see what walked, but who else would be on this earth, who survived? Five moved closer to the shadows of the broken building. Gun steady in his hands, as a finger was floating before the trigger.

A figure walked past the doorway, it was obvious that it was a woman, by the way, her clothes fit her body. The long coat hugged tightly against her waist as a similar gun was strapped onto her back. Five was quick to get up and swing his gun at her, but she disappeared through a portal quick enough and tripped him from behind with a lasso.

Five groaned and turned to his back and looked at the woman who had removed her face covering, "Eight?" Five gasped in disbelief, her face as youthful as he remembered it.

"Five?" she gasped, her hands making the glowing lasso disappear at the sight of her old lover.

The young man quickly dropped his gun and stood up, pulling the familiar blue-eyed girl into a tight hug. One so tight that he was afraid that if he pulled away she wouldn't be there.

His hands gripped at the blonde tresses in the hug, and tears brimmed in his eyes as he could smell her scent once more, "I missed you," Five whispered into her neck, as he tightly held onto her as if she'd leave again.

Eight let out a sad laugh "I missed you too," Eight replied, equally hugging the boy tightly around his torso.

"Don't leave me again please, Delores gave me so much shit when I let you go," He chuckled as he kissed the side of her head

"I won't, I promise," She replied, pulling away to look at his face.

The two just stared at each other for the longest ot saying anything, but at the same time saying everything. The boy couldn't take it anymore, so he leaned in and smashed his lips onto hers. Grabbing her face as they moved in sync after years of being apart. Words didn't have to be spoken as actions were used rather. He had missed everything about her; long blonde hair, soft skin, plump lips, and her perfect shiny eyes.

Five pushed her into the wall, not really caring much about their location, or that Delores could see everything. Biting her lip caused Eight to gasp in surprise, using it to his advantage he slipped his tongue into her mouth. The kiss was warm, needy, and urgent. The couple wanted to show how much they missed the time apart. Five was holding her tight, his move rushed and quick. As if one of them would disappear at any moment. Slowly Five's mouth moved down to her neck, as she let out ragged breaths.

His lips left wet kisses on her neck, all encouraged by the pretty noises the woman let out. Whining and desperate squeezing on his upper arms. Softly he taps the back of her thighs signaling her to jump, and without hesitation, she wrapped her legs around his hips. Quickly moving back to their heated kiss, walking they over to a dusty couch at the corner of the room. He lays her carefully on it, his eyes moving to meet his. Both dark and desperate.

The boy tried to steady his breath as he looked down at the girl below him, he wanted nothing more than to rip her clothes off her body. But he wanted to make sure this is what she wanted, not feeling forced into something. He sat on his calves looking down at Eight, his hand resting on her hip, thumb rubbing circles on it. "Are you sure you want this?" Five asked placing a hand next to her head, as he leaned over her face, placing a chaste his on it.

Eight nodded, reaching up to grab his face with a soft smile, "I didn't travel miles to come to you just to leave again," She replied leaning up to plant a kiss on the corner of his lips. Then letting her lips brush his softy, "I want this," she confirmed leaning up to kiss him fully this time.

While the two were in agreement about what would happen, Dolores, the Mannequin was not. The poor intimate object was forced to watch the events that accrued in the ruins. Watched as Five's hands carefully removed Eight's clothes, treating her as fine china. His cold fingers brushed against her soft skin, leaving kisses behind. Eight's nimble fingers removed his clothes as her hands trailed patterns all over his skin. Under the flickering light of a warm fire near them, both were equally entranced in each other's embrace. The poor mannequin had to listen to the moans, ragged breaths, whines, and skin slapping skin. All echoing in the lonely building. Two souls rejoined once more.

After that night the couple promised to stay together no matter the situation. All the starvation and hardships they faced together, surviving each and every one. For the following years, the duo spent them together. The highs and lows of living in the world of nothing. The tears and laughter that were shed over the years. The moments of bliss and many more.

One of the best memories that Five would always remember was when he proposed to his darling lady. It's not like there would be another person he could be with until the end of time. He liked to believe that if anyone else was stuck with him, they wouldn't mean as much as Eight did to him. The now older man grown and aged, had been out looking for any life. He never looked forward to it, since he always returned home in disappointment. Yet this trip turned out differently for him.

Dirt and rubble crunched beneath his boots are he walked. Bag and gun strapped onto his back, just in case. Eyebrows furrowed his eyes trailed the growing greens on the floor. Eight had been right about the beauty in the destruction. Somehow out of all the fire and heat, the world slowly started coming back in a way. The animals that did survive now have all the land to live in.

Poking around different rubble, he was walking when a glint hit his eye. He stopped walking and tried to find the glint once more. Moving his head around until his eyes spotted the shining small object. Walking closer, he reached down and grabbed the small object. Blowing the dirt on his palm he chuckled at the sight. Out of anything he could have found in the wasteland it was this.

The man whistled at the sigh, "Well look what we got here," he spoke softly, his eyes trained on the gold band with a diamond perched on top. While it wasn't anything that would help in the long run, it was sure to be significant. Smiling he pocketed the item and continued on his journey to find anything else. The skies were clear blue, with a light breeze that made it perfect for walking.

A few hours later, the man headed back with a few things in his bag. A smile was still on his face after the small find. As he neared the house he heard his name be called, turning around he saw his girlfriend running towards him

"Five! Guess what!" Eight's voice ran behind him as he reached their home before she had. Her gun was also strapped to her back as she got closer.

"What?" he asked with a smile seeing how happy his lady looked. Never denying that emotion in their situation.

Eight blushed as she had her hands behind her back, "Well, I know this isn't traditional, but I mean we're living at the end of times," she rambled but shook her head before she could get any further, "Will you marry me?" She asked him as she had found a plain gold band while searching for food. Oh, how coincidental. The lovers found a piece for one another.

Five couldn't help but laugh, reaching into his pocket and taking out his finding, "Not if you don't marry me," he said now going onto one knee, resulting in the blonde gasping and covering her mouth in glee.

Eight Hargreeves was never materialistic. Didn't like large flashy things, but small stupid stuff her siblings gave her, meant more than gold. Now having Five on his knee with a literal priceless piece of jewelry she couldn't help but tear up. The woman nodded in glee, "There's no one else I'd rather marry at the End of the World," she said handing him her left hand.

Five smiled and slipped on the ring, getting up from the ground, Getting up he looked down as she slipped the other ring, onto his finger, "Till death do us apart," said Eight, gripping his hand.

"Till death do us apart," Five confirmed gripping her face and kissing his now-wife. Their wedding was only the two of them just as they would be now forever.

As time moved on for the married couple, they argued as couples do. They hunted, drank, and spiraled into a belief that they could return home. In a crumbling library where some books were able to make it alive, the duo scribbled all along the walls. Possible equations to get them home.

One fateful day the two were sitting around as they drank wine from surprisedly well-kept metal cups, the two now elderly, with grays mostly displaying on their heads. Skin is no longer supple and soft, but worn and used.

The silver-covered man chuckled as he drank from his cup, his gloved hand holding it tight, "Love, do you remember that one mansion we went to a couple of years back? You know where we—"

"—Yeah I wouldn't mention those few hours around Dolores. We left her alone," Eight interrupted before he started explaining what happened down in the wine cellars of the mansion. Not caring one bit about the mannequin near hearing all the lewd things the two happened to experience in their younger years.

Five scoffed, "Well I could talk about it. Delores, you talked shit about me those years while she was gone," He said pointing at the mannequin, "I will freely talk about how I fucked my wife for hours and left you alone!" He exclaimed happily.

Eight facepalmed, and looked over at Dolores, "I'm sorry D," She said blushing, embarrassed that her husband was now a grouchy old man—no different from his young years.

"Well, I'm—"

Before he could finish the crumbling of rubble could be heard, as if someone was approaching. Five and Eight stood from their seats and pointed their guns at the incoming target. While they were older the two had enough experience in their older age to kill someone.

The two glanced at each other wearily when they saw the sight. A woman with bright white hair, clad in a long leather coat. Holding a briefcase of sorts, looking not even mildly intimidated by the two holding the guns. Something out of the ordinary, which to them wasn't surprising. For crying out loud, they had extraordinary skills that no one else on earth had.

Who she was? The Handler, the woman who would become Eight's worst nightmare, but also the key to their very survival.

The morning had arrived at Diego's place and Five woke up to be pressed against Eight's back. The blonde just lay there silently, waiting for him to wake up. It's not like she had a choice that is, Five happen to have a tight grip around her waist while he slept. As soon as he let go, Eight sighed happily and sat up. Five moved around her and sat down next to her.

"Morning' love," Five mumbled softly rubbing his eyes, trying to wake himself up.

The girl just rolled her eyes, "Yeah, mornin'," Eight replied as she watched Luther snore on the chair near them. Using her powers, Eight lifted a pen on one of Diego's desks and flung it at the sleeping giant. Causing him to wake up with a startle, his eyes, and hands alert to fight the intruder.

"Oh good you're awake," Luther said blinking slowly his eyes focusing on the blonde in front of him, "When is it happening?" He then asked seriously remembering why he stayed with the couple.

"We can't give you the exact hour but..." Five trailed off.

"We've got about four days left," Eight finished off running her hand through her hair, realizing she must have lost her headband last night, during her whole drunken debacle.

The man leaned forward, "Why didn't you say something sooner?" Luther said worriedly.

"It wouldn't have mattered," Five replied sadly. Eight noticed his sadness and gripped his hand softly.

"Of course, it would've banded together and helped you try to stop this thing," Luther countered.

Five sighed, "You already tried," he said flatly, this memory wasn't a kind one for him. After all, it had been the first sight the two had encountered when they had made it into the future.

"What do you mean?" Luther asked suddenly.

"The first time around, we found you, your bodies," Eight explained her throat feeling tight.

"We die?" Luther swallowed thickly.

"Horribly," Five answered.

A flat silence filled the air, as they all looked at each other. Nothing could be said that would make it right. Not even Luther's optimistic view on life could make the older couple feel any better. The sight of the Hargreeves all sprawled out on the ground was bad enough. All looking above with dead eyes and nothing more. The familiar feeling of anguish washed over the air.

"You were together trying to stop whoever it was that ends the world," Five said looking down at his intertwined hands with Eight, squeezing it back in comfort, the only thing that kept him sane all these years.

Luther looked over at the two, "How did you know that?"

Five searched into his pocket, and pulled out the familiar prosthetic eyeball, "This was clutched in your dead hand when I found you."

"Must have ripped out of their head right before you went down," Eight said as he looked over the eye that Five tossed at him.

"Who's head?" Luther asked looking at the blonde, in hopes of getting an answer, then back to the eye in hand.

She shrugged, "We don't know," a frown forming lightly on her face.

"Well there's a serial number on the back," Luther offered, ideas popping in his head, in hopes of helping the two stop the end of the world.

"No, that's a dead-end," Five said, towards Luther, "Just another hunk of glass."

Eight stood up letting Five's hand go and took the piece of the eyeball and held it. Before any more could be said the door slammed open and a very angry Diego strolled in. His eyes looked straight at the blonde in fury, why didn't she do anything?

"Piece of shit," He mumbled going down the stairs, "Do you have any idea what you just did?"

He said walking straight towards them, but Luther stepped forward grabbing him. "Get your ape hands off me!" He hissed towards Luther.

Eight stuffed her hands in her skirt pockets, "Let him go, Luther," she said calmly trying to diffuse whatever was starting. She loved herself a fight, especially since she could see it was directed towards her.

"Yeah let me go!" Diego replied as he struggled to get out of the large man's hold, eyes still trained on the blonde, he wanted nothing more than to dig his knife into her body. That's new...

Luther looked at the blonde in question, and she nodded. And quickly he continued to stroll towards Eight, but before he could, he ran into some invisible force. The man looked around it, slapped his hands on it, and punched it. It was no use, of course, Eight wouldn't let herself be touched by the man.

Diego let out a strangled yell, as he punched the invisible force that stood between them, "Let the through you freak bitch!" He yelled hysterically. This time caught the attention of Five.

The man stepped forward but stopped when Eight's hand went up to stop him. Cocking her head, she smirked, "My prediction was right," she said her eyes on his teary ones.

"Oh you've been busy, haven't you? Griddy's, Gimbel Brothers, and the academy. All looking for you," He hissed punching the invisible wall one more time, yet it still did nothing to reach her.

The blonde shrugged, "Not my fault Diego, Patch was in the way," she said dropping her shield without him noticing.

Luther had a brow raised on who Patch was, but he didn't really care, "Who are they?" He asked instead, wanting to know who was sent after the couple.

Eight sighed, putting her hands in her pockets, "They work for our former employer, A woman we called the Handler. She sent them looking for us, and Patch was in their way, fair game," she said once again looking to Diego. Sure she felt bad for the woman who had died, but nothing would stop the two assassins after her or Five.

His eyes darkened at the sound of her words, "Well now they're my fair game," Diego said looking straight at Eight, "And I'm gonna see that they pay."

"Diego I wouldn't if I were you, they've killed people much more dangerous than you," Eight called out as the man turned to leave the room they were staying in.

Continuing to walk away he never turned around, "Yeah, well we'll see about that."

The blonde then looked at Five, "You know I can't let him die," she told him, with a frown.

Five sighed and nodded. He knew the whole Hazel and Cha-Cha stories, was never a fan, but they were good at what they do. And if anyone could survive them, it was his wife, "Give 'em hell, kid," he mumbled pulling to kiss her temple. And in a second she was gone.

She jumped into a portal and landed in the passenger seat of Diego's car. She turned to see tears running down his face, "Oh, darling, come here," she whispered, pulling him into a hug as he hugged her back tightly. While he had said some things to her, he was glad it was her that was there. Eight Hargreeves had that effect on people, being there when they most needed it.

She softly ran her hand through his hair as his body raked sobs, "I'm sorry Diego," She whispered, pulling away from the hug and gripping his face.

"I really liked her," Diego whispered not meeting the blue eyes in front of her. Patch had got him out of countless of shit, after they had separated he still yearned after the law enforcement woman. He never got to tell her that he loved her. Now she was gone, no longer breathing.

"I know," She said knowing he wouldn't be able to drive. Carefully she let out a deep breath, "Hold on," she said, her hands beginning to glow slightly.

Diego's eyes widened, "What—"

Before anything more could be said Eight had created a portal beneath the car that landed in their parking spot. The car bounces as she sees the mansion. The teen grinned at the sight.

"Nice I still got it," She quipped and got out of the car, "You comin'?" Eight added as she looked down to see a frightened Diego.

Diego stumbled out, wiping his tears, not wanting any sign of his moment of weakness, "God I hated that," he said shivering at the feeling of falling, memories triggering back to their training days.

"Alright you baby, just get what you need and I'll help you," Eight said walking into the home.

"Wait you're coming? What about Five?" Diego asked as he followed her into the home, shocked that she would follow him rather than her boy thing.

"He's capable of protecting himself, he did it for six years," She said scoffing while walking to Diego's room where she knew he had many more knives hidden. They hadn't been friends for most of their childhood so of course, she knew everything about the boy.

Of course, she knew about the crush he had when she was younger. As a mind reader, nothing got past her. Diego was everything she'd want in a partner, but in this universe, they weren't meant to be. And that was a given—she was a married woman now. Even if Diego would forever have a soft spot for Eight, he knew his boundaries—sometimes. He wouldn't deny that since she got back, he hasn't flirted with the blonde. So part of his fantasy was coming to reality as the tall blonde stood in his room.

Not paying much attention to the girl in the room, he slowly slid out a grey case with the umbrella insignia. Carefully he placed his knives in the case and clasped it shut. Getting up he grabbed the handle, and looked at Eight, "Let's go."

She nodded and moved out of the way and follow after him, but he shook his head. What he was about to do was cross boundaries, but he didn't care. He grabbed onto her hand and pulled her with him. All she could do was look at their hands and frown. The two began walking further down the stairs. Eight didn't really know what to say about the whole situation. She liked Diego, but not the way his thoughts bubbled.

Worse part his lover had literally died, and he was still chasing after someone who was both older and younger than him. But with respect to his recent loss, she kept her mouth shut. As the two arrived on the main floor, they saw Klaus standing staring at the chandelier that had fallen on the ground.

"You look like shit," Diego pointed out as he stared at his brother.

Eight furrowed her eyebrows and let go of Diego's hand. Carefully she walked over to Klaus smiling softly, she pulled him in a hug. The Séance didn't hesitate to pull the blonde closer. He knew that maybe she understood his pain better than her husband could. After all the blonde was his comfort person.

"Where are you going?" he said to her, still embraced in the hug, not wanting to let go. Something about it felt almost like a mother clinging onto their hurt child.

"Nope—" Diego began but was silenced with the raise of Eight's hand.

"I know you wouldn't take no for an answer, just get yourself together," She mumbled into his shoulder.

The man nodded, "Two minutes," he said softly, and then walked off to get his things.

The blonde sighed, she definitely knew something was up. Klaus was never to be the quiet one, even when the memories of their father plagued his mind, they would never get him like he is now. She watched him as he left and scratched himself and sauntered off.

She furrowed her brows at this. Familiar. Those were some of the symptoms of time travel. That's when it hit her, Klaus was the one that was kidnapped by Hazel and Cha-Cha. In return, he took the case and got stuck somewhere else in time.

Diego grabbed her hand, snapping her out of her trance. She looked over at him and motioned for the car. She nodded and followed him outside and waited for Klaus.

The three were now in the car as Diego drove, but Eight couldn't help but know something was wrong. Something about instincts if you want to name it.

"Klaus, darling, are you alright?" she asked, turning to the back seat where he leaned on the window as he drank from a bottle rather than answer her.

Diego raised an eyebrow, and glanced at him through the rearview mirror, "Wow. This is a first. My brother Klaus is silent. The last time you were this quiet, we were twelve. Ran down the stairs wearing Grace's heels, tripped over, and broke your jaw." He said looking at Eight's amused face. "How long was it again?"

Klaus didn't move from his spot, but with a small voice he responded, "Eight weeks."

"Eight glorious weeks of bliss," he mentioned, but quickly Eight smacked his arm, "Ow!"

Diego gave her a look but the blonde only glared at him. Not knowing the seriousness of the situation, most of the time he never did.

Klaus finally sat up blinking harshly, "Hey, just drop me off here," he said as they parked harshly into some place called Lake Shore. Quickly Klaus stepped out of the car and stumbled over to the building. All in rushed movements to make it through the glass doors.

Eight removed her seatbelt and placed her hand on the door handle, "Hey where are you going? I thought you were going to help me?" Diego said gripping her arm.

The blonde turned over to him and removed his hand, "And I'm going to make sure my brother who is definitely not okay, make sure he doesn't get harmed.

And I am after I make sure my brother who is not okay, doesn't get harmed," she said and stepped out of the car.

As she neared the door in large white letters it read, "Welcome to Veterans of Foreign Wars." The blonde sighed, "Oh Klaus where did you go," She whispered and opened the door which opened with a ring.

Walking into the building, Eight then realized it was a bar for veterans. She frowned sadly. Eight had her horrors of the past that she always falls into, and she would never want to share those types of pains with anyone. But here she was entering the bar watching her brother look at a picture, as he relived the horrors of war.

Her eyes flickered to movement caused in a room, and it was to a large man with grey hair. He was making his way towards Klaus who was looking sadly at the picture hung up on the wall. He lost someone she concluded. If she wanted she would have looked into his mind to see what had happened, but for the privacy of his loss, she refused to. Eight would let him explain it himself if it ever came to that.

Eight decided it was time to confront him and moved towards him before the large man could. Carefully she placed her hand on his shoulder and he turned to look at her and sighed.

"Please go away," He whispered then looked back at the photo, his eyes trained not on himself but on a young man beside him.

Her eyes traveled to the photo of the many men there, "No, you're my brother, and I'm here for you," she said squeezing his shoulder reassuringly.

"Hey you two," a deep voice came from behind her.

The two siblings turned around to look at the large man. Eight raised a brow at the older man sporting a vest with probably the war he served at, she just looked him over with a scoff.

"This bar? It's for vets only," He informed the two softly, hoping not to start anything.

"I am a vet," Klaus replied sadly his eyes turning back to the picture behind him.

The large man chuckled, "Really? Where'd you serve?" he asked, obviously not believing the Seance next to her.

Klaus wasn't in the mood to answer anyone's questions, he had just gone through hell and back, "None of your business," Klaus replied not wanting to talk about it.

"You got balls comin' in here, pretendin' you're one of us," He said not knowing the situation at hand. And if we're being honest, Eight didn't like when others picked on her brother.

"Oh, I have every right to be here, just like you, asshole," Klaus said, his voice raising his last word. Finally turning around to meet the eyes of the old man.

The large man went to step closer, but that's when Eight stepped in, "Hey, there now, we don't want problems," she said calmly, "You don't know the situation here, so I would appreciate it if you let me take care of him."

"Sure thing," The man said pausing and looking at Klaus, "As long he apologies," he finished causing Eight's eye to twitch and Klaus to giggle.

"Look I'm sorry, he's sorry, we'll just be on our way now," she said looking at her brother, forcing the words out of her own mouth, hating this man trying to embarrass them.

The man shook and said, "No, I want to hear him say it," he smirked.

This crossed the line for her, she didn't fucking care anymore that he was some veteran. He was an ass of a veteran. Her brother was a veteran and if he didn't believe him, that was on him. Also, she was already pissed as it is with the whole end-of-the-world thing.

Eight lunged forward and grabbed his collar, "Listen here you, idiot. You do not get to ask for any more apologies. You don't know what shit my brother has gone through and I won't let anyone walk all over me or him," she hissed as his face was close to hers and shoved him away.

In anger, the man swung forward but his fist met a gloved hand, "You don't go hitting ladies," Diego's voice said as he punched the old man.

Klaus had jumped into the fight and jumped onto the veteran's back. Just as Eight had grabbed a flying fist at her face and grabbed his wrist and twisted it around to turn his body. Still, in the lock, she kicked the man and let him fall to the ground with a painful thud.

Another man came towards her, "I would leave little school girl, this is no place for you gi—" before he got a chance to finish his sentence, Eight had punched the man square in the nose, receiving a loud satisfying crack.

"Suck my dick, asshole," She yelled, grabbing his arm and pulling herself near him to shove him over her shoulder and slam him onto the ground. Sure she loved fighting, but it wasn't satisfying fighting older men.

Eight was then quick to grab her brothers from their ears and push them out, Klaus stumbling to grab his coat and walking out.

"God Klaus couldn't tell me beforehand that you were a vet?" She hissed pushing him into the backseat. Getting in the car she sat up in the seat and leaned back to smack him in the head.

"I would've controlled their minds not to see you!" she was fuming, "1968! That's a very fucking time change!" She groaned leaning to hit him again, but Diego grabbed her and sat her back down.

"Stay," He said to her as she huffed and crossed her arms, "You got a big mouth," he told Klaus pointing at him.

Klaus scoffed, "Oh, wow. What a truly shocking revelation, Diego," He replied sarcastically.

"Everything's a big joke to you right?" He asked him his eyes rolling.

Eight turned to him and saw him trying to take drugs, and lunged to grab them, "Would you stop, idiot!" she said flinging it out the window, then smacking him in the head while he threw a tantrum.

Diego scoffed, "Why are you putting this shit in your body?" He asked and looked back at him, "Check this out," He added, lifting his sweater and slapping his toned stomach.

"My body is a temple," he said looking at him and then back at Eight and winked, she just rolled her eyes. Men.

"All that shit you do, it's just weakness," Diego said.

"Oh, wow, beautiful. Well, weakness feels so good," Klaus replied, digging into his pocket to grab more drugs. Again Eight leaned back and smacked it out of his hand, "Hey! The fuck did I just tell you?"

Klaus whines, knowing it was best not to fight her.

Eight sighed, "Klaus you have to tell us what happened, we know you're not okay," she whispered to him.

"Well then read my mind to see what happened," He yelled at her still not feeling like talking about the most recent events that just happened.

Eight furrowed her eyebrows and sighed shaking her head, "Klaus I only saw what I needed to see, but anything more serious that happened you need to tell us," she said blue eyes looking into his saddened ones.

"I lost someone," he sighed sadly looking down at his lap, "I lost someone. The only..." he sighed deeply pausing, "The only person I've ever truly loved more than myself," he finally got out, reaching into his pocket and popping a pill into his mouth.

This time, the blonde didn't reach to smack it into his hand. She could feel to an extent that he was hurting.

"Well, you're luckier than most," Diego started, "When you lose someone, at least you can see them whenever you want."

Klaus looked away knowing that wasn't entirely true. There was a reason he turned to drugs most of the time. Memories of being stuck in a graveyard with the dead haunted him. The suffering of hearing all those voices yell at him was too much. Being high, kept him from hearing them all the time.

Number Eight and Four knew all about the voices constantly being there. The hushed whispers that only caused headaches. While the blonde just kept herself busy, Klaus turned to drugs to keep it tame.

Eight sighed and leaned back onto the chair, her eyes blank as she stared off into the distance. Mumbling random names under her breath.

The man beside her rose a brow, not hearing anything coherently. Only heard hotel and bird which didn't make sense, but never made sense anyway. Shaking his head he moved his eyes from her to his mirror and spotted a few familiar faces. So he elbowed the blonde beside him and motion behind.

Snapping out of her trance she looked at the mirror and her eyes narrowed, "Hazel," she whispered to him.

"Hey I know that man," Klaus said suddenly also looking back to see the large man.

Diego looked at his confused, "How could you possibly—"

"They were the ones who tortured me, I barely got away with my life," He explained to his sibling looking back as Hazel got into some older looking blue car.

Diego started the car, as he noticed his car backing out of the space, "Eight I need you to be careful, okay? They probably still want you," He said to her, worried as she would get hurt.

The blonde scoffed as his worries, "Diego, I am the greatest at what I do," she paused to glare at him, "if I truly wanted, Hazel and Cha-Cha would be dead," she chuckled when she noticed Diego's glance as he drove, "I was an assassin, it's my profession," she shrugged.

Number Three just shivered slightly, "You're nothing like when we were kids," Diego said looking back onto the road.

Klaus leaned forward from his seat, "Oh, little Eight is exactly the same, you just don't know her like I do," he paused and lifted a finger, "She's still arrogant, fun, and killer instinct—"

"Klaus, I love you but I will shove a sock in your mouth," She said, turning her head to look at him with a sweet smile.

The rest of the ride the three were silent as they followed Hazel's car. It was for the best to keep silence, while Eight was the fun sibling, she was also a lunatic that would possibly snap.

Hazel's car parking into a small Hotel that made Klaus shiver as he had just been there not too long ago. The man getting out and retreating into the small room up stairs.

Eight didn't say anything when Diego stepping out of the car to go mess with his car. Most likely to put a tracking device on it.

"He likes you know that right? He always has," Klaus said giggling.

Eight sighed, "I'm aware, but he and I won't ever happen, I'm a married woman," she said lifting her hand to reveal her ring.

"To your teenage boy-friend," He laughed, "It's funny that you two are this age again, I didn't get to see you this age," he added leaning his head beside her.

"It's better you didn't get to see me this age, Klaus, Five was a lot more horny and didn't have the end of the world to worry about," she sighed remembering since they got to this time, he hasn't stopped trying to get into her pants.

"Ha, so much for you two being the smart ones," he snortend, "Little Five is probably frustrated from multiple things."

"This is Five's fault, not mine," Eight groaned running a hand through her hair, not wanting to think about dick at the moment.

Diego got back into the car and kept his eye on the building where the murderers of his friend were staying.

"You know killing these people is not going to make you feel any better?" Klaus said from the back drinking from his bottle.

"What he said," Eight added with a snap of her finger.

Diego scoffed and looked at her, "Aren't you an assassin?"

Eight nodded, "A professional one, I don't kill for personal reasons."

"Yeah, but when it's done...I'll sleep like a baby," Diego said to her with an exaggerated smile.

Eight only hummed in response. Back in the Commission that was the first thing she learned. To not make any killings personal, whether they were bad or good, it didn't matter, they were the mission. While her brother was angry and wanted to get revenge, he wasn't cut out for this type of work.

"Stay in the car, both of you," Diego said after a while of silence his eyes lingering on Eight.

"Um, what the fuck? I'm the assassin here!" Eight said angrily as he stepped out of the car, "I killed a man with a pencil before, a fucking pencil!"

"Well aren't you cute," Klaus said sarcastically tapping her nose with his finger.

She smacked his hand and pushed open her door"Come on," Eight said, suddenly getting out of the car.

"But he said to stay in the car," Klaus said, but still following the girl from the car.

This time she snorted as she walked in a hurry up the steps "Yeah and he also said he didn't steal my bra when we were younger," she scoffed.

"Oh, I remember that. Who knew little old Five could hold that much rage," Klaus giggled.

Eight turned to smile at him, "That's my husband."

The two then silently went up the stairs that Deigo was currently on. Spotting him peaking around the corner.

"So, what's the plan here?" Klaus asked suddenly.

Diego sighed deeply, "I thought I told you two to stay in the car," He emphasized turning to the two.

"Yeah, but you also told me licking a nine-volt battery would give me pubes," Klaus rebutted, bringing up his memory rather than hers, knowing it would cause a fight between the two.

Eight laughed remembering that conversation when they were little.

"We were eight," Diego said to his brother.

Klaus was about to step forward, but Diego stopped him.

"No, you two are going back in the car," He told the two being serious.

"Klaus get in the car, we'll be back," The blonde told Klaus, she worried more about the fragile man then the man next to her.

"Hey you don—" Diego started but he was teleported inside the empty room before he could say anything.

"I know the way those people think, they're gone," She said and right there the rev of an engine was heard, and the car drove off.

Diego opened the door and apparently too soon as the bullets started to rain on the group.

Eight stuffed her hands in her pockets and blocked the bullets from hitting her with an invisible force field. But it seemed life wasn't on Diego's side as she heard him groan when he was shot from one of the bullets.

"Idiot," Eight said as she saw his injured hand, and began walking away from the two followings, "We're taking the ice cream truck," Eight said as she stepped further out, not really looking around her surroundings.

"We have a c—" Diego said, but then he saw the condition it was in. How is it possible that she knows everything?

Eight teleported into the van, and jumped started the car, as it began to start she smiled. So, far everything was moving smoothly, well it won't but that's not the point.

"Get in the van losers, we're going after maniacs," She yelled to them, as she lowered the window.

And quickly they slid the door open as she began driving quickly in the direction she watched the two phychos go in.

As she pressed on the petal she felt Five's presence near. It was something that she was able to do since she was left alone. Some told her that is the feeling of souls being connected. Others said that it was just a second instinct. Well, whatever it was, she was fucked. She didn't tell Five they were coming and well here they were in an ice cream truck chiming the Ride of the Valkyries. It wasn't sudtle at all.

Eight looked out from the small window and mouthed sorry to the two. While Klaus waved at the two. Luther and Five were at the most confused as to what just happened. Eight knew what she had to do, she felt the early rift of what was coming.

She teleported and stood next to Five who quickly moved her behind Luther, but time seemed to slow down and come to a stop. That's when Eight realized what Five had done. Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at her partner.

"You called her?" She seethed at her husband, her eye twitching at feeling.

"Love, I'm—"

She didn't wait for his apology; rather she stepped out from behind Luther and walked to the clearing of nothing, waiting for the woman. Better to get this shit out of the way now.

"Neat trick, isn't it?" The Handler's voice rang out, more nails on chalk thought Eight at the sight of the silver-headed woman clad in her black trench coat and signature red lips and heels.

"Hello, Five, Eight," she greeted, removing her glasses, "You look good, I mean look at you Eight, youthful and beautiful. Must be enjoying the new found strength?"

"It's good to see you again," Five said calmly, Eight rolls her eyes at the sentiment, she hated the woman more than she hated many other things in life.

"Feels like we met just yesterday, of course, you both were a little older then," she said smiling, "Congratulations you two. On the age regression, by the way. Very clever," She complimented.

"No need, my husband is just an idiot," The blonde emphasized knowing the woman always had more than a mutual liking for him. She found it disgusting, but who truly was the winner?

"Your attempts are futile, so why are you really here?" She asked the couple.

"I want you to put a stop to it," Five asked more than anything, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

The Handler raised her brows, "You realize what you're asking for is next to impossible even for me. What's meant to be is meant to be. That's our raison d'être."

Without hesitation, he whipped out a gun from his side and pointed it at her, "Yeah? Well, how about survival as a raison?" Five threatened.

Now, as a person who is sworn to tell all. Eight Hargreeves who's said to feel no different after returning to a younger age—well she coudln't help but fidget and bite her lip. That was hot.

"God if only we were alone," Eight commented biting her lip again at the situation.

Five's eyes flickered to the blonde for a second, "Really now?" he groaned.

The Handler watched the exchange and cringed, but looked back at Five, "I'll just be replaced. I'm but a small cog in a machine. This fantasy you've been nurturing about summoning up your family to stop the apocalypse...is just that a fantasy."

"Get to the point lady, before I blow your brains out," Eight deadpanned.

"Well, Mrs. Hargreeves, we are impressed with you two, you are quite something. We want to offer you a new position back at the Commission, in management," she said waving her fingers at the two.

Eight was actually surprised with the response of the wicked woman, "Pardon?"

"Come back to work for us again. You both know where you belong. Eight you have a huge reputation back there, people would love to have you back," she said with a smile trying to convince the teen girl.

"As you can see, that didn't work too well with my husband and myself," Eight said motioning around them, but she wasn't going to admit, she needed to check on a few things with the resources the Commission had to offer.

"Oh but you wouldn't be in the correction division but the work office, the best health and pension, and an end to this ceaseless travel," the woman said stepping closer to the two with each word, "We could reverse this, bring you back to your older age, I mean you can't be happy like this." She said, stepping closer towards the two—more to Five than Eight.

Eight was quick to step closer to her husbandand make the woman back up some steps as she knew she was capable of killing her here with no hesitation. At least she remembers her reputation.

"We're not looking for happiness," Five said, looking directly into the woman's eyes.

The Handler stepped forward and lifted her hand to touch Five's cheek, but her wrist was grabbed before she could.

"As much as I get that my husband is a beaut, get your old hands of him," she seethed, pushing her hand off, "Plus what would happen to my family?" she asked as well, now she was stepping forward to the woman.

"What about them?" She asked, feeling slightly intimidated by the blonde woman.

"I want them to survive," Five said pulling his wife closer to his side, but on the inside he was grinning at how territorial she was with him.

The women sighed looking back at Luther and the truck that held the other two, "All of them?"

"Yes all of them," Five scoffed with a roll of his eyes.

"Well, I'll see what I can do," The Handler said as she put her glasses back on, "Do we have a deal?" She said offering her hand to Eight who was closest.

The blonde looked over to Five for reassurance, that they were both agreeing to this. He nodded but lifted his finger motioning he had something to say to her.

Eight walked over to the boy, "The guns," he said motioning over to Hazel and Cha-Cha.

The girl nodded and walked over to them. Taking them apart as she scattered the pieces around. She walked back to duo, but Eight paused noticing the bullet by her head. So she turned to it and moved it so it would avoid hitting Luther.

Five grabbed Eight's hand and turned to shake The Handler's hand. And just like that time continued on as they disappeared.

#five hargreeves #five x oc #five hargreaves x reader #aidan gallagher #the umbrella academy

59 notes · View notes