#but there has to be an option besides just stewing and wanting to beat a supreme court justice with my steering wheel

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

All Along the Watchtower (Chapter 15)

[Can also be read on AO3]

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 2.8 K

Warnings: Minors DNI - suggestive dialogue, mild angst, flirting, ship's first real kiss, smoking

Summary: The mission is over, and Price and Rory have time alone together at camp

A/N: Rory Sinclair is a dual citizen (both Canada and the UK) who's been living in the UK since she was 14. She is 28 at the time of this fic, Price is 32. This series is set in 2017 before the events of the first MW game. Rory's thoughts are bold and italicized, other italics are used for emphasis

*This is the chapter where the ship finally really and truly kicks off. It does have a fade to black ending as the next chapter is entirely smut and not really necessary for story purposes so if you want to skip the next chapter it's an option*

November 2, 2017 21:18 - Al-Hasakah, Syria

With the outpost removed and the intel in Laswell’s hands, a makeshift campsite had been set up on the outskirts overlooking the desert. A small fire burning for warmth while the stars shone above in the midnight blue sky – tranquil, despite there being a warzone still raging miles away. Sitting in the sand, Rory ate her ration pack of lamb stew as she watched Price pace back and forth several feet away, confirming plans on his phone for the next steps now that the mission was coming to a close, zoning out to the sway of his hips as he walked. 

Slipping his phone into the pocket of his tac pants, he moved back to sit near the fire and start in on his own dinner. Her eyes fell away from him and instead turned to the flames that flickered in front of her as he settled in the sand beside her. 

“Nik'll be here in the mornin’, has to refuel and tune up before he can head out.”

She hummed, poking her spork around in the gray plastic pouch of her ORP. “I'm sure that wasn't a suggestion from the good Captain at all, was it?” Her eyes flicked up to look at him, a teasing little smirk pulling up the corner of her mouth, the flames of the fire of their camp illuminating the amber flecks in her eyes.  

“You think it's my intent to keep you all to myself, Sergeant? Just what are you trying to imply?” The predatory edge to his eyes and tone were near explicit.

“Do you think I'm daft, John?”

He shook his head and laughed, tearing open the heated packet of steak and vegetables. “Oh no, quite the opposite. I think you're too smart for your own good. I think if you had enough time, you could read me like a book.”

He wasn’t far off in his estimate, with the training she had as an interrogator she likely could. However, she would also be having to combat a hardened veteran with sixteen years of experience under his belt and who was trained to resist interrogation methods of all kinds. He had already proven to have a look in his eyes that was impenetrable at most times. For all she knew, it would be a stalemate. 

“Given enough practice I probably could.”

“No probably about it, sweetheart. I also get the feeling that if it came down to it you could beat me in any argument – as long as I don't pull rank.” He looked up from the contents of his packet and she was once again met by that stare she had caught in her scope - that hungry, feral one. 

“That's a given. I'm a barrister's daughter, after all. If I hadn't gone the military route my father was sure I'd make a good one and follow in his footsteps.”

“Why didn't you?”

She scoffed. “Life.”

“Meaning?”

There was a side to John that she had been given just a taste of, the one who used whatever tools he could get his hands on to reach his objective, and in this case, the little alarm bell in the back of her head went off. How much of that was her own trust issues she couldn’t be sure, but giving him too much knowledge about her did put her a little on edge even if he only intended to keep her safe – everything was a weapon to Captain Price.  

“What? You want my life story?” Her eyes narrowed, challenging him just enough. “Is this our first date?” she asked, lifting the MRE packet. “Really splurged on dinner.”

He chuckled at her sarcastic comment and lit a cigar. “Go on,” he said softly, his voice a hoarse murmur on the wind.

“You really want to know?”

“I do.”

She rolled her eyes and put the MRE packet down grabbing her pack of cigarettes and lighting one, taking a long drag before exhaling the smoke into the night with a long stream of breath. “It's rather convoluted, but – in short form – after my mother’s death, I had to leave Canada, leave the life I'd known behind and move to England to live with my father. I was fourteen – angry, grieving – and I was plunked in the house of a man who I only really knew through conversations over the phone and the few summer trips I had across the pond. He wasn't exactly ready for the challenge of raising a hormonal teenage girl… we were both thrown in the deep end of the pool together, quite frankly.” She shook her head at the insanity of the situation she had lived through. “Poor sod getting lumped with me.” She laughed and took another drag of her cigarette, leaving a pregnant pause in her story. “Needless to say, I acted out, rebelled. Skipped school, let my grades fail – I barely graduated. Didn't leave me with many options, so I chose the military.”

“Didn’t do too bad f’ yourself though, did ya?”

“I suppose, other than hefty amounts of trauma,” she snickered at her own comment. 

“Can’t be all bad.” 

“No, no I suppose not. Joining the army did have its perks, this is true.”

“Got to meet me twice because of it.”

A loud burst of laughter came out of her. “Ah, yes, the highlight of my ten-year career. Not receiving the King’s Medal for Bravery as a corporal – spending time with John Price.”

He smiled around the cigar in his mouth, the lines around his eyes creasing softly. “You were awarded a medal as a corporal ?”

“Yeah…”

His brows lifted, giving a little nod, clearly impressed by her history. “Not too many people receive one of those.”

“No, not too many at all,” she said with a quiet sort of pride. 

Humming appreciatively, smoke blew from his nostrils. “You still owe me that number of confirmed kills, darlin’.”

“I did promise you that, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“Thirty three high profile targets. Other soldiers and snipers?” She paused to hum and haw over the numbers. “Lost count around the mid seventies, and that was two years ago.”

“ Jesus ,” he breathed, giving a low groan. “Fucking hell, Rory.” Taking another drag of his cigar as if it were post coitus. 

She giggled at his reaction, the obvious tone of arousal at her competency not lost on her. “Careful, John. Don't want to be popping a stiffy.” 

His piercing gaze flicked up to settle on her and her teasing grin, a wolfish curl to the side of his mouth slowly growing. “Can't have that, can we? Wouldn't be proper of an officer.” 

“Certainly not. Especially not while we're out here, alone , in the dark, with nothing but a pup tent to share.”

Brow lifted, a cocky self-assured smirk grew on his face. “Who knows what might happen.”

Rory licked her lips and tutted her tongue, still pretending as though she wasn't interested, or rather, playing hard to get. She had to admit she had been enjoying this chase of theirs and Price had certainly been persistent as had been promised – ever the hunter, and her the beast waiting for that right moment to strike. “How ever will we fill the time?”

“I can think of a few things,” he purred.

“I bet you can.”

“Mission’s nearly over, darlin’. Don’t need to worry about being a distraction for me anymore, yeah?”

Leaning towards him, she lowered her voice until it was smooth and sultry. “And you think I’m just going to give in like that?”

“Still want me to try and persuade you, eh?”

“I’m still trying to figure out just what it is about me you actually want?” Her warm hazel eyes lifted to take in those unreadable gray-blue ones that looked back at her. Pushing the challenge just a little bit further, prodding him towards showing her just a little of his own vulnerability.

“I want you for all sorts of reasons.” He gave nothing away. 

Her brow cocked, wanting more detail. “Is that so?”

“Don’t think I’ve ever been so interested in another woman before.” His voice grew huskier the longer the discussion went on, body leaning closer to her. 

“Is that right?”

“It is.”

“And what makes me so different?”

“ Everything ,” he said in a deep growl. “You’re a bloody challenge, first and foremost – and you were certainly right about me liking that.”

She paused, letting the closeness between them settle before pushing further, deeper into dangerous territory. Her eyes narrowed, lingering on his features, reading him. “ If I were to let you have me as your girl, would I be just another accolade to your name, John?”

Smirking, he pulled back slightly, understanding where the game was heading between them. “There’s no denyin’ the fact that any man would consider havin’ you as their girl an honor. However , if you’re askin’ if I’d see you as just another notch in the belt, then you’ve got me all wrong, darlin’.”

“So you see me as someone worth going for the long haul with?”

“You bet your arse.”

Chuckling quietly at his expected response, she kept digging. “And you really do just want to take care of me?”

“Always.” His face became serious. All playful, flirtatious intent wiped clean from it. On this he was absolute. The final decision was made up in his mind and he would not be dissuaded. That point was no game for him. 

Her smile faded as reality hit once more. Nothing could be that simple, not for them, not with the rules and regulations of the military. “I wish it was that easy.”

“It doesn't have to be as bloody hard as you’re makin’ it.”

“It does.” She scoffed, “We can’t just bury our heads in the sand over this, pretend that we aren’t breaking rules here – because we are. You have so much more to lose over this than I do.” Sighing, her voice was barely an audible whisper above the night wind. “I don’t want to be something you live to regret.”

His brow furrowed, mouth flinching as he clenched his jaw. “Never gonna happen, love. Never . Fell f’you like a goddamn idiot.”

Rory giggled, covering her mouth as jovial bursts of laughter coming in fits and starts carried across the desert at night. 

“It’s not funny,” he chuckled, eyes crinkling at her reaction to his confession. 

Dragging her hand down her face, she tried to hide the embarrassment they both seemed to be feeling and gazed at him. “I’m sorry,” saying it as genuinely as she could between the little bubbles of laughter that still crept up out of her. 

“You’re a filthy liar.” Shaking his head, his smirk was still plastered to his face. 

Looking at one another, the firelight flickered across from them, warming their skin as much as the laughter and their close proximity was. Silence fell. Their eyes locked. Heart racing in her chest, Rory’s lips seemed to part instinctively as her breath caught in her throat, not realizing she was even holding it. 

John’s gaze roamed down to her mouth, freezing there as she watched his tongue drag across his lips. Throat bobbing with a heavy swallow, his pupils dilated making his steely eyes darker than the night sky above. Biting the inside of his lower lip, he stared at her hungrily. It was clear he was debating his next move. Jaw tensing, the tendons flexing, his hand lifted to scratch at the underside of it as his brow furrowed. 

Nocturnal animals squawked, screamed and chattered out in the darkness that surrounded them. They were completely alone out here. No witnesses, no mission. Just them .

Moving closer, he leaned a little further towards her, the distance between them disappearing quickly until she was moments away from being wrapped around him. The tips of their noses brushed against the other’s, his breath fanning on her lips, the cigar smoke heavy on her nostrils. The heady, bitter scent of tobacco made her bite her lip. Her eyes firmly locked on his, she tried to perceive what his next move was before he did. 

Brushing the hair back that the wind blew into her face, his fingers traveled through her waves as his hand came to rest on the curve of her jaw, thumb stroking at her cheekbone thoughtfully. No words needed to be spoken, enough already had. Just like in a fight, they seemed to know what the next move needed to be before it was even said. Synchronicity . 

Mouth meeting hers, his grip firm, the kiss was passionate and deep. Weeks’ worth of need boiled down into one moment. All that arguing, the bickering, the back and forth, it all had to have been for something and he seemed to be making damn sure that it did as his lips claimed hers. Pulling her in tighter towards him, his hand shifted to lock up into a fistful of her hair at the back of her head. His other arm wrapped around her back, pulling her right up against him as his fingers found themselves sliding underneath the hem of her shirt, caressing the small of her back. Rough, calloused skin on his warm palm rubbed against her, fighting off the chill in the breeze as the temperature decreased the deeper the night became. 

Breaking the kiss for air, John pressed his forehead to hers, his breath short and heavy. “I want this, Ror. Want you. Us ,” his voice thick with a deep need. “This feels right. You know it does.”

“John –” she said his name breathlessly. 

“No, sweetheart. No more reasons not to, yeah?” 

She still wasn’t entirely convinced. In the moment it was easy to forget the real world, to stop herself from seeing sense, but her mind continued to race through every scenario, every possible fantasy and nightmare that could come out of this decision. 

“John…” She brought her hand to his temple stroking her fingers through his hair ruffled by the wind with his boonie hat removed. “I’m really not the easiest person to love, I wasn’t lying about that. Had to learn not to let people in. My job’s been about lying and secrets for years.” 

And from the fear of being hurt, of being left behind once more. 

“Yeah, so’s mine. You know that.” His hand came to rest under her chin, keeping her eyes on his. “Don’t you think that’s what makes us right for each other, my girl? No lies, no bullshit, no pretendin’ to be somethin’ we aren’t. Good, bad, or ugly. Just me and you.”

“You could have a woman who could give you a normal life,” she said quietly. 

“Normal’s boring, love.”

“You’re going to have a retort for everything I say, aren’t you?” Her brow lifted as her mouth curled into a half grin.

“Maybe. Yeah.” His smirk fading to become serious once more. “But I mean it, I wouldn’t know how to handle some bloody white picket fence life. And even then I’d be havin’ to lie to whoever she was f’ the rest of my life ‘bout the things I’ve done. Don’t have to do that with you. Might be nice to get to be honest f’ once.”

Rory shook her head and huffed out a laugh. “Just as smooth as you were five years ago,” she teased.

“I can be charmin’ when I choose to be.”

She hummed, “That’s becoming very apparent.”

“You’re too perfect to let slip through my fingers, Rory,” he purred. 

“I’m anything but perfect,” she whispered softly.

His thumb drifted across her lower lip, pulling at her pout and staring straight into her eyes. “You, my darlin’ girl, are exactly what I need.”

There was no denying the magnetic pull that had always been there between them, and with their mouths so close together it was only getting stronger. She could tell herself to pull away, to repel him, to push him back and carry on, focusing on her career as she always had, leaving her to a lonely world she had come to know so well. Saving herself the pain of loss and distance by never allowing anything good to come from letting anyone in. She found herself unable to do that anymore – not with him. He had been nothing but honest when he said being with him just felt right. 

She wondered if her mother and father ever felt this way, living a life of apparent joy before they too parted and became another statistic. 

Shaking her head clear of those thoughts, she closed her eyes and leaned in to kiss him once more, her lips pressed to his, soft and slow. Tongue sweeping against her pout, he prodded at the part of her lips until she rewarded him with access to her mouth. Climbing into his lap, she grabbed at the shoulder straps of his tac vest, deepening the kiss as her legs came to straddle his muscular thighs. Wrapping her body around his broad expanse, she was protected by him, held in his arms – the way it had always been. 

Exactly the way she wanted him. 

[wrenseyeview]

I truly don't want to be a doomer. I don't want to be exhausted and full of impotent rage. And I think that state of mind is actually solvable, and in great part due to not having any control or options for action. So, why are so many of the calls to action still exhausting and upsetting?

Going down the line:

Vote! - did that

Volunteer for a political campaign! - did that

Email and call your elected officials! - did that

Donate to relevant groups/funds! - did that

Talk to your family to convince them! - did that, wish I didn't, never ends well

Get informed on the issue! - did that, maybe blissful ignorance would be less depressing? (/j... mostly)

Volunteer for local relevant groups! - pin in that for below

Go to protests! - second pin

Okay. So. Out of that list, I've done most of them and try to continue doing them when able, and this general tidal wave of shit still keeps coming. So how about the last two?

Volunteer has a few issues depending on location. Where I am, I'm an hour drive each way from the little LGBT+ center downtown, and it has kinda limited meetings or offerings. I still want to get involved, but it'll take some planning and a lot of effort to make anything regularly when I'm tired after work, and their events tend to be small group meetings to just chat. The nearest Planned Parenthood, also over an hour away, burned down, so.... the next nearest one is at least 3 hours away. Nearly every community impact type of group I've found through local news and bulletins have been through churches or Republican/conservative clubs. The exceptions are an animal shelter and maybe Habitat for Humanity, though I think that one's also managed by churches here. The most I can have a local impact is probably via the Friends of the Library donations or conservation groups for certain strips of woods. None of which help ensure I get to keep legal rights and access to healthcare.

Protest is... so. I just. Really don't understand how it's effective. There have been protests around here of various things, like a group of maybe 30 people stood in downtown in favor of Ukraine. Okay, I guess? What's our city council gonna do about that?? Do they even care about 30 people with some signs standing outside for a few hours? If it gets to summer 2020 levels maybe, though I actually don't know how much actual action resulted as compared to the harm endured by the protestors (not at all to disparage their efforts or their rage).

Ultimately the entire political landscape feels like job hunting. That complete drudge of putting out effort after effort with no indication of reaction or even receipt, just slowly hitting your head against a brick wall at a steady beat for months on end. It's the same feeling of exhaustion and is this even worth it and what if I just disappeared into the mountains and forsook human society and concepts like money or gender and... yeah, not a great thought cycle. With the extra added bonus of having mostly old white men continually spew diahrettic levels of smug hipocrisy while remaining unfortunately out of nut-kicking range. If he wants to legislate my uturus so badly, I should be allowed to kick Alito in the nuts at least once.

Anyway! Yeah, so it feels like the main issue of doomer-ism around all this comes down to lack of options, lack of control or impact. Which is naturally not helped by these measures being centered around taking away control and options. So what are more options besides those usual ones above that either aren't doing much, or at least not much in immediate view?

Well there's the individual self care kind of level, of doing something small and immediate where you can see the impact and feel those good brain chemicals of having influence on your life. This is the step of stop doomscrolling and go sew something, cook something, color, garden, put out bird seed, feel the results of your will in your hands. Be intimately aware that you are not a passive object in your life.

Okay, so now we're a little more present, a little less a disembodied cartoon cloud of rage and despair, we have hands again. Now we can look past individual present to individual future. What do you personally need to feel insulated at least a little from the danger and uncertainty carried on this tidal wave of shit?

Individually, I can:

Have the locations and approximate budget written down for driving to stay with a friend in a state that protects abortion

Research options and potentially order abortion pills now

Ask my doctor about options for a hysterectomy

Any or all of these may not actually be options, largely depending on cost. Hopefully there's actually more options I'm just not thinking of because that's a short list and there's a lot that's left outside of individual control, but at least having the information is a start. Make plans, know where the fire exits are. If we can establish some level of firmer foundation of individual safety, then we can free up some of that anxiety brain space to think more about community and society options.

So after figuring out my fire exits and a few more laps around the self-care track to maybe eventually get more energy for all this, what are some community-level actions besides that first list? What actions can insulate your community from harm imposed by larger society?

Okay. Let's see.

Keep some money set aside for requests for aid from your specific community (narrowed down to your pride center, religious group, dnd group, something small enough to know the people and feel like you are fostering a community that will also support you in turn, reciprocity rather than charity, and ideally in person)

Make a list of who in your small group can offer what kind of aid (who can drive places, who can babysit, who has medical knowledge, etc.)

Meet with the small group on a regular basis. Foster connections, bring food.

Trade favors, establish the gifting cycle among the group, so no one feels bad having to ask for help. Of course we can pool money to help get you a trip a couple states over, because you helped fix my fence because I watched your kids because you brought soup when I was sick because. Everyone should feel important and like they're not relying on charity if they need help.

So all these ideas come down to what ends up formally as mutual aid, but that often feels a little too expansive and hard to get into as a community rather than charity if you start at the "look up local mutual aid groups" level, hits the same problem as the top list in my experience at least. So this is more of a bottom-up approach of turn your friend group into an informal mutual aid network, aka make friends in real life. Which... is hard, it is, but it's gotta be worth the effort and is really the best starting point, and also good for you.

So after all that, it looks like my steps for getting out of the doom cycle are

Stop doomscrolling

Find my hands again by making stuff

Make some emergency plans to file away

Go find some more in person friends and bring food

As much as I am the kind of person that very happily will stay in my house alone for way longer than the average human being, it's fundamentally necessary to feel the support structure of "there are at least five people within a 30 minute drive of me that would not kill me for a corn chip, and in fact would provably prefer that I not be killed" when it feels like the entire rest of the "doing stuff" arm of society would happily kill you. You spitting at the government isn't going to have any impact you can see, but if you make your friend a scarf, he has a scarf now, and he might be the friend that keeps a stocked medicine cabinet.

[jupitermelichios]

So I’ve been playing a lot of skyrim lately, because it’s video game comfort food, and I decided it was time for my Redguard Dovahkiin to settle down. (Actually I specifically just wanted to be able to adopt some of the random orphans you meet because I felt guilty about them, but you need to be married before you can do that so that there’s someone at home to take care of the kids while you’re off galivanting).

So I travelled around a bit, chatting up likely looking npcs until I found one I both liked and didn’t feel guilty about marrying (I feel bad if I marry one of the warrior adventurer types, making them be a stay at home mum) and settled on an obnoxiously cheerful argonian called Shavee because her life was frankly shit, and I thought she’d probably be good with kids.

So off I go to Riften to the Temple of Mara to arrange the wedding. I book it in for the next day, realise I didn’t bring anything nice to wear, and spend the night before the wedding robbing every house in the city in the search for something to wear. Eventually decide everyone in Riften has terrible fashion sense and break down everything I stole into raw materials and use them to craft myself an outfit and some jewellery that i’m pretty happy with. I even carefully pick out my fanciest looking sword to wear.

(don’t know why I bothered, frankly, shavee turned up wearing a shirt covered in suspicious stains and weilding a pickaxe, it’s like she doesn’t even care about this marriage)

(also for comedy purposes, bear in mind I play with survival mods that mean my character needs to eat and sleep to live, and I literally spent the entire ingame night on this and forgot to eat and drink anything either and then just downed four bowls of wolf stew right before entering the temple so I didn’t starve during the ceremony. also I discovered during the wedding that I am dying of rockjoint, which I contracted from sleeping in a pile of hay on the floor of a skeever infested cave, so even being six foot tall and jacked can’t make up for the fact that I am exhausted, running a fever, and probably covered in wolf which I spilled because my joints are slowly atrophying, and even the fanciest clothes in the world aren’t going to cover that up)

so I enter the temple, and my finance is there, and Lydia my housecarl, and some random NPCs the game thinks are my friends because I did fetch quests for them

One of the random NPCs is Lisbet. Atfter I did her fetch quest, I then did another quest in which I discovered Lisbet is secretly a cannibal and part of a demonic cult that worships the daedric prince of decay by kidnapping priests, sacrificing them, and then eating their corpses. Raw. I think the raw meat is the sticking point for me here honestly.

I ultimately decided not to sacrifice the random priest to a daedric prince in exchange for one magic ring and all the raw human I could eat, because frankly, that doesn’t sound like much of a deal to me. I was expecting there to be some kind of dialogue choice where I could nope out at the last minute, but it turns out there isn’t one, so after they drugged the priest and tied him to the altar, I just got out my sword and started swinging.

I killed most of the cult (including the town butcher, because I had brought meat from him before and was extremely pissed off that he might have been secretly feeding me humans) but a couple of them got away, which I figured was fine because they weren’t trying to kill me.

Except it turns out, if any of them escape, then every time you see them in the future there’s a random chance that they’ll fly into a violent rage and try and murder you.

Lisbet is at my wedding. Lisbet decides that clearly me marrying this random argonian woman with two lines of dialogue is the happiest day of my life, and she cannot allow me that happiness, when I’ve taken so much from her.

So she tries to kill me. Only she can’t, because I’m stuck in a pre-rendered wedding animation, and also she’s sitting next to Lydia, my faithful retainer and owner of a really big axe.

It also turns out that Lisbet is essential, meaning she can be knocked unconcious but not actually killed because she’s needed for some quest or other. And the minute she wakes up from unconciousness, she tries to kill me again, so Lydia knocks her unconcious again, and I’m stuck, I can’t move, because I’m supposed to be in the wedding animation.

Except Shavee has, not unreasonably, see all this and decided that she doesn’t like me enough to risk getting murdered, and has done a runner, leaving me at the altar, but more importantly, leaving me trapped in a broken pre-rendered animation, so all I can do is stand there at the altar, staring at the space where my fiance was supposed to be, listening to the sounds of Lydia trying and failing to beat a cannibal to death behind me.

Okay, I think, clearly this wedding isn’t going to happen, I’m going to go for the registry office option and complete the wedding using the dev commands. I do this. The priest gives me a wedding ring, and I can finally move again. I chase after Shavee, who has an impressive turn of speed on her, and eventually catch up right by the city gates. I try to talk to her.

Apparently using the console has completed the wedding for me, but not for her, because she still only has the same 2 lines of dialogue she usually has.

Clearly this is working, I can’t leave my kids with someone who can only say 2 things and doesn’t even know she’s their mum, that’s irresponsible.

I try loading from inside the temple. I get the same problem.

Eventually I figure out that I need to use the dev controls to disable Lisbet’s entire existence in the universe.

Shavee and me get married. As the priest reads the vows, I stare at Shavee and wonder why she couldn’t even be bothered to put on a clean shirt. I wonder what kind of mother she’ll be.

Once the ceremony is over, and I’m happily married to the dirty green lizard of my dreams, and we’ve agreed that until I can make her recognise my extremely nice modded house exists I will share her single bed in the unheated flophouse in Windhelm she calls home, I re-enable Lisbet, because I’m worried I’ll forget if I leave it too long.

Fun fact about skyrim, it loads in quite a lot of npcs and objects by dropping them from the sky. I have no idea why this is the case, but it’s objectively the funniest way to load in objects.

I re-enable Lisbet. She falls from the sky, clips through the roof of the temple, and lands in the pew beside Lydia, stands up, draws a knife, and is immedately beaten unconcious.

I no longer care, because Shavee now has all the exciting new spouse-only romantic dialogue options like “Could you cook something for me” and “have you made any money lately”, and I know she’ll be a great mother.

I limp to the door of the temple, while around me the guests not involved in the Lydia-Lisbet murder cycle scream and duck for cover.

I open the door to the temple, immediately collapse and ragdoll down the steps, which is how I discover I am dying of rockjoint.

I limp to the orphanage down the street, adopt two kids, and then finally remember that I’m carrying garlic bread, which as we all know, cures all known illnesses.

When I emerge back into the street, full of the joys of motherhood and garlic bread, I find the town in disaray. Lydia is chasing Lisbet through the streets with an axe and a dragon is circling overhead, burning npcs to death. People are running for shelter, screaming, while the guards try to take down an entire dragon using only the worst bows and arrows in the game.

I decide that as a parent, I have to think of my own safety first and leave them to it.

I head out of the city, intent on returning home and figuring out why Shavee refuses to move in with me. A man hanging around the stables challenges me to a boxing match. For want of anything better to do, I agree.

Halfway through the fight he dodges at the wrong moment and I punch one of his horses in the head.

Two guards attack me while I desperately try to surrender. My kids will miss me, but I’m prepared to go to jail for my horse crimes, I’m an honest citizen. Also my horse crimes seem somewhat less important than the dragon.

The guards refuse to accept my surrender. I am stabbed to death. As I collapse in front of the indifferent horse, Lisbet exits the city, followed by Lydia. The last thing I see before I die is Lydia swinging her axe at Lisbet’s face.

[peace-for-levi]

Isabel [Levi Ackerman x GN!Reader]

N.B: heya! if you're scrolling through the tags and thinking, "hey, i have read this before..." chances are you probably have! don't worry, this is not plagiarism. you read that on a - now - deleted blog (i had to restart for reasons i won't go into.) so i am reposting everything now!

synopsis: when levi's wife goes into labour, he has to drop the crude, cold façade he normally holds and be there in their time of need.

tw: possible inaccuracies as i have never been pregnant before LOL, reader is labouring, occasional use of she/her throughout, levi being soft ASF (self-indulgent all the way.)

--

You turned your head at the sound of the door and almost immediately, you felt the wintery gust flood through the narrow hallway of your house. You sucked in a breath, but you quickly smiled. After all, your husband had returned to your cosy cottage.

He shut the door behind him, and you saw him lean his head against it, heaving a great sigh. You frowned at how he almost always needed those few seconds to just process everything in his head before turning to face you. You instinctively brought a hand down to your swollen tummy - was this a good decision after all? Having a baby in these troubling, turbulent times?

But then he turned around again to face you and his face was illuminated by the amber-coloured light of the oil lamp. He saw you stirring the steaming pot of stew and his steely gaze softened immediately.

He smiled.

Don’t be silly, you chastised yourself for such thoughts, he’s happy with us.

Of course he was. He could calm down instantly looking at you. He walked over and shrugged off his forest green cloak and placed it on the counter next to you. War-torn hands reaching out and cupping your cheeks, he pressed his lips to your forehead. You felt his calloused thumbs rub against your temples and you leaned into his touch. Immediately his hands fell to your tummy and rubbed in circles.

“Dinner smells good,” he whispers softly against your lips, “how was your day?”

Dinner did smell good; nothing could beat some beef stew after a long day with your cast iron kettle hanging over the fire, right? He couldn’t wait until your bellies were filled and he could cosy up with you in front of the fire with a cup of black tea in his hand.

Your smile grew wider when he sank to his knees and nuzzled against your tummy. You were probably going to give birth in the next week or two. You lowered your right hand and allowed it to tread through his raven locks, your other hand still stirring to prevent any sticking to your pot.

“Eh…” you huffed out.

Levi pulled back for a bit. “Had an ‘eh’ day myself… What’s troubling you?”

“Just very crampy today and my back is killing me. Why did you have an ‘eh’ day?”

You almost laughed when you heard Levi’s heavy sigh, and it was a long sigh too. He closed his eyes as he recounted the disaster at HQ but… what with the amount of grief Levi had been through, there was very little that could faze him now.

Still, when he recounted to you that Hange accidentally launched one of their new projects - a thunder spear - into HQ and close to his office at that - while he was drinking his tea! - obviously he would be pretty livid. All that was destroyed in the fires of the aftermath were two bedrooms and a storage room, and thankfully no lives were lost, but he wasn’t going to forgive Hange for a while after this. You had to give him credit for his composure.

“I miss Hange, even in spite of these incidents.” You spoke.

You hadn’t seen Hange since you were discharged by Erwin at three months. Well, you had waved at her in the streets when you did your shopping for you and Levi and you might converse briefly, but she was always too busy to stop by for a chat. She did, however, say she’d be present for the birth.

“I bet he’d get along with Hange.”

“Still sure we’re having a boy?” your husband asked.

You yawned as exhaustion began to consume you more and more. “Yeah, he is giving me a lot of trouble like how his father used to.” You teased.

Levi only muttered something under his breath, and you weren’t quite sure what it was. He leaned back a bit and extended his index finger. “Oi, stop giving your mother a hard time. She’s tired.”

Another yawn. “I am, actually. I might pass on dinner tonight and just head to bed.”

Levi stood up again and eyed you curiously; wasn’t like you to skip dinner but he thought nothing of it. He mentioned he’d save some for you and with a chaste kiss to your lips, you made your way upstairs.

You opened the creaky, wooden door to your shared bedroom and when you disrobed, you rooted around for a clean nightgown in your drawers. You groaned as another sharp pain radiated around your lower back and pelvic area. You held onto the edge of the drawers with a white-knuckle grip. You had gotten cramps here and there before throughout your pregnancy, but these were just all-consuming. A few more whimpers and a few deep breaths though, and they subsided.

Hmm, weird, there’s no way it’s time already? I’m still a week or two early, you said to yourself. If he wants to come now, what will happen… would he be healthy?

You shook your head and made your way over to the bed, propping yourself up with a few pillows. It wasn’t long before Levi came into the room too with a candle in his hand before placing it down on his desk. As he removed his shirt, the dull light illuminated and highlighted his defined body. You smiled dozily at him and you were fast asleep before he could even climb into bed.

.

.

.

Awaking in the middle of the night with your husband’s arms wrapped around you was always a treat. He didn’t always sleep, and when he did, it was poor. But whenever his arms snaked around your chest with one hand resting on your tummy, you knew he was sleeping well. It gave you a chance to look at his unguarded and peaceful countenance.

You woke up with a feeling of heartburn that was hard to ignore so you decided a drink of water might be a good idea. You made your way downstairs, careful not to wake your sleeping husband. Leaning against the countertop once you reached the kitchen, you fetched yourself a glass of water and began to sip slowly.

Gulping the last bit down, you placed the glass in a sink and walked towards the stairs again… until you felt a gush of warm liquid flow down your legs.

Oh, crap!

You peered down at the pool of fluid between your legs that was now pooling in your hallway. Your mind froze and all you could do was stare for a few seconds.

“U-uh… Levi?!” you shrieked.

You heard a large thud from upstairs when he landed less than gracefully - unceremoniously, even - after jumping from your bed and he was quick to scurry down the stairs at the yell.

“What the hell?! Are you ok--?”

He stopped when his bare feet splashed against the pool of fluids between you both.

“Oh, my?” he questioned and peered down. “Is it that time already?”

You only blinked at his calmness at the situation. How was he not freaking out?! Your fingers moved to clench your soaking gown. He reached for your hands and walked you towards the front door. He stopped for a few seconds as he scratched his head in thought.

“Levi?!” you screeched at his silence.

He had to stay as calm as possible. It was something he was well used to, being a good captain and all. But it was so different in this situation. Seeing you panic like this and the gravity of the situation made him almost lose his composure. He was able to keep everything well hidden beneath his steely exterior and this was all because he was good at analysing typically abnormal situations.

This wasn’t a situation like this. All he had to do was be a supportive husband for you.

As he hurried down the stairs again, the realization dawned on him again.

Was this actually happening? Were you two going to be parents? Could you two do this?

Well, it was not like you had a choice now.

“Come, let’s get moving.” He said, holding you with one hand by the small of your back.

He assisted you back up the stairs as fast as your body would allow, but once you got to the bathroom just a few metres shy of your bedroom, that’s when you felt everything tighten and your breath became lodged in your throat. Your legs buckled as your hands gripped onto the architrave. Levi was quick to descend with you and hold your hand. A pained groan escaped your lips and you heard deep breaths beside you.

“Deep breaths, you can do it, [F/n]...” he said as he rubbed your back in circles. He tried to do deep breathing with you, taking long, exaggerated breaths. All to feel you a little less alone or too lost in your own pain.

It wasn’t the worst pain you had experienced - you were a former veteran of the Scouts after all - but that didn’t make the feeling pleasant either.

He propped up all the pillows to give you ample support and he placed a hand on your shin, gesturing you to keep your legs open. It seemed that the next contraction seemed to be taking its time, so he made the decision to alert the neighbours. This was a plan Levi had made with them a few months ago, that he’d call next door and ask them to go rush to the nurses and for Hange. Luckily for you two, HQ was no more than a five-minute walk away.

After slipping into a dress shirt and black slacks, he ran down the stairs and hopped over the wall to your neighbour. It was close to midnight now, but hopefully they’d be awake… If not, he’d have to leave you alone by yourself and that was not an option.

He rapped on the door and even called out to them, before knocking again. Thankfully, the middle-aged man and his wife seemed to be up and were quick to open the door.

Perhaps Levi looked a bit more flustered than he thought he did. Then again, as someone so composed all the time, any change in composure screamed out.

“Captain Levi? Is everything alright?” the wife asked.

Levi inhaled sharply. Damn, he was getting stressed already. If they were to shine the oil lamp up to his face, they would be able to see the sweat beading at his brows and how his pupils had narrowed from the intensity of the situation. “[F/n] has gone into labour, earlier than we expected. She needs the nurses a-and Hange--” Fuck, was he stuttering from it all? “I can’t leave her alone to get them and-”

The wife who was probably a good three inches shorter than him looked up at him and passed him a soft smile; a reassuring smile. She had been through all this before. She knew the chaos involved but knew the best thing he could be was a pillar of support for you. She placed her hands on his shoulders and got her to look at him. Normally he’d shrug off any physical contact from anyone that wasn’t you, but his mind was spiralling, and he was doing his best to hide it.

“Levi, it’s okay. Dear, you go get the nursing staff and Hange, okay?” she called out to her husband who had already saddled up in the meantime and taken off. “My husband will be back soon. Let me get you a few things.”

Levi tapped his foot impatiently as she pattered around the house for a bit. She came back with a bag of rags, towels and some knitted clothes.

“It’s important you stay calm, okay? What do you think you’ll have?”

Levi shrugged as he nodded his thanks. “I don’t know, of course, but [F/n] reckons we’ll have a boy.”

“Hmm… I think you’ll have a daughter!” she beamed.

Levi began to head out the door again. “Look, thank you so much for everything.”

“Best of luck, Levi,” she wished with a gleeful smile, “and congratulations.”

Levi nodded with the bag and headed back up the stairs of his home. He burst through the door of your bedroom and was immediately at your side again. He dropped the bag down at your bedside and reached for your hand. He caught you just in time for another contraction. You tried to steady yourself, but you cried out once more and gripped onto the blankets as another contraction overwhelmed you. You hastily grabbed a pillow and cried into it, trying to muffle your cries. Okay, it was official, this was the worst pain you had felt thus far, and all Levi could do was stare helplessly.

It’s not like he could do much. He couldn’t take away the pain from you, but by god, he wished he could. He’d deliver the child if biologically possible, anything to not see you in so much agony. But every time a contraction died away, you would re-emerge and tackle this again with an ungodly amount of strength.

And he couldn’t be prouder of you in these agonizing yet awe-inspiring moments.

You lowered your pillow when you vaguely heard the crowd of nurses patter into the room and everything kicked off. The lead nurse stated she’d be the main overseer to everything. At times, Levi’s mind flitted in and out of the conversation at hand from the nurses. His stare glossed over occasionally, and you couldn’t exactly decipher what it was he was feeling. Whatever it was he was feeling, he hid it well. He absent-mindedly rubbed the small of your back hoping you’d relax as the nurse checked your cervix. His ears perked up once he heard the number ‘three.’

“Three centimetres, seven to go, I reckon.”

“OOH, SEVEN?! HOW EXCITING!” a voice from outside screeched and Levi’s face fell flat. The bespectacled brunette burst through the door. “THAT’S SO FEW!”

“Hange.” Levi barked. He said nothing but his gaze said, be quiet now. “If you’re not gonna be helpful to [F/n], you can leave out the door you came in.”

“Sorry, sorry,” she aired as she rushed over to the other side of your bed and sat on top. “How are you doing, [f/n]? Anything I can do?” she asked. At first you shook your head, but when she mentioned that she brought a few scented candles to help soothe you - or at the very least, keep a gentle ambiance going - you perked up. “Okay, I’ll go light them. Levi, do you have any matches?”

“In the high cupboard left to the sink.” He said and she scurried down.

“Fuck… Levi, it’s happening again…” you groaned as you tossed your head back.

“I have you.” He reminded. He loosened his hand so you could squeeze it. With each contraction came a pain that dominated your entire being. In those moments, for those seconds that stretched into infinity, there was nothing else. Every contraction seemed to hurt more than before, and you would be left panting and almost delirious for a few seconds. Everything melted into the background when a contraction came; the nurses melted to nothing as did their encouraging cries.

But you remained grounded to Levi. He held your hand with every contraction and his lips were pressed to your sweaty temple. While you could only vaguely hear his encouraging words, he was still there and encouraging you to breathe deeply through it all, even if it hardly did anything to alleviate the pain.

“How much longer will this take?”

“She progressed quickly enough to get to the three so it may not take too long. Though it could just as easily be another few hours, or even well into tomorrow. I’m sorry, there’s no way of knowing.” The nurse replied.

Levi only nodded. He just wanted you to be okay and to make this as pain-free as possible. Hange came back in with the matches and began to light a few candles.

As time passed, your head fell. The contractions kept coming but you weren’t progressing as fast as you thought. By the time the second hour rolled by, you had only made it to four centimetres. You were reminded that you’d know when to push.

Levi couldn’t stand to see you in so much pain.

“Is there anything we can do?” he asked, now getting slightly panicked.

The nurse smiled sadly, knowing there was only so much they could do. “[F/n], how about a walk out in the fresh air?” she offered.

Levi peered over at you. Within the past two hours, he had acquired a basin and wet cloth, and was dabbing it occasionally on your forehead. “How about it?” he asked, repeating the motion of it as you lifted your head up again to receive his touch.

“If I walk down those stairs, I don’t think I’ll make it back up…” you huffed.

Hange had taken to holding your other hand too. Levi’s initial glare at her excitement seemed to do the trick and she was very helpful. Perhaps more proactive than the nurses. Then again, she was your best friend; she probably wanted to do everything under the sun.

“A bath may help?” Hange perked up. “Warm water and all?” to which you nodded.

Levi stood and pulled you up. Before you may have walked upright and with your back straight, but now you walked totally hunched over. He ordered for someone - anyone who could get there fastest - to draw a bath. A few stayed behind in the bedroom, taking turns supervising you.

Levi walked you towards the bathroom and unbuttoned your nightgown. With an ‘arms up’ command, he had it off you quickly and you were left in just your bra. He lowered you into the bath and you sat in the middle of the tub. He questioned why you weren’t going to lean back and that was when you asked him to come into the bath with you. He wasn’t going to fight you in the moment and rushed back to the bedroom and put on a pair of (swimming) shorts… or shorts he had no issue getting wet. Within mere seconds, he lowered himself into the bath and wrapped his legs loosely around your waist, his chest firm against your back. He began to rub your arms up and down and leaned over to press a kiss to your cheek.

“You’re doing so well.” He said. His tone lowered to a whisper when he heard you begin to weep. “Hey, hey, hey… What’s wrong? Ah-- Hange, can you go get us a basin?” he asked. Your face paled a little and he shouted for the Titan scientist to hurry as another contraction washed over you.

“L-Levi, I don’t feel right…”

“Hange!” he barked for the third time.

You brought a hand up to your mouth and expelled whatever food had been inside you from before. The pain of this contraction was so intense you had thrown up. Levi swept a thumb across your chin and Hange came in with a basin, and you spilled the rest into it. In fact, you threw up twice more. The bitter taste in your mouth left you feeling all disgusting and ‘icky’, and you let out a choked sob of frustration. Your body had you rocking back and forth on its own accord, trying to move with the pain so to speak, letting out pained groans through gnashed teeth.

Levi leaned you forward and began to rub your lower back. “Breathe. You gotta breathe, [f/n], come on.”

You shook your head as you wailed, almost sounding like you were giving in. “I can’t! It’s too much, Levi!”

“Hey,” he called gently. “Sniff the flowers,” he commanded and paused to breathe in, “and blow out the candles” and he exhaled. “You can do that for me?”

You weren’t sure about how the silly visual cue helped you at all, but you also knew Levi wasn’t going to quit saying it until you did what he told you to do. After a few deep breaths, you calmed down and your contraction died away. Levi continued to rub your lower back, offering whispered words of encouragement.

“Gosh, Shorty, aren’t you such a sweetie?” Hange jeered.

“Go away, Four Eyes.”

The contractions came and went, growing more and more intense. Levi sometimes opted to swish the water down and forth or turn on the tap, to give you something else to focus on. You weren’t sure how long you two stayed in the bath, but Levi helped lift you out once the water had gotten cold. Hange went to relight the candles, pillows were propped back up and you were moved back to your bedroom, to do the whole thing all over again.

And frankly, you weren’t sure how long you could hold on for. It was unbearable. As the hours ticked by until the wee morning, you were losing your strength.

“I’m sorry.” Levi mumbled as he kissed your matted hair.

“It hurts so much. I’m so tired.” You whispered, your voice dry and hoarse.

Levi looked up at the nurse and then over at the small clock on your bedside lock. Seven in the morning, so you had been labouring for seven hours, if not more if you were experiencing smaller contractions before your water broke.

How he ached to take all your pain away from you; to shoulder it all and save you from this agony. You both knew it would be worth it at the end, but the process of getting there was no doubt painful.

“You’re doing well. It’ll all be over soon, won’t it?” he asked and looked at the nurse.

“I’ll go see how far you are,” she said, softly. You let your legs widen as she did another cervical exam. You flinched a bit as you felt her gloved fingers inside. She gasped. “My, you’re almost there. Easily nine centimetres!”

For the first time in a couple hours, you felt genuine relief amidst all the chaos and pain.

.

.

.

Levi had sent the nurses and Hange downstairs an hour later, telling them they were free to help themselves to food stored in your cupboards. They had been crowding around you both for over eight hours now, they deserved a break too. You were fine with your husband sitting through your contractions with you, especially when you only had a centimetre or two left.

That was when you felt an excruciating pain down below, unlike anything you had felt all evening. Levi was at your side in seconds.

“What is it?”

“Hnnn!” you groaned out. This was it. This had to be it, the feeling the nurses told you about. An overwhelming amount of pressure was building between your legs and you let out a guttural noise. “Get Hange and the nurses.”

“Wait, is time? Now-”

“Get the fucking nurse, Levi!” you yelled, and he ran down to fetch them.

The pressure had your hips swaying into position, it was almost unbearable to refrain from pushing. The pain had your whole body trembling. Levi arrived back in with the nurses and you opened your legs at the lead nurse’s command. Your husband was sitting by your side once more, lacing his fingers with yours.

“I see a head! And plenty of hair too! The baby has moved into the birth canal. I need you to push on the next contraction.” She explained.

You heaved in massive strokes, starting to lose your breath. You were completely worn out now, body and mind. You all waited with bated breaths for the next contraction to hit. You took in a massive breath when you felt that familiar pain come back again. Your stomach tightened - everything tightened - as a scream ripped out from your throat.

“You have got to push harder, [f/n].” The nurse urged. Hange came in, sitting on the bed and shuffled onto the bed to hold your other hand.

You shook your head. There was no way you could, you were so depleted of energy.

“You can do this.” Your husband said.

“I can’t! You have to do it for me!” you wept into his arms.

“I would if I could.” He assured you.

The nurse called for your attention. “The next time you push, tuck your chin into your chest and push as though you got to do a number two. But push very hard.”

You blinked frantically. “Wait, what if I do poop?”

“That means you’re pushing right!” Hange cheered.

This entire conversation made Levi grimace, and it took every ounce of self-control to not cringe.

The final contraction hit and with whatever strength you could muster, you pushed through with a shrill cry. The baby began to crown, the hot stretching of flesh almost making you want to stop but you had to keep pushing through. You felt the head leave your body and you pushed through the rest of your contraction. You held onto Levi’s hand with such force he was pretty sure you could have broken it. And he would have taken it.

And then the pain left your body finally.

Tiny cries pierced the air.

Levi tilted your head back and his lips crashed against yours in a kiss that carried so many emotions with it; love, adoration, pride, elation and gratitude. He kissed you again and once more while your baby was being wrapped up. One of the extra nurses moved to clean you up and help deliver the placenta.

“A girl, congratulations.” The nurse whispered. Hange cracked a toothy grin, but she knew to step back and leave you two to have your moment.

You looked down at your wrapped-up little miracle, falling in-love instantly. Had her father’s hair and gunmetal eyes, but your eye shape and complexion. She also had your chin too. Your index finger rubbed against her plump cheeks and almost began to whimper again but with a few gentle hushes from you, she settled down once more. She was probably hungry too.

“She looks so much like you…” you whispered, looking up at your husband. The nurses and Hange took this as their cue to leave. Levi’s eyes had completely glossed over with a newfound vulnerable expression that you had never seen before. You could tell he was just itching to hold her, so as gently as you could, you shuffled over to the side to allow Levi to relax into the headrest. “Here, Levi.”

Your little girl was placed into his arms and a calloused thumb immediately went to trace under her eyes and around her cheeks, her forehead; everywhere. A swell of emotions overcame him like a tsunami crashing against the shoreline and he shut his eyes, tears flowing down his pallid cheeks and he made no effort to stop them. His lower lips trembled, and minute whimpers escaped his lips, but he was desperately clawing at whatever composure he had left to try to piece himself back together.

But he could cry, his daughter was here. He was a father now; he could be as emotional as he liked, and no one would care.

“Isabel.” You said, gently, and Levi nodded at the suggestion.

Levi’s thumb moved to his daughter’s fist and her fingers latched around it instantly, bringing his thumb to her mouth and began to suck. He let out a soft chuckle. “I think she’s hungry.”

“I bet she is.” You said, reaching out and taking a hold of her once more. The baby began to wriggle, and her arms broke free from the blanket, beginning to fuss. You lowered one side of your nightgown and held your daughter against your breast. She latched after a few seconds and by god was it uncomfortable. The feeling had you biting your lower lip in discomfort, but you just had to grin and bear it.

The three of you sat in silence for another half hour or so as you nursed your baby when you heard a knock on the door. Hange peeked her head around and smiled widely at you both.

“Shhh.” Levi was quick to say.

Hange tiptoed in. “I may have bought a few visitors…”

The raven-haired man’s face fell flat. “How many?”

And in came all of Levi’s newest squad and Erwin. He face-palmed at the noise and shrugged off his blazer to cover you and your daughter.

“Is this a bad time, Levi?”

“Yes, it’s a bad time. She’s barely been born a half hour and--”

“I KNEW IT WOULD BE A GIRL! TAKE THAT, MISTER DEATH WISH!” you heard come from outside the room. You only sighed softly.

“I tried to keep those two out of this,” Erwin mentioned as he walked over to the two of you. You removed your baby from your breast and buttoned up your nightgown again. The blonde smiled in pure adoration. “She’s so precious. Congratulations, Levi, [F/n].”

“Thank you, Erwin.” He replied and you nodded your thanks.

In your half-asleep state, you began to nurse again in front of everyone, not bothering to cover up. Levi sighed heavily and moved to cover you up again before you came through.

“Sir, we can call back later if you want.” Eren piped up, walking over to stand by his superior.

“It’s okay, Eren, this is natural. I don’t mind, provided you don’t stare too much.”

“I mind?!” Levi cried. With your free hand, you rested it on his hand. He took a deep breath and sighed. “Fine. You can stay, Jaeger. All of you can.”

Sasha and Connie were next to try to squeeze onto your too small bed for nine extra people.

“I brought her some potatoes!” she chimed and handed one to you. You had to politely explain that babies probably won’t eat until four months at the earliest. And even then, it would only be baby gloop and mushy foods. Not steamed potatoes.

Connie peaked over Levi’s shoulder. “Do you mind?” Levi asked him rhetorically.

“Nope,” he answered swiftly and saluted. On the wrong side. “Sir, why does it look squishy and ugly?”

And then ensued a fiery debate from everyone in the room (apart from Erwin) on why you shouldn’t call babies squishy and ugly, especially in front of their parents. Especially if one of those parents was one Levi Ackerman. But amidst all the commotion, both you and your baby were tuckered out. Levi was surprised that he saw you dozing off in spite of all the ruckus and that your baby was suckling away on nothing.

The short man may have had his doubts before Isabel was born but looking at everyone around here right now - being so chaotic and noisy, but so full of happiness and pride for you both - made all those negative thoughts wash away.

It took a bit of shuffling and squeaking of military boots, but eventually everyone was kicked out by Levi. He looked back fondly at you two, both of you sound asleep.

He would promise you both a normal, peaceful, family life one day. Even if he had to lay down his life doing it.

Because every doubt, struggle, emotional outburst, hormonal-fuelled argument led you both to this, and he would not trade it for the world.

This was his purpose; protect his beautiful wife and precious daughter.

And maybe one day, in the distant future, he would be able to spend more time with you two. In a world without Titans. In a world that was peaceful.

But for now, he had a small serving - a slice - of peace at home and he couldn’t wait to navigate this new chapter of his life with you.

[cherienymphe]

Protect & Serve IV (Steve Rogers x Reader)

WARNINGS: Cop!Steve, cop antics, VIOLENCE, KIDNAPPING, NON-CON(FINGERING)

IF ANY OF THIS OFFENDS YOU, PLEASE DNI

➥ {page breaks done by @whimsicalrogers}

summary:  escaping an ugly past, you have no choice but to return home. While much has remained the same, Officer Rogers is a new addition who has won over the hearts of the town in your absence. And no one believes you when you start to see him for who he really is

~

You didn’t sleep at all that night. Not because someone was banging on your house and skulking about your yard, but rather…the opposite. He didn’t come, and you were left alone with no one but you and your thoughts. You didn’t even know why you weren’t referring to him by name.

Steve.

Steve Rogers.

Officer Steve Rogers.

Officer Rogers was the one who’d been making your nights a living hell for weeks, and the thought made you want to hurl. In fact, that was exactly what you did. As soon as you’d gathered yourself enough to stand, you’d run straight to the bathroom, throwing up for several minutes. Your vision was blurry, body trembling as you hugged the toilet.

Your mind whirled as you fought to make sense of everything. At first, you’d tried to convince yourself that your mind was doing that thing again. Coming up with the most outrageous theories, but the more you thought on it…the more sense it made.

Didn’t police respond to emergency calls based upon who was closest? Steve responded to every single one of your calls, and you remembered that sometimes he wasn’t alone. Was Officer Barnes in on it too? He had to be. They always came in the same car.

You suddenly jumped up, remembering that you’d given the dark-haired cop that blood sample. Steve’s blood sample. His best friend’s blood sample. You pressed your hand to your mouth, feeling like you were going to be sick again.

Officer Romanoff had said that the lab results could be back any day now, but… What if they had never been sent off to begin with? You wanted to cry, and with a start, you realized that you were. Tears were skipping down your face, and for the first time in a long time, you noted that they were tears from fear.

Should you go to the police?

You shook that thought from your mind. Your problem was the police, and what would happen to you if you ran in there to tell them about a crooked, possibly two, cop in their midst? Surely it would get back to Steve, and now knowing what you knew, there was no telling what the man was capable of.

You’d stayed up all night, stewing over what to do. You’d gone over every option there was, and it seemed that the best course of action was to simply leave town. God, you were so tired of running, but this situation was much different from your last.

Sure, Aldrich had money, and had definitely used it to his advantage when escaping the law, but even the luck of someone like him had to run out sometime. He wasn’t completely untouchable. Steve… Steve was the law. You could confront him, and he’d arrest you for whatever charge was believable, and there was no doubt in your mind who they’d be more inclined to listen to.

The thought that Steve could do whatever he wanted and get away with it was a terrifying one. Hell, he had been doing whatever he wanted and had gotten away with it. More tears collected behind your eyes, thinking about the fact that he’d been harassing you during the day and the night. He’d pretty much been in control of every facet of your daily life, and you wondered to yourself…

What did he want?

Was he truly so angry that you’d turned him down? You let out a humorless chuckle, thinking to yourself that you should’ve just gone on the stupid date to save yourself all of this strife. Another part of you argued against that, telling you there was no telling what would have happened on that date or what would have happened after.

It was in the early hours of the morning, and you were packing now. You’d finally made up your mind to just get the hell out of dodge. You didn’t have time to pack up everything and properly move, so a suitcase worth of clothes would do until you sorted everything out. You’d stay in a hotel for a while, whatever it took to get away from him.

You contemplated going by the diner first to see Wanda. You didn’t want a repeat of last time. You wanted to keep in touch, but you decided that your safety came first. You could always look the phone number to the diner up and reconnect with her later. You had just locked up your house, turning towards your car with your suitcase in hand, when a police cruiser pulled into your yard.

Your heart stopped, and you tightened your grip on the handle of your suitcase. Relief did not fill you when none other than Officer Barnes stepped out of the car. You swallowed, warily eyeing him. You were almost positive that he was in on it with Steve. You weren’t sure, but the evidence was damning.

He sent you a friendly smile as he approached you, and you did not return it.

He never smiled at you.

“Morning, Ms. Y/L/N,” he greeted.

“Morning,” you mumbled back.

He stopped at the bottom of your steps, lifting one foot to rest on the bottom step as he looked up at you, blue eyes unreadable. You watched the way they traveled from your face to your suitcase and back.

“Going somewhere?”

You thought about telling him the truth, knowing he’d relay it to Steve, thinking that it would make him happy to see you go, but… You didn’t exactly know why Steve was doing this to you. You didn’t know his motive nor his endgame, so maybe it was best to keep him in the dark.

“Not anytime soon,” you joked, forcing a chuckle. “I’m just going to drop some things off at Goodwill…”

The dark-haired man hummed, nodding as he studied you.

“What brings you here so early in the morning?” you casually asked, moving to walk past him.

“Truthfully…Steve,” he answered.

You frowned, heart skipping a beat, and you were glad that your back was to him as you made your way to your car.

“Steve?” you wondered over your shoulder.

Bucky hummed.

“He was worried about you. Said you seemed pretty upset yesterday…”

You slid your suitcase into the backseat, pursing your lips before shutting the door and turning to face him.

“Upset?” you repeated.

You didn’t like the way he eyed you, and it was then that you knew… Your suspicions were correct. There seemed to be an unspoken battle between you two, both of you trying to figure the other out, seeing who’d slip up first. You had been through this a million times with Aldrich…

“He said that you…seemed confused and distraught…accusing him of some pretty awful things…”

You blinked, lips parting before letting out a soft scoff.

“Oh my God, you’re right. I did,” you guiltily replied. “I’ve been so stressed lately, and Officer Rogers has been nothing but kind to me, and I completely misinterpreted it.”

Bucky appeared to be shocked by your response.

“I’m still working through things, trying to undo a lot of what my ex-husband did. I took it out on Officer Rogers, and I feel terrible.”

He didn’t respond right away, simply eyeing you before slowly nodding. You turned to slide into your driver’s seat, glancing up at him with a small smile.

“Will he be working today? I’d really like to apologize to him properly. If not, I suppose that I can go up to his house later,” you offered.

He ran his eyes over you, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards ever so slightly.

“No…he isn’t in today,” he eventually replied.

“Then I’ll stop by his house later then. If not later then definitely in the morning,” you told him.

The two of you just stared at each other for a moment before he smiled at you.

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that. Drive safe, Ms. Y/L/N.”

He moved to leave, and you stopped him.

“I also wanted to ask you about the blood sample I gave you. Officer Romanoff said that the results should be back any day now, and I was wondering if they’d come in yet…”

He sadly shook his head.

“I’m afraid not. The ETA for these things are never exact, anyway. I’m sure we’ll get the results back soon though,” he answered, but you didn’t believe him.

You nodded, and he bid you goodbye one last time. He closed your door for you, and you looked in your mirror, watching him go back to his car. He sat in it for a while, but you sighed in relief when he eventually drove off. You closed your eyes, hands gripping the wheel as you forced yourself to take a deep breath.

Bucky was in on it too. You were absolutely sure of it. Forcing both him and Steve from your mind, you went to start your car, only to frown when it sputtered. You twisted your key again, but again, it wouldn’t start.

“No, no, no,” you murmured, forcing yourself to remain calm.

You tried again, and sure enough, you got the same results. You bit your lip, swallowing down a scream. Something within you knew why your car wouldn’t start, knew who was responsible. You took out your phone, looking up the number for the auto repair shop with shaky hands.

30 minutes later, you were watching your car being hooked up to the tow truck. When the man was finished, he approached you. A smile was on his face, and he was clearly trying to ease your worries.

“It shouldn’t take long to determine the problem and have it back here,” he told you.

“About how long do you think it’ll take?”

He hummed, thinking.

“There are already two other cars at the shop. After getting done with them and finally fixing yours, I should be able to have it back here no later than…7:30? 7:45?”

It seemed like you didn’t have much choice but to accept that, so what else could you do besides nod? At least you’d be able to get out of here tonight at the latest. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you watched the man drive away. You felt like a sitting duck, but you had no other option but to go inside.

The first hour dragged by. You tried to distract yourself with cleaning and then some tv, but eventually you gave up and just sat on the couch. You couldn’t believe that you were running again, that you had somehow found yourself in a possibly worst situation than the one you’d left.

By the second hour, you were restless. You grabbed your purse and rose from the couch, swiftly locking the door on the way out. You had made sure that all of the lights were off, and everything was unplugged. You wouldn’t be going back inside.

Ever thankful that the diner was within walking distance from your house, you strode into the establishment with a sigh. Still rather early, it was pretty empty inside. Wanda was nowhere to be found, so you took a seat in the corner. You’d been scrolling through your phone for about 5 minutes when the bell above the door dinged.

You didn’t think anything of it. However, you looked up when the customer spoke. He was at the counter, back facing you as he talked to Wanda who’d finally come from the back. A black leather jacket adorned his large frame, the color contrasting with his fair hair. Swallowing, you looked away just as he turned around, eyes falling to your phone.

Your heart went crazy beneath your chest as you heard him approach. You wondered if he’d talked to Bucky, because if so, that would alter how you interacted with him in the next 30 seconds. When he got close enough, you looked up, seemingly just noticing him, and you threw him a small smile.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” he greeted, demeanor giving no indication of what had transpired yesterday.

“Officer Rogers,” you replied. “I’m glad you’re here…”

He hummed, placing a hand on the chair across from you, the other on his hip.

“Yeah, I came down to pick up something to go. The boss is still forcing me to stay home.”

You swallowed, nodding.

“I actually wanted to apologize to you, Officer Rogers,” you said.

You didn’t register any type of surprise in his eyes. He looked completely unfazed, demeanor remaining the same, and you knew that he’d already spoken with Bucky, confirming what you’d suspected. Still, you continued.

“With everything going on, I’m just so stressed and stretching myself far too thin. Not to mention, I haven’t even been divorced for 6 months. There’s a lot that I’m still dealing with, and I took that out on you in probably the worst way possible,” you explained. “You’ve only ever tried to help me.”

He smirked, and you wanted to wipe it from his face.

“There’s no hard feelings. I completely understand,” he said, pulling the chair out and taking a seat.

You forced yourself not to frown at that. He reached out, with his left hand you noted, to brush a finger along your clasped hands on the table, and you tensed.

“I told you before, if there’s ever anything that you need to talk about, I’m here to listen. I want you to feel as comfortable around me as everyone else in this town,” he quietly added.

You slowly pulled your hands back to rest them on your lap, watching the way his brow twitched ever so slightly. You’d dealt with men like him before. Your ex-husband did that, usually when in public, a tell-tale sign that he was unhappy. They seemed to be more alike than you originally thought.

Before you could respond to that, Wanda was calling for him, letting him know that his food was ready. He sent you one last smile before rising and leaving you alone once again. Wanda strode over as soon as he was gone, a grin on her face.

“You two looked cozy,” she said. “What brings you by so early in the morning?”

“My car is in the shop, so I’m just killing time,” you answered, ignoring her quip about you and Steve.

“Hope everything’s okay with it,” she earnestly replied, handing you a menu. “So, are you going to order anything? I’ll make it on the house.”

“Oh, Wanda, you don’t have to do that,” you said, waving her off.

“Don’t be silly, Y/N, it’s nothing! You’ve had such a horrible string of bad luck lately, the least I can do is try to cheer you up…”

Reluctantly, you accepted her offer, and roamed your eyes over the menu.

When you strode into your yard it was around 7. Sure enough, like the man had said earlier, around 7:45 in the evening, your car was being parked alongside your curb. He mentioned that something had been wrong with the battery and that it hadn’t taken long at all to fix. He didn’t say it outright, but the way he spoke made you believe he thought someone had tampered with it. You believed so too, but you didn’t tell him that.

15 minutes later, you were on the road and making your way out of town. You didn’t exactly have a plan. For now, you looked to stay at the first hotel you could find in another city, staying in a room there for a while to consider your next course of action.

Never in a million years did you think something like this could happen to you, and in your tiny hometown no less. You shook your head, thinking about how Officer Rogers had everyone fooled. You wondered what else he’d gotten away with? Surely, he didn’t just wake up one morning with a change of heart and decided to torment you. People usually do what they know they can get away with, right?

You’d only been driving for maybe 25 minutes when your car suddenly stalled. Your eyes widened, and you rushed to turn the key, hoping that maybe it was a minor problem that would solve itself. You moved to turn it back on, but it only spluttered. Again, you tried, but the engine wouldn’t start, and your heart sank.

You glanced around along the long stretch of road, noting that no cars were around, and you doubted any would be anytime soon. It was getting dark, now, and worry filled you. You weren’t completely out of town yet, hadn’t even crossed the city limits, but there was no way you could walk anywhere. You were too far out, and you’d be crazy to.

You wanted to cry, but you forced the tears back, telling yourself that you had to think smart about this. You tried the ignition again, but like before, the engine wouldn’t start. You considered getting out to look under the hood, but you weren’t very familiar with the inside of a car. You knew to check the oil and knew when to put more freon in the car, but that was about it. Besides, you’d seen enough horror films to know to sit your ass in your car.

However, your location was a problem. You were, quite literally, in the middle of the road. Granted, if someone came up from behind you, it wasn’t like they couldn’t see you, but still. You didn’t like just sitting here. You took out your phone, thankful for your carrier because you actually had a few bars surrounded by all of these trees.

You were in the process of looking up the number to the diner, preparing to call Wanda, when red and blue suddenly surrounded you. Fear gripped you as you jerked your head up, confirming that there were definitely lights flashing from behind you. You dropped your phone in your lap as you turned around. A police cruise was parked on the side of the road behind you, and you felt your body grow numb for several different reasons.

What if it was Steve? You were alone out here, no one around to witness anything that could happen. The thought made you want to vomit. On the other hand, what if it wasn’t Steve? The thought still made you want to be sick because, again, you were alone out here…

You turned back around just as the door opened, taking a deep breath. Forcing your eyes up, you looked into the rearview mirror, only to sigh in relief, the tension easing from your shoulders. The cop walked up to your door, and luckily, your window was already halfway down when your car stopped. His dark eyes met yours, a friendly smile on his lips.

“Officer Wilson,” you breathed, hoping the relief wasn’t too obvious in your voice.

You’d never known him to be anything but nice. Besides, he never came with Steve to your house, so you long guessed that he wasn’t in on it with Steve and Bucky. You would’ve been more relieved had it been Officer Romanoff, but he would do. You wondered how he’d react if he knew what his friends were up to.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” he greeted. “Car trouble?”

“Yes,” you told him. “It just…it just stopped. I’ve tried to start it a couple of times, but nothing.”

He hummed.

“Going somewhere?”

You contemplated on whether or not to be truthful, but eventually you nodded.

“Just out of town. I have some things to do,” you kept it vague.

He nodded with a frown, eyes trailing over your car.

“You want me to take a look under the hood for you?” he offered.

“Would you? I’d appreciate that so much,” you answered.

He chuckled.

“Sure thing! Just let me get my flashlight out of the car,” he told you.

You frantically nodded, and he walked away. You wrung your hands together as you waited for him. You absentmindedly glanced around, and your eyes flickered over your passenger side mirror. You froze, frowning a bit as you questioned what you saw. Slowly, you flickered your eyes back to the passenger mirror, and they widened.

There, in the passenger seat of the police cruiser, was none other than Officer Barnes. Your lips trembled, heart hammering within your chest as you watched him talk to Sam, eyes on you. You could tell that he couldn’t see you looking at him through the mirror. You brought your eyes up to the rearview mirror, watching as Sam animatedly said something to him. You looked back to see Bucky doing the same. They seemed to be arguing about something.

Adrenaline on high, it took everything in you to keep your movements slow. You turned the ignition, but you were met with the same results as last time. You swallowed, tears collecting in your eyes now as you tried again.

“Come on, come on,” you quietly pleaded.

You looked up and watched in horror as both doors of the cruiser opened. Shaking your head, you turned the key again, hard, and gasped when your car roared to life. You heard Sam yell your name, but your foot was already pressing on the gas.

It wasn’t long before you heard the cruiser behind you, closing the distance. You were terrified to press your foot all the way down. You wanted to escape them, but you also didn’t want to die in the process. You forced your tears back, already hard enough to see as it is in the darkness. Your brights were on, but with the cruiser’s lights directly behind you, they weren’t much help.

You screamed when their bumper tapped the back end of your car. They did it again, and your fingers tightened on the wheel. You could see them coming up beside you, and before they had a chance to get level with your car, you slammed on the breaks. They flew past you before eventually slamming on breaks too. By the time they moved to turn around, you had already hit a U-Turn and were in the process of driving away.

Unfortunately, there was one thing that you hadn’t counted on.

Your car swerved when a gunshot rang out, the sound of your tire exploding not far behind. You struggled to take control of the car, realizing with horror that you were swerving off of the road and into the trees. You missed the first couple, but you shrieked when the side of your car grazed another. Your ran over fallen limbs and even a fallen trunk, roughly turning your wheel as not to come in contact with one head on.

It seemed that you were destined to do just that though. Your eyes widened at the large tree up ahead, and, in a panic, you jerked your wheel to the left, wincing when the right side of your car hit the tree instead, glass shattering. You released a shaky breath, pressing your hand to your head. Through the haze, you noted that you didn’t hear the cruiser approaching, but that just meant they were on foot.

With shaky hands, you struggled to open your car door. You slid out and fell to the ground, slowly pushing yourself onto your hands and knees, telling yourself to move faster. One hand on the car, you pulled yourself to your feet. Your vision swam as you stumbled through the trees, tripping over limbs and holding onto trunks as you passed them.

Your vision was starting to spin, and you shook your head, trying clear it. You could hear some fallen branches loudly snapping from behind you, and fear struck you. They didn’t even care to be stealthy, confident that they’d get you either way.

“Y/N!”

Your stomach churned at the way Bucky sang your name, the sound echoing around you in the darkness. They were closer than you thought, because you heard Sam say something to him that you couldn’t make out, and Bucky chuckled in response, that too echoing around you.

Unable to see where you were going, your foot landed in a hole, and you gasped as your ankle bent. You crashed to the ground, hitting your head, and your chest heaved. The footsteps were closer now, and you rolled over to crawl away just as a foot landed on your injured ankle.

You cried out, and someone’s hand wrapped around your arm, turning you over onto your back. You could make them out in the darkness, and you kicked your uninjured leg, hands swinging as you fought them off. You heard Sam grunt as your foot connected with his knee, and he stumbled back. Fed up, Bucky’s hand found your throat, pinning you to the ground as he straddled you, and you spit in his face.

He tightened his grip at that, and you whimpered.

“He wants her unharmed, Buck,” Sam reminded him, and the blue-eyed man scoffed.

“Yeah, well, maybe he should’ve gone after a girl with a little less fire-.”

His words were cut off by his yelp, and you dug your nails deeper into his face. Your other hand swung towards his neck, but his free hand caught it before you could do any damage, slamming your wrist to the ground.

“Damnit, Sam! Her hand! Grab her hand,” he snarled, struggling to keep you pinned beneath him, the haze finally clearing from your mind.

Your other hand was ripped away from him and held to the ground. He let go of your throat, and you bucked against him as he reached for something in his jacket. You couldn’t see what it was, not just because it was dark, but because tears were blurring your vision. He pressed it to your face, and you cried harder when you realized that it was a rag. It smelled funny, and you could guess what was soaking it.

You renewed your struggle, but they simply tightened their grip, Bucky pressing down harder on you as he did the same with the rag. You found it hard to breathe, and your body started to feel light. Sam shushed you, and that was the last thing you heard, Bucky’s blue eyes the last thing you saw before everything went dark.

The next time you drifted back into the land of semi-consciousness, you could feel that you were sprawled out on the backseat of a car. Your head lolled to the side as the car curved, and you could feel that you were being driven up a hill. You must have gone back to sleep for a few minutes because the next thing you felt was hands sliding underneath you, lifting you out of the car.

Your arms hung limp in the air, as did your head, and you frowned as you heard some muffled commotion. A tv was on, turned to the highest setting it seemed because even outside, you could hear that a football game was being watched. There were a few loud cheers that reached your ears, and you groaned.

A door was opened, the commotion quieting down, and a shift in the air told you that you were no longer outside. Even in your state, you realized that this wasn’t good, and your heart raced, frustration coursing through you because you couldn’t move.

“Is that her?” you heard an unfamiliar voice quietly ask, the deep baritone reaching your ears.

You felt, rather than heard, someone stomp towards you, and you groaned when they grabbed your ankle.

“What did I say, Bucky?”

You felt bile rise in your throat at the familiar voice, lips trembling as this confirmed everything that you already knew.

“That wasn’t me. She stepped in a hole when she was running away…”

Steve heaved a sigh, and whatever happened next was wordless because you felt Bucky start to walk. You slipped back under again just as his first foot stepped up onto some stairs. Darkness greeted you, mind conjuring up images that had you frowning.

Your mind was plagued with thoughts of Killian, but he eventually morphed to Steve. Falsely warm smiles and eyes that hid true intentions. His silhouette stood in every corner, laughing as you spun with a gun in hand, always just missing him. His laughter grew louder until it was all you could hear, and you shot up with a gasp.

The room that you were in was bathed in low light from the lamp on the other side. It was a modest size, but not tiny by any means. Your head still felt fuzzy, and you blinked a few times, attempting to clear it as you shook your head to the side. Your fingers dug into the sheets beneath you, and you realized that you were sitting on a bed.

Laughter grabbed your attention, the same laughter you heard in your sleep, and you realized that must have been what woke you up. You slid off of the bed, careful to do so without making any noise, and you hesitantly walked to the door. You tried the knob, but it seemed to be locked from the outside. You pressed your ear to the door and frowned at what you heard.

“Touchdown,” that same deep voice from before yelled, and you heard a thud before a small crash followed.

You heard several cries of protest, and with wide eyes, you realized that the house was full of men.

“Really, brother. Must you always be such a brute,” a smooth voice said.

You swallowed, taking a step back as your jaw clenched, hands curling into fists. How could they be enjoying something like a football party downstairs as if you hadn’t just been kidnapped and carried through the room…minutes…hours before?

With a huff, you spun around, looking over the room. You still felt a bit out of it, but you were coherent enough to realize you needed to get the hell out of here. Fast. Your eyes fell onto the window on the other side of the bed, and you hurried towards it. You bit your lip as you confirmed that you were on the second floor. The room that you were in was on the backside of the house because your eyes landed on the lake, and you grimaced.

With difficulty, you opened the window and looked down. There was more than enough room to hit the ground without hitting the lake, and you looked around. With disappointment, you realized there was nothing for you to climb onto…until you looked up. You stared at the ledge of the roof for a while before making up your mind.

You pulled your head back inside and ran to the dresser across from the bed. Swiftly, but quietly, you pulled all of the drawers out, neatly stacking them on the bed. The dresser was much lighter and much easier to push in front of the door now. When you were done, you paused, listening for any indication that they heard you, but the television was blaring, and there was some yelling at the screen. You quickly slid the heavy drawers back inside.

Stepping onto the window sill was a struggle, and not just because of your bruised ankle. You held onto the house with one hand, the other reaching up to grip the ledge of the roof. Without hesitation, you swung and clasped your other hand onto the ledge too. Your upper body strength was severely lacking, but it was enough.

Somehow, you shuffled around the house, away from the back patio and living room. You could see a tree coming up on your left, the large trunk brushing against the house, limbs and branches sticking out over and against the side. You reached for one of the limbs with one hand just as you placed a foot on a limb beneath that one. You followed suit with the other hand and hissed in pain when your injured foot joined your other one.

With difficulty, and much slower than you would have liked, you climbed down, gently lowering yourself to the ground. Before you were nothing but trees. You could see the start of the driveway to your right, and the ominous lake called to you on your left.

Your best chance of escape was getting to the other side of the lake. If you could get to the other side without being noticed, you’d practically be home free. However, trying to swim across a lake that size with a drugged-out brain, injured ankle, and fatigue-ridden body was a suicide mission. You could easily drown.

With a grimace, you stepped into the thick trees before you. You needed to get back to the road, but eventually, when they caught onto your absence, the road and nearby areas is the first place they’d look. Part of you thought that there was no use in trying. Your body was weak, and you were currently limping through the forest. You were like an injured deer trying to outrun a pack of wolves as they slept.

Eventually…they’d wake up.

The night was cool, and you started to shiver. When you left, you’d only had on some jeans and a thin long-sleeved shirt. Your jacket had been next to you in the passenger seat. Had you known you were going to be kidnapped and then forced to escape your kidnappers, you would’ve put it on. You heard a howl far off in the distance, and with a start, you remembered that Steve wasn’t the only thing you had to hide from.

You didn’t know how long you had been walking, but when you reached a small clearing, moonlight shining down on you, you were forced to admit it to yourself. You were lost. It wasn’t like you had been walking in circles, so you weren’t concerned about accidentally making your way back to the house. In fact, you were proud to say that you’d made a lot of headway.

Just when you thought that your fatigue would get the best of you, spotted lights far off in the distance. They weren’t stars. You figured that the nearest neighbor had to be miles away, so it didn’t hit you how much you had walked until that moment. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, leaning against a tree. You pushed yourself off of it just as you heard a noise from behind you.

It was so faint, and you blinked, thinking that you had imagined it. You took a step forward, and you heard it again. Feeling like you’d been punched in the stomach, you realized that it was shouts. Several of them reaching your ears, yelling a name that was all too familiar to you: yours.

Paying no mind to your injured ankle, you took off into a sprint. Your fatigue was long forgotten, adrenaline pumping through your veins. You could hear the shouts getting closer, and you realized that they had begun running too. One of them was faster than the rest, footfalls pounding against the earth as they fought to catch up to you.

You wouldn’t make it. The realist in you knew this, and you bent over as you ran, swiping up a thick bat sized limb. You heard him just behind you, and you spun, swinging it across his face. His head snapped to the side, and he fell to his knees, clutching his face. You looked up, realizing that the rest had almost caught up to you now, and took off again.

The broken branch was heavy in your arms, slowing you down, and it wasn’t long before you were caught up to again. Only this time when you swung, it was caught in an iron grip. Bucky snatched it from you with one hand while the other swung at you. You brought your foot up in between his legs just as his palm connected with your face.

You both went down, but as you went to crawl away, his hand clasped around your injured ankle. You yelped, clawing at the dirt as he pulled you back. With your other foot, you kicked him in the face, and he let go with a grunt.

You pushed yourself to your feet, but you were knocked down again, this figure much stronger, and you knew that it was the first man you’d hit. You struggled beneath him, screaming as he pinned your wrists at the small of your back. He yanked you up with ease, and you kicked behind you, but he easily avoided your assault.

He jerked you upright, and the other hand fisted into your hair as he made you look straight ahead. Bucky was struggling to stand, blue eyes cold as they gazed at you, and you returned the look, chest heaving. Another unfamiliar man was slowly making his way over with Sam, his green eyes twinkling with mischief, a sly smirk on his pink lips. The man behind you chuckled, the deep sound vibrating through his chest and into your back.

“I like this one,” he finally said, out of breath. “She’s a fighter…”

He didn’t seem bothered by it though. In fact, you’d say he enjoyed the chase.

“Like this one all you want, but this one isn’t yours.”

You tensed at the sound of a familiar voice coming from the shadows. His footsteps grew louder, and you saw the white of his shirt through the trees first. You moved in the harsh hold you found yourself in, and the man behind you shook you, casing you to flinch and hold still. You licked your lips, tasting blood, and you threw a glare towards Bucky.

Steve took his time getting to you, blond hair in disarray as he approached. The tight short-sleeved tee clung to him, and you narrowed your eyes at the healing wound on his right arm. He caught your gaze, and a smirk fell over his lips.

“You did get me good, sweetheart,” he said once close enough, impressed. “You could’ve killed me. I wasn’t expecting that.”

You didn’t respond, simply glaring at him as he stopped to stand before you. He looked down his nose at you before his gaze flickered to that of the man holding you.

“Let her go, Thor,” Steve told him.

“But she’ll-.”

“She won’t run away. You guys go back to the house. You might still be able to catch the end of that last game,” he interrupted.

Reluctantly, the man behind you, Thor, let you go, and the blood rushed back to your hands. You almost wanted to beg them to stay. You didn’t know what Steve would do to you now that you were alone…in the middle of nowhere…

He reached for your face, and you jerked away. He reached for it again, quicker this time, and gripped your chin harshly in his hand. He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, wiping away the blood there, and he hummed.

You glanced down just before bringing your leg up, but seemingly anticipating that, Steve closed his own legs around your ankle. He twisted his body, causing you to fall on your side. He grabbed your ankle and pulled you back as he lowered to his knees. You pulled against his hold, but you felt him press his knees to the back of your legs, keeping you in place.

One arm grabbed the back of your shirt and yanked you up until you were on your own knees, back pressed against his front while one hand slid around you to lock your arms in place at your side. It all happened so quickly, and you struggled in his hold. His heart beat perfectly steady in his chest while yours threatened to jump out at any moment. He brushed his lips over your ear, and you closed your eyes.

“You’ve got two options...,” he started. “I can give you this…”

You opened your eyes just in time to see him bring a syringe before your eyes, and they widened in fear, heart skipping a beat.

“It’ll help you sleep,” he murmured. “…and we both know you need the rest after the day you’ve had.”

You jerked against him, but he tightened his hold, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“However…if I gave you this, I could do anything I wanted to you. I mean, I won’t because that’s not really my style, but all you have is my word on that,” he whispered, breath fanning over your skin.

You stared at the ground, tears spilling over now.

“Or…we could stand up, and we could walk back to the house like two civilized adults. Its entirely up to you…”

“Why are you doing this to me?” you finally asked him.

He tsk’d at that.

“Make a decision,” he demanded, voice dropping.

With trembling lips, you told him that you’d walk. He sharply inhaled, seemingly pleased with the answer as he put the syringe away. He loosened his grip, but your relief was short-lived as he quickly snapped handcuffs onto your wrists. He tightened them, and you winced, gasping when one hand dug into your arm, the other sliding over your breasts.

A new fear clung to your frame as he fondled you, hands sliding down your shirt, fingers dancing along the edge of your jeans.

“No,” you protested, trying, and failing, to lean away from him.

He slid his hands past the waistband and into your underwear, fingers grazing over you. The hand that was on your arm slid up to your throat, tightly wrapping around it to pull your head back. His lips pressed to the skin just below your jaw, and you trembled as he slowly slipped a finger inside of you.

“Steve, please-.”

“Say my name again,” he groaned, sliding a finger in and out of you before adding another.

“Stop,” you choked out, fighting to put as much space between you as possible.

He simply hummed, pushing his fingers into you past the knuckle, curling them inside of your now slick core. You gasped, and he turned your head to the side, pressing his lips against yours and forcing his tongue past your lips. He moaned into your mouth as he worked his hand in between your legs, the lewd sounds reaching your ears.

The palm of his hand kept brushing against your bundle of nerves, and you felt yourself clench around him. Steve chuckled into your mouth, a grin on his lips. You tried to move your head away, but he kept you in place, moving his mouth against yours again.

You shook in his arms as your walls fluttered around his fingers, and your vision went fuzzy, a choked moan being pulled out of you. Steve swallowed it down, and you didn’t even notice that he’d released your neck, eyes widening when you felt a pinch.

He held you still as he pulled the needle out of your neck, and your reaction was instantaneous. You collapsed in his arms, and he was more than happy to hold you, blue eyes boring into your own as you fought to keep them open. You watched as he brought his fingers up and wrapped his lips around them. He kissed you, and you tasted yourself. His lips brushed over yours as he spoke, reaching under you to undo the cuffs.

“You don’t know how badly I want to take you, right now…”

You struggled in his arms now that yours were free, but your movements were sluggish, and you felt weighed down. He held you in his arms as he stood, your arms swinging limply.

“…but someone might think that I was killing you.”

Your head fell back as sleep claimed you.

~

tags:  @xoxabs88xox​ @darkficreposter   @mcudarklibrary @captainchrisstan​ @nickyl316h​ @buckybarnesplumwhore​ @harryspet​ @readermia​ @sebabestianstan101​ @villanellevi​ @opheliadawnwalker3​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @coconutqueen21​ @briannab1234​ @stargazingfangirl18​   @lou-la-lou​ @izzfizzh​ @thatgirly81​ @autty0314​ @hinata7346​

[hutchhitched]

Don’t Talk To Me

Written by: @hutchhitched

Prompt 76: Modern a/u Katniss is getting over the loss of her sister (you decide how) when she meets Peeta. She’s closed off but he finds a way in. Maybe she works for him? Him for her? Maybe she cries herself to sleep on his bread scented shoulder? (Please yes I need that) [submitted by @endlessnightlock]

Ratings/Warnings: T

A/N: Y’all... It’s finally here. This is story number nine from the nine prompts I claimed for the 2020 @everlarkficexchange and then lost the will to write during the early months of the pandemic. I wasn’t sure I’d get here, but it’s happened. This is not the story I intended to write when I took the prompt, but sometimes the muse takes control, and I simply follow. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays and @endlessnightlock for being supportive of my plot change.

Katniss Everdeen hates people. Well, that’s not exactly true, but she doesn’t exactly like them either. They’re too…human or whatever. Too many acquaintances. The last thing she wants to do is get close to any of them, especially after the events of the past few months. She’s barely holding it together as it is, and introducing people or, even worse, friends could tip her right over the edge. She values her sanity.

 That’s probably why the new, sweet, disgustingly optimistic, overly friendly hire at the coffee shop where Katniss works irritates her so much. He’s just so nauseatingly earnest. It makes her want to punch him in the face.

 “How’s my favorite barista today?” he asks when she joins him behind the counter while still tying her apron. She mumbles noncommittally, but he doesn’t seem at all deterred. “I like that sweater.”

 “Peeta,” she says as she attempts to maintain control of her temper. He looks at her with such eagerness, she wilts under his obvious enthusiasm. “I’m just… It’s not a good day. Can we not?”

 His face falls, and she almost relents. She doesn’t know what it is that’s convinced him she’s someone he needs to befriend, but she simply has no interest. She doesn’t want more entanglements. They hurt too much.

 “Sorry,” he whispers and turns away. She swallows a twinge of guilt for hurting his feelings, but she doesn’t yield. Instead, she pivots to the espresso machine and starts making coffee. They work together silently, their only conversation about drink orders. They move around each other easily with no uncomfortable bumping or banging elbows or shoulders. He’s a good worker, at least, and he knows how to take a hint.

 “See you tomorrow,” Peeta says softly as his shift ends, and she flashes a brief smile. She doesn’t want to be rude, but come on. He doesn’t have to be friends with everybody.

 It continues like that for months, him fruitlessly friendly and her taciturn and distant. He continues to pursue a friendship, never pushing or prodding, simply being there and consistently showing kind. It’s exhausting.

 “How do you manage to stay so sickeningly upbeat?” she asks finally after several days of wanting to scream. He wears her down. She’d tell him to stop, but she’s starting to think she might like his optimism a little bit.

 He pauses for a second to glance at her before returning his attention to slipping sleeves onto the cup he’s holding. He calls out the order and smiles at the customer before answering. “What’s the other option? Being miserable?”

 “Well, I’m pretty good at it.”

 “I don’t think that’s true,” he argues softly. “I think you’ve had a rough time, and you’re grieving and healing. No one begrudges you that.”

 She gapes at him for a few seconds before snapping back to attention. The last thing she needs is to break down in front of everyone. Somehow, she thought he didn’t know anything. It’s disconcerting to realize her grief is on public display when she’s worked so hard to tuck it away. She reels, and he presses his lips together in frustration.

 “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

 “It’s… You’re fine.” She swallows hard and shakes her head. “I’m taking my break.”

 His wounded expression slices through her as she flees.

 ****

 Another couple of weeks pass before Katniss finds herself alone with Peeta again. They’re scheduled to close on a slow night, and everyone else has gone home when he locks the door behind the last customer and she turns off the light and secures the window for the drive through window.

 “Alone at last,” she jokes and is struck by his wry grin.

 “You don’t have to do that.”

 “Lock up? I think I do.”

 He catches her gaze and refuses to let it drop. “Pretend to be happy you’re here with me.”

 “I—”

 “I’m sorry,” he insists. “I thought maybe if I could talk to you and stop being so, you know, wounded that maybe we could take a shot at being friends. I didn’t mean to upset you, Katniss. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.”

 She doesn’t answer for several beats. He squirms a little and drops his eyes to study twisting hands and twitching feet. She’s going to regret this. She knows she will. Still, there’s something sweet and shy and kind that she yearns for when the rest of the world is so hard and cold. Maybe it’s weakness or something else equally awful she should expunge from her personality, but she can’t let him spiral this way. Maybe it’ll stop hers, too.

 “We could, uh, try that.”

 It comes out garbled and stunted, but the change in his countenance makes her glad she took the step. A thousand emotions flit over his handsome face, but a grin splits his lips so wide that his teeth flash white. She holds up her hands to head him off, but he steadies himself. With eyes twinkling, he chuckles.

 “I saw the fear there for a second. I’ll control myself before I start asking the deep stuff.”

 “The deep stuff?” she asks, still gun-shy.

 “Yeah, like it’s crazy that I’d voluntarily cover a shift for you if you called in sick, but I don’t know your favorite color.”

 “It’s green.”

 “Mine’s orange.”

 “Like those chairs?” she laughs and nods at the overly bright upholstery on the furniture. Apparently someone in corporate thought pumpkin spice wasn’t just their most popular fall drink; it was also where customers could put their butts as they sipped caffeine-laden drinks.

 “Softer,” he answers, his voice a breathy whisper. “Like the sunset.”

 Her eyes drift shut. He’s put a spell on the space with his words, and she wants to stay there for a moment. When he’s not being overeager, Peeta Mellark is charming as hell. Lord, help her.

 “Can I tell you a secret? It’s really important.”

 She tenses, but when she opens her eyes, she finds that he’s moved closer to her and propped his hip against the counter. He looks so young and hopeful there’s no way she can be scared of him.

 “If you must,” she sniffs and smiles to soften her response.

 “Lean in close. It’s a big one.” She does so slowly, and he waits patiently until she’s close enough that he can whisper, “Don’t tell our boss, but I’m a tea guy. Two lumps of sugar. I don’t even like coffee.”

 Her eyes widen for a split second, and then she bursts into laughter. Tears gather in her eyes as she shakes. “That’s not a big one!”

 “Coffee is life, Katniss. A known tea drinker would be cast out among the wolves. I’ll just stay incognito. I’m trusting you with my life here.”

 “And what if I spill it?”

 “Spill the tea?” He winks as she gasps for air. Just as quickly, he wipes his expression from his face and assumes mock sobriety. Somberly, he picks up the broom and starts to sweep. “Well, then, I guess you’ll have one fewer opponent to beat out for employee of the month.”

 The whole idea that Katniss, surly and grumpy as she is, could ever win a customer service award is so preposterous she can’t keep from giggling. By the time the café is clean, she’s a million times lighter. When they head separate ways after locking up, she watches him as he strides down the street. Before he turns the corner, he tosses a look over his shoulder and waves. She doesn’t even have to think about it. She waves back.

 ****

 They become friends, and it upends her life. Katniss isn’t used to having people around. Not since her sister passed away and left her all alone in the world. Katniss had gotten used to being an orphan, but when her sister was killed in a car crash, the loneliness and despair overwhelmed her. With Peeta around, she doesn’t feel quite so isolated anymore.

 They take short walks on shared breaks, and he leans down to pick dandelions from between the sidewalk cracks before handing them to her with a bashful grin. He shields her from overly aggressive customers during busy periods at the café, and, after several weeks, he manages to convince her that spending time together outside of work isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

 “Friends do tend to see each other in social settings,” he teases, and Katniss finally relents.

 They go to movies and basketball games and art exhibits and archery competitions and all sorts of other things she had no idea she’d enjoy until Peeta suggested the activity. Sometimes, they do mundane things like grocery shopping together. She finds she likes trying new things as long as there’s someone with her and they can debrief about what was good and bad afterward. He convinces her to try one of those art classes with BYOB wine and a pre-chosen image to paint, and she gasps when his own creation takes on a life of its own while hers seems like a bad paint with water replica. He teaches her to cook bread and cookies and cinnamon rolls, and she shares her heirloom lamb stew recipe with him. They’re comfortable together. He never pushes, never makes her feel like he needs anything more than simple friendship.

 Until, that is, the anniversary of her sister’s death.

 She should have taken off work. She knows that, but the café is short-handed. Besides, she needs the money. It’s rainy and muggy and awful when she leaves the house, and the subway is packed much more than usual. She’s jostled and pushed and touched inappropriately (although, that was likely unintentional with how closely pressed together the passengers are in the train car), so that by the time she gets to work, she’s irritable, grumpy, and a ten seconds from losing it.

 It’s possible it’s the weather or the alignment of the stars or an almost full-moon or the changing of the seasons. It could be that other people are suffering from trauma and loss and depression, as well. Or it could be that Katniss just has really bad luck.

 “This drink is wrong.”

 The harsh complaint is snapped at her by an unpleasant looking man with white hair and a beard. He looks at her like she’s something rotten on the underside of his shoe when he shoves the cup toward her and sloshes some of the hot liquid on her outstretched hand. She hisses at the burn and immediately turns to the sink to run cold water over her skin before it blisters.

 “Don’t turn your back on me! Fix my coffee.”

 Katniss tenses, her guard up, but she refuses to move. His actions burned her, and she’s following not only methods of self-preservation but also the company’s safe work policies. Injuries are to be treated immediately on the job. She’s doing that.

 He continues yelling, attracting the attention of patrons and staff. Peeta finishes with the order he’s taking and quickly intervenes, coming to her rescue whether she wants him to or not. She’s not sure which is accurate.

 “Can I help you, sir? My name is Peeta, and I’m—”

 The man squints at Peeta and raises a shaking hand toward me. He’s livid, and Peeta takes a half-step back at the fury that’s suddenly directed his way. The situation escalates. It’s not pretty. The police are called, and customers are shaken. That’s nothing compared to the way Katniss quakes inside her own skin. She’s barely holding it together when their manager intercedes.

 “Get her out of here,” Haymitch barks at Peeta before turning to the customer. The coffee cup he’s thrown at her rolls on the floor in a puddle of liquid. The name scrawled on the outside is Snow. It’s ironic. Katniss has always hated winter.

 They make it to the back before she crumbles, and Peeta lets go of her hand to help her sit down on a stack of crates. He settles next to her and pulls her into a loose embrace—tight enough so that she knows he’s there but loose so she doesn’t feel trapped. It’s the perfect way to comfort her. He’s perfect, and she’s a mess.

 The tears flow, and she’s too broken to bother to wipe them away. Shoulders shake and sobs tear from her throat in gulping heaves. At one point, she moans her dead sister’s name. It’s a mournful wail that washes over her and makes her hurt even worse. He pats her back and toys with the tip of her braid. It’s an unlikely source of solace, and it causes her to turn into him and press her face to his shoulder.

 He smells like bread, she realizes in a random flash of clarity. She’s lamenting her sister, but that scent claws at her senses and registers in the olfactory section of her brain. How odd, she thinks before a fresh wave of grief shakes her torso.

 “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. I’m here. Take as long as you need. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

 She’s not, though. She’s not all right, and she knows he understands that. He’s working with a limited vocabulary as he tries to help her. That’s what people say when they’re faced with a weeping friend. She’s done it herself. His tone of voice and gentle touch more than prove his compassion for her pain.

 She doesn’t know how long they sit there, but it’s long enough that her tears have soaked his shoulder. A sharp cough invades their little bubble, and they both glance up to see Haymitch in the doorway.

 “Clock out,” he orders in that gruff way of his. “We’ve got you both covered. Take her home, boy.” Peeta nods at the nickname without protest. It would be offensive if it meant anything other than their boss can’t remember anyone’s names, although that’s bad enough.

 Peeta hails a cab and gives her address. He escorts her to her door and unlocks it for her before guiding her inside and seating her on the couch. When he moves away, she grabs at his hand and pulls him down next to her. His arms envelop her again, and she presses her face into his neck and allows the tears to streak down her cheeks while she hiccups. She hates being vulnerable, but she trusts him. They’ve grown close over the past few months.

 Finally, she runs dry. Her sobs subside, and her body stills. He doesn’t shift, doesn’t attempt to pull away. Instead, he simply waits and gives her the space for what she needs. It’s a beautiful thing to grieve with someone who allows it to occur instead of hindering the process. She’s not okay. She won’t be for a long time, but she’s survived today. For now, that’s enough.

 “Thank you,” she mumbles against his shoulder. When he doesn’t answer, she glances up at him through wet lashes and finds him looking at her with compassion in his piercing blue eyes. She could fall into them if she’d let herself. When he lifts his hand to brush flyaway wisps of hair from her forehead, she thinks maybe she should.

 Time freezes. There’s a pulse between them that shakes the world. They’re drawn together, and she doesn’t second guess it or pull away from him. Instead, she closes her eyes and meets his mouth with hers. It’s gentle, just a sweet brush of lips, but it tastes like a reawakening, like the snow melting away and the earth coming back to life in spring.

 It’s scary. It’s terrifying. It’s also right. After the events of the past year, she deserves a new beginning.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

A Miraculous TikTok Account

Part 29

First

Previous

Next

Chat was still reeling from the bombshell that was ‘everyone apparently knows about his family life’ when Master Fu had told them that he probably knew Hawkmoth… and then, because apparently the universe wasn’t done with him, Master Fu had told them that he had personally chosen Hawkmoth.

Master Fu sighed as he looked over all their faces and then motioned for them to sit down. They did so without question or complaint, though it was mostly because everyone was in shock and on autopilot.

He leaned heavily against his cane.

“You all know the way the story started. About thirty years ago, a woman calling herself Paon started terrorizing Paris with what she called Sentimonsters using the peacock miraculous.”

Of course they knew the story. They had only been alive for a little more than half of it, but that didn’t mean they didn’t remember the giant Sentimonsters wreaking havoc every day. Those kinds of memories stick with you.

“To counter her, a man called Pieris, with powers that varied by the battle, rose to counteract her.”

They all nodded. They were beginning to piece together who Hawkmoth was, they weren’t stupid, but… one thing didn’t make sense:

“But Pieris would have been an akuma, not Hawkmoth,” said Rena, frowning.

“Who says Hawkmoth can’t akumatize himself?” Said Master Fu quietly. He sighed again, looking even older than usual. “Anyways, you all know that it took about twenty years for him to defeat her.”

They all nodded again. Chat hadn’t been allowed out, but he remembered all of the parties and celebrations when it had been announced that Paon’s reign of terror was over.

(Not that he’d wanted to be let out at the time. His mother had just died, going out and having fun had felt wrong. How could he be happy when his mother would never be able to do so again?)

“But… it turned out that the man that I had chosen to be Pieris was Paon’s husband. When he found out what he had done to his wife, he was overcome with grief. His miraculous corrupted him.”

Beside him, Rena clenched her fists. “So… did you choose Paon, too? Is this just our fate? One day we’ll just go evil and there’s nothing --?”

“No,” Master Fu cut her off. “Paon… it was passed through her family. Sometimes the person would use it for good, other times bad, but no matter what they passed it on once the eldest child became an adult.”

Rena relaxed, but only slightly.

Chat couldn’t find it in himself to do the same.

He turned and buried his face in Rena’s shoulder, unsure what to do. There was no way...

Right?

Chat bit his lip.

His parents had always been very busy and a little bit distant, though he had just attributed that to their jobs. Then there was the fact that his mother’s death coincided with the day that Paon had last been seen. When Paon and Pieris had disappeared his father had been more present, and when Hawkmoth had appeared his father had suddenly had a heavy workload again...

But that could be explained away, he thought. The death could be an unlucky coincidence, and who wants to do extra work when their wife has just died? And then who’s to say that his father couldn’t get back into work again by the time Hawkmoth had appeared? No, that could make sense.

His father HAD been really interested in his ring, though --.

No.

Gabriel Agreste COULDN’T be Hawkmoth. Chat didn’t have any proof of it, but he knew it to be true. Sure, the man was distant, but that didn’t mean he was evil. After all, Chat still had memories of his father sitting him on his lap and letting him color a design he’d made. He could still remember all the times his father had shifted aside in bed so he could cuddle after a nightmare. How could a man like that be evil?

How could a man like that knowingly endanger his son every day?

No. There were other people.

Sure, there were only a few people he could consider himself close to, but that didn’t mean he never talked to anyone outside of his family, servants, Kagami, and Chloe. As an Agreste, he’d attended many different balls and galas and even business meetings to represent his family, he was acquainted with plenty other rich people.

Yeah. There were other options. He was just jumping to conclusions because of the Traitor Scare a few days beforehand. Yeah. It was someone else. It had to be.

~

Rena had been the one to escort Master Fu home. Maybe it was to question him further, they didn’t know. They were all pretty sure they didn’t want to ask, though, because she came home looking even more dejected than before.

When she got back she took a seat on the table. Chat had perched himself in the window. Chloe had laid across the couch, legs in Ladybug’s lap. Carapace had slung himself across the armchair.

Despite the disparity in their positions, however, all their faces had the same contemplative look.

Rena was the first one to speak: “Fuck that guy, am I right?”

Ladybug laughed a little, though it sounded forced. “Yeah. All I’m getting is that the bitch didn’t use to have child heroes.”

There was a beat, and then Carapace sat up suddenly. “Wait a minute, you’re right! Pieris was an adult!”

“It’s probably because kids are easier to manipulate,” said Chloe quietly. All eyes fell on her. “Think about it. Chat, Ladybug, and Carapace never really defend themselves -- Carapace defends other people, sure, but he wasn’t close enough to any of us to bother before. Rena and I both started out practically worshiping at least one of you guys. For one reason or another, we were all pretty easy to manage.”

The silence that followed the statement was deafening.

The longer they stewed in it the angrier they got and the luckier they were that Hawkmoth had already used up his akumitization of the day.

“Can’t believe that he did this to stop me from retiring -- actually, no, I can believe it,” muttered Carapace. “I shouldn’t have told him I was thinking about leaving for college. Should’ve just applied, made a public statement, and then dropped the bracelet on his doorstep… damn him...”

Rena laughed bitterly. “‘Damn him’ is right. Really, though, I should’ve known he was fucked from the start. Who the hell goes up to someone and says ‘I have been looking for a person like you for a while now’?”

“You punched him, right?” Said Chloe with a frown.

“Obviously. I punched him and ran. Went the wrong way, though, and ended up cornered in an alley.”

“You definitely should’ve been wary of him after that one,” agreed Ladybug. “If he had done that to me I wouldn’t have trusted anything he tried to put on my neck even if I saw a God coming out of it... maybe I would’ve trusted him less if that happened, actually.”

“Things have gone downhill since I was recruited, apparently.” Chat said with a weak grin, and Ladybug nodded her agreement. “I had to save him from getting run over. Which was stupid, might I add. What if I hadn’t looked up in time? Did he have a backup plan or was he just going to let himself get hit if I didn’t notice?”

“Wait, go back. You had to save him from a car?” Said Chloe. “I had to pick up his cane for him! Where was my super cool trial?”

“I think I can answer both of you guys’ questions…”

Everyone looked at Carapace, but he was determinedly looking at his phone.

“Well, for one, no, he did not have a backup plan.”

Rena’s hand flew to her mouth. “You let him get hit?!”

Carapace winced. “Okay, wait, hold up. I did not ‘let him get hit’. I just… didn’t notice that he was in danger until he was hit, there’s a difference.”

Ladybug and Chat looked at each other and their eyes widened as they realized something at the same time.

“Oh my kwami, are you the reason he has to use a cane?”

He didn’t seem to hear this, apparently very interested in something on his phone.

“Are you the reason he has to use a cane?” Chat repeated.

Still nothing.

“Carapace… Carapace… please tell me you’re not the reason,” said Ladybug. Her voice wobbled with either laughter or tears, Chat wasn’t sure.

Apparently their friend had gone deaf without them noticing.

Chloe’s eyes were alight with what was definitely laughter. “Your first day was even worse than mine!”

“PLEASE,” said the no longer deaf Carapace. He briefly set his phone down to count off on his fingers: “Let’s see… revealed your identity, covered half the city with honey, nearly crashed a train, got akumatized --.”

He never got to finish, because Chloe had thrown herself at him and started trying to smother him with a pillow.

“That’s a throw pillow, Chlo, you’re supposed to throw them,” supplied Rena.

He tried to yell something through the pillow, probably ‘traitor’, but it sounded like “Huhu!”

Chat smiled and walked over to Carapace’s fallen phone and started recording.

~

There was no context for the video that showed up on Carapace’s account that night.

All the people of Paris got was a video of Chloe and Carapace rolling around on the floor, laughing as they took part in what was essentially a pillow fight at that point.

Rena was in the background. She was goading them on, yelling encouragement for whoever she wanted and switching sides at the drop of a hat.

Ladybug was also there, her lips pressed together thinly in an attempt to hide a smile as she made eye contact with the camera and gave an eyeroll.

Chat’s laughter, which had been a soft but constant sound throughout the video, picked up briefly at the eyeroll.

The video cut.

~

Despite his exhaustion, he hadn’t been able to sleep. So, at four in the morning, he shuffled downstairs with a blanket wrapped around himself.

He started towards the kitchen for something to eat, only to stop cold when he heard a quiet scraping sound from inside.

The lights were still off in the kitchen… and everyone should have been asleep or out on patrols...

Many thoughts ran through his head. Hawkmoth could be back. Robbers could be in the house.

He pulled out his phone and transformed. If it was people robbing the place he’d need proof for the police, and if it was Hawkmoth Rena would kill him if he didn’t get a picture (if Hawkmoth didn’t kill him first, of course).

He started recording and then walked to the door, flicking the light on.

Ladybug was sitting on the counter in a Totoro onesie, eating mac and cheese straight from the pot.

He relaxed and let his phone arm fall limply to his side. “Oh, it’s just you.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I was hungry.”

“I can see that.” He realized something as she pulled more food to her mouth and he squinted just to make sure. “Is that… is that brown?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Put coffee in it.”

He was tempted to try and clean out his ears, because there was no way she should have been able to say that so nonchalantly.

“WHY?!”

“Wanted to see if it tasted better.”

He stared at her, trying to gauge if she was messing with him… and then, because he simply had to know, he asked: “And… and does it?”

She looked down at the abomination she had created sadly.

“No.”

~~~

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@nathleigh @sassakitty @th1s-1s-my-aesthet1c @blueslushgueen @woe-is-me0 @ladybug-182 @cas-and-their-refusal-to-write @trippingovermyfeet @melicmusicmagic @meimei3841 @roseliali

[meowdymista]

For my first RDR2 event, I was paired with @sunspott / @polybigbang. Their art was for a playlist on spotify called Going’s All We Know, and I’ve tried to incorporate the mood of the playlist into my first impression of the art.

You can read my submission on AO3 or follow through with the read more :)

Still No Rest

Feet are itching again, plus it ain't like we can stick around much longer. Going is all we know, even if we ain't got nowhere else left.

Things had been too steady of late. They had been too safe, had slipped away far too easily, had pulled moneybags out of places that should have fought back but hadn't even batted an eye.

Arthur pushes back his hair, greasy and long, off his brow. The clouds above are smoky and dark - a storm, just as anticipated.

Maybe he jumped a little too far too fast today. Maybe if he hadn't been so on edge waiting for something to go wrong, they could have deescalated the situation. Maybe lives could have been spared, but it’s not like the guilt isn’t scratching the ridges of his brain like a dusty gramophone needle.

What makes you any different? You who's always scraping for a scrap of some sort. Them trying to do the right thing and crossing your path to do it. Better you than them, right? Like Daddy always said, if they didn’t want to die they should mind their own business.

A new start: isn't that what they had promised themselves? A new state, a new town, a new camp: a clean slate that he had managed to bloody in a record three days.

Every bullet that screamed past his ear left his bones ringing with that too familiar dull tired ache. Every blade that snagged his clothes instead of his skin embittered him. The tiniest of voices hummed with the thought that maybe, maybe, he should fight that craving for carelessness and even tell someone about it… but the beast he’s become scowls and reminds him with a low growl that then they would stop him. They would take him off the front line, teach the gangly adolescent John - who is a far worse shot - to replace him.

It's not even jealousy really, he reasons as he slips his journal away and stretches into a stand. They need him. Need his gun, his eye, his blade. Worrying them isn’t an option, especially right now. He doesn’t need to make them doubt his reliability, or question whether they’ve misplaced their trust. He knew in his heart that if anyone in the gang confessed the same, he would refuse their gun, even if he needed it - and afterwards? In the weeks, months, years to come? He would always pick someone else. Someone less vulnerable. Someone he never doubted or needed to protect.

Which is how he ended up going out with the feller Dutch had picked up when they were up North. He’s had a few too many close shaves under Hosea’s watchful eye of late as he struggled to conceal the beast's rearing head. The old man was onto him, his brown eyes still boring into him, even after Copper found his way to him.

Bill, on the other hand, is always game for a ruckus. He has as much of a temper as he does, and can match him drink for drink. Some of the stories he lets slip prickle him - like the beast recognising a party equal, a fellow host. He says nothing. Doesn't validate them, doesn't acknowledge them or aim to empathise, he just accepts the added weight of tar and grudges home with another bottle.

“Arthur?”

"M'tired," grunts Arthur, walking past Hosea, boots scuffing the dry red earth beneath them. “Besides, you know how it is. Sometimes bullets fly no matter what you do.”

Hosea doesn’t dignify his excuse with a response, and despite the poker face, Arthur can feel the guilt twist a little tighter in his gut as he sets about washing his arms and face in the barrel by the food reserves. He knows nothing good would come from trying to explain the truth of the situation... How a glimpse of a little boy in his peripherals is as sure a sign of upcoming thunder as lightning flashing in the distance. His not-brown-not-blond tussle of hair brushing the wind with fat drops of rain… rain that never came, leaving Arthur to water the ground with blood, like somehow it could make him feel less like he’s drowning in the driest desert outside of New Mexico.

He pats his pockets for the cigarette he had rolled earlier, until, retracing his steps mentally, he sighs in disappointment. He had been about to light it when it all kicked off. Or rather… it had been in his mouth whilst he tried to align yet another match to the tobacco when he had caught the eye of another patron and decided to swap the nicotine for some adrenaline.

His fondness for Bill always grew at moments like this. Bastard heard one cross word and his guns were out before he found his balance.

Deflated, he uncaps a beer instead, emptying it, tossing it aside and grabbing another, before spotting the girl devouring a bowl of stew a stone's throw away.

"Who's she?" he asks before Hosea can try to raise the day’s events.

"Your new ward."

Arthur stops, scoffing, growing angry when the elder doesn’t back down. "Nuh uh! No way! I just got rid of Johnny! Get Williamson to do it!"

"You'd trust him with her?"

"Sure! Why not?" He glances back at the girl despite himself. His index finger is itching again. "Or get Marston on it. Ain't like he's doing much else."

"John is still learning how to take care of himself, and Bill…"

"He ain't gonna beat up a little girl." Restless, his feet shuffle beneath him, his beer swapping hands before touching his lips again. "And ain't like he's gonna have interest in her."

"You think he wouldn't do it just to prove a point?" Their eyes meet briefly before Arthur's gaze drops. "People who are insecure are far more dangerous than those comfortable in themselves, never forget that Arthur. Besides, I'd rather not expose her to the prejudices she can get any day of the week. She ought to feel safe here, don't you think?"

He finishes the dregs and tosses the bottle, preferring to change the subject than admit he’s right. "Where’d she come from? She got any family?"

"She left her cousin back east. Came this way looking for her mother but she’d passed meanwhile."

"So… what’s the plan? We taking her back east?"

"Sure as shit you ain't!"

The girl has stepped around the table, legs planted apart, hands folded across her flat chest, her hair as free and untamed as her temperament. She is glaring something fierce, making the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end in a fight or flight instinct.

Hosea chuckles softly, eyes bright with pride. "I reckon she's one of us now."

"Well, does she have a name?" asks Arthur, incredulous.

"Jackson." She jerks her heart shaped face in a defensive greeting. "My name is Tilly Jackson."

"Well, Miss Tilly Jackson, you always so fierce?" He stalks the couple of steps to the nearest crate of whiskey and pulls one free.

"You always this stupid?"

"Hey now, Miss Jackson," interrupts Hosea before Arthur can bark. "We don't talk to each other like that here."

"He started it!"

"And you’re sitting with Mrs Matthews when you’re done so she can keep an eye on you!” He ushers her towards Bessie to keep her out of harm's way before turning back to his first product of adoption with a raised brow.

"You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

"Try coming back just half soaked some time. Might make them go easier on you."

Arthur scoffs, his rebuttal dying in his throat. He dampens the ash with another swig.

"I want you to take her with you when you go out."

His scoff is solid. "No way."

Hosea straightens up, watching him, using his body language to ask the questions.

"I ain't taking her out. You want her shot?"

"You intend to shoot her?"

"No, course not-"

"Then what's the problem?"

Arthur's eyes roll in exasperation, his finger flexing around the neck of the bottle like it's a button that will win the argument if he squeezes tight enough. "The problem is other people shooting at us."

"You intend to get shot at?"

"No, but-"

"Then I see no problem."

"That don't mean we ain't gonna get shot at!"

"Why would you get shot at?"

'Cause that's what I set out to do most days, he wants to counter. And if I ain't likely to get shot, I'm likely in jail or black out drunk in a saloon someplace.

Instead he closes his mouth, any excuse dead before it passes his lips.

"I'm not asking you to take her with you to rob a bank, Arthur." Hosea's tone is firm but still soft - a talent of his. "But while you're out looking for leads, or even looting a homestead or something… She's nifty."

"Hosea, I-" He trails off, distracted by the clip of notes Hosea is picking through, and downright thrown when he passes him the thinned out clip. "What's this for? I gettin' paid to be a nanny now?"

“This-” Hosea holds up a couple of notes before putting them in his pocket. “-is for arguing with me. This is for the box, as it seems you’ve forgotten to pay the camp's share, and this-" He casually holds out the last few dollars to the side like he’s ashing a cigarette. A small brown hand slips it away as both Hosea and little Miss Tilly regard him smugly. "Is for a mark well scammed."

"You mean-?" He checks his pockets, ears growing hot. "You son of a-"

“Ah-ah! Language!” Dutch swaggers up with a smirk like he has been watching the introduction unfold in its entirety. “C’mon, Arthur, you have to give it to her. She’s talented!”

“Might finally have picked up a smart one, eh, Dutch?” winks Hosea. Arthur scowls and turns on his heel, leaving them laughing and praising their newest addition.

****

Arthur remains cool and calm the next few days, hunting local and sticking close to camp. Every time he approaches his horse, the little girl is waiting, watching him with her fierce brown eyes.

"Where we goin', Mr Arthur?" She asks as soon as he's within earshot. "Do I need anything bringing?"

Every time he offers to pay double what Hosea has offered her, and every time she refuses to discuss the terms of their negotiation. Every time he curses everything under his breath, keeping his language savoury for the child nearby. Every time he scowls, and every time he gives her a grunt of "naw, we ain't going far" before mounting up and lifting her onto the rear.

"I can ride myself, ya know?" She shoots one morning as Arthur leads his stead into a trot away from camp, heading towards the softer, greener terrain that’s barely visible on the horizon. "Properly. Not side saddle."

"Good for you."

"If I had a horse I would show you."

"And run off with the money we got, huh."

She bristles. "I ain't no snitch."

"Sounds like somethin' a snitch would say." He pops the cork from a half full bottle of rum and takes a swig. Replacing the bottle, he notices her scrunching her nose in disdain. “Got a problem? I can take you back to camp.”

“You sure don’t drink much water,” she comments drily. “You ain’t worried ‘bout heatstroke out here?”

“Liquor’s hydrating,” he scowls, pushing the horse into a canter.

“Pretty sure it ain’t, but you do you. Besides, I got dibs on your things. We all gotta start somewhere, right?”

Arthur snorts angrily, adrenaline prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. “You sure as hell do not, princess. I ain’t going nowhere!”

Miss Jackson hums sarcastically. “Sure you ain’t. You don’t eat, don’t drink anything under forty proof, don’t talk to no one-”

“If you don’t like it, I can drop you right here!”

“Go ahead.” Her tone is defiant, but it doesn’t escape his notice that she grips his sides a little tighter. “Mr Matthews was pretty explicit about what he’d do to you if you tried.”

He stews the next mile or more, not speaking up until he finally dismounts for a break at the change of terrain.

Wide open spaces always helped to ground him, even though it could make vanishing into thin air difficult. To some extent, it forced him to not be so careless. In others, it made it easier to kid himself that he had never crossed the threshold into civilisation, let alone crossed a kind faced waitress.

Listening out for creeping cougars and restless rattlesnakes, he crouches down by the water’s side and splashes his face, washing off the worst of the sweat and dust that’s caked itself into every pore available. The girl makes no move to dismount, so he takes it upon himself to refill her canteen as a gesture of goodwill.

“You don’t got to stick to us, you know.” She turns her big brown eyes from the sky onto Arthur’s face. He shuffles his feet awkwardly, focusing his attention on brushing out the biggest clumps of dust from the horse’s mane before they continue. “If you need me to take you somewhere-”

“And what’s a girl to do then? Hit the road with a couple dollars?” She fixes him with a look that is too old for her face. “Naw, I think I’ll stay with youse a little longer.”

“That’s alright, but we’re gonna have to be moving on real soon.” He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the unspoken reminder that it’s because of him and his actions. “It ain’t like we can promise to be back up this way any time in the near future. If you change your mind-”

“I won’t change my mind about them, Mr Morgan.” She shivers in a breeze that only seems to touch her. “No, sir. They had me bound real good for real long, but I don’t need ‘em. I won my freedom, Mr Morgan, an’ I ain’t going back.”

He risks a glance, curiosity getting the better of him. Her eyes are sparkling as bright as the water's surface, but her jaw is clenched tight. He debates riding further, doing what he can to get them set up at the fishing spot Hosea had heard about as they moved through the state to their current set up, but the child looked too old. Too tired. Too existentially exhausted.

Plus, when you get low enough, it's like some things will follow wherever you go.

“Let’s stop here a while.”

As predicted, Miss Jackson double takes. “Don’t you want to get to where we’re headed?”

Arthur shrugs. “Ain’t like there ain’t food to be foraged here. Nothing to come raising any hell or bother us into raising it for them. Reckon this spot’s as good as any.”

He turns his back to her as she dismounts warily, focusing his energy on starting a small campfire they can add to.

"I ain't goin' anywhere if you wanna swim." He grimaces as his words come out gruffer than intended. "I got clean clothes in the saddle bags here if you want 'em for the trip back or to swim in even. Can't imagine that skirt is the lightest when it gets wet."

"You ain't wrong, Mr Arthur, sir. Thank you for the offer but I think I'm just gonna stick to paddling for now."

"Sure."

It's not his first choice. This land is a little too dry for his liking, but that's what comes with being so close to the desert. Money means nothing to nature, besides she provides everything and more than what shops and butchers supply. Who needs civilisation when there's the wilds to retreat into? When there is wild carrots and rhubarb aplenty, fresh meat, shelter, all for the low cost of taking what you need as you need it?

The fire started, he sets out to look for fuel and food. Crouching down to check dung and disturbances in the foliage, he finds the damage is minimal. He swears again, taking a swig of whiskey from his satchel.

He doesn't really remember a time he didn't drink, but he knows this is different. He knows this isn't a choice on his behalf. The demon demands fuel as a child demands milk, and like the fool he is, he provides without much hesitation. Anything for a glimmer of peace from the screaming child in his mind.

He scoffs at himself and straightens up, looking around on the off chance some animal is dumb enough to be caught out in the open - and as luck would have it, a pronghorn buck is grazing a stones throw away.

He inhales deeply, taking aim with newfound focus, and fires.

The pronghorn bolts, but it's no contest for the bullet soaring his way. A mournful cry bleats through the undergrowth as it flees. He follows, as loud as he likes given the rip of the shot would have blasted a warning to anything within earshot. Breaking through a wall of cacti, he spots Miss Tilly aghast in the shallows as the buck splashes into the lake he had washed up in on their arrival.

He keeps going, realising the buck is heading for a wet escape. Shedding his guns as he runs, he wades in after it, shouting.

The buck is swimming in deep water, leaving behind a trail of blood behind with every baleful bleat, leaving Arthur with no option besides taking a spur of the moment swim or going home with an empty stomach.

"C'mere!" he cries, breaking into breaststroke. The buck is slowing, every cry growing more lamenting and mournful. "Stop! I can make it stop, just come a little closer."

It's crying weakly by the time he manages to reach it. He throws an arm over its neck and fumbles for his hunting knife, but the blood proves too thick and one small fumble sends it disappearing into the depths.

"C'mon," he grunts, tugging the wounded animal with him as he kicks his way towards shore. "You ain't gonna get any lighter."

He struggles towards shore, gasping assurances every chance he gets. When his boots finally scrape the bottom, he whistles for his mount with the last of the air in his lungs.

He finally releases the animal, using both hands to search for a knife or a pistol - something to end its suffering quickly. Drowning the thing felt too callous, too slow, too-

"Will this be enough?"

Arthur, still gasping for breath, hair dripping into his blue eyes, pauses, surprised. A small hand is proferring a flip knife, her small face reflecting the distress of his own. Recovering, he nods quickly, thanking her as he takes the tool from her and advising her to look away and cover her ears. Obeying doesn’t lessen the heart wrenching last cry of the animal, but on opening her eyes again, she decides it is less painful than watching the poor thing struggle as it drowned.

Arthur is holding the animal, counting, as though held to some strange code to make sure it is dead before removing the tool of choice. He shakes the knife under the surface and folds it up, passing it back to her with a grunt of thanks. She takes it, still in shock at the unexpected show of violence.

He pushes the carcass out of the water, promising to be back soon before swimming back to where he caught the animal. Watching his head disappear under the surface, she is left with the silence of the cooling body nearby. It looks strangely peaceful staring off into the east.

Arthur swims back, pushing back the sodden mop of brown hair as he wades out with sopping boots and a shiny carving knife he must have dropped earlier. He advises her to leave him to it if she’s squeamish, and she refuses up until the animals guts plume onto the sand.

From a distance, she watches him carry them away from their makeshift camp, covering them up with some leaves and branches to disguise the worse of the mess but leave it readily available to the creatures due a feast. Returning to the body, he begins to carve with care, piling steaks onto canvas. He wastes as little as possible, even wrapping the exposed neck of the head in canvas before tying it onto the horse. He turns to the water, notices her watching and walks over.

“Reckon we’re almost done here,” he calls as he gets close enough. “Just gonna wash up and we can get going.”

“You always butcher your kill before going back?” she asks.

He huffs, a twinkle in his eye. “Sure, when I don’t plan on walking back. Figured you’d rather hitch a ride than straddle a dead deer.”

She shudders, making him laugh as he kicks off his boots and setting them aside to dry from earlier. He doesn’t remove his clothes, just pulls a bar of soap from the saddlebags and asks if she minds if he doesn’t dry off. She herself finally admits internally that she feels grubby. She had washed and washed and washed, and eventually came to accept the grime was not going to wash off her. Too much dirt, too ingrained, too repeated to ever shed properly…

She follows him, still keeping her distance. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, just keeps scrubbing suds under his nails, over his forearms, into every fibre of his shirt. When she finally feels brave enough to speak up, she takes a deep breath, and on a whim decides to splash him.

He turns around, frowning, before picking up on the giggles and grinning himself. His arms are stronger, thicker, longer - the retaliation engulfs her with a responding tidal wave that leaves her gasping for air. In the small glimpse she makes of him, she notes the guilt and the apology on his lips as he believes himself having gone too far, but she’s too quick. She pushes him in the chest and tries to swim away as quick as she can, squealing the whole way.

Their laughter disturbs the birds in the branches, and they take flight, not that either of them notice. They play until the sun lowers to kiss the leaves around them. They share the bar of soap, and Tilly takes refuge in his disinterest. He lets her wash. She lets him wash. Both of them keep their distance when appropriate.

“Perhaps we oughta ride back in the morning,” Arthur muses when he notices how much she is shivering. "It's only gonna get colder, and at least we've got a fire going here."

“I don’t mind making the ride.”

He chuckles, eyes soft. “Miss Tilly. You’re dead on your feet, and sure as hell will be dead in the saddle. I can fall asleep just about anywhere if you’re alright with the tent and bedroll? Hell, it’d make a nice change to waking up to Susan and Dutch arguing, huh?”

“You ain’t wrong...” She is still hesitating. Arthur tried to shake the thought of what she must have been through and instead tells himself that it's standard practice to be wary of new folk. She could feel safe in camp because there were more people to keep tabs on one another. Out here, it was just him, her and the stars, and since when did the stars ever do anything to help?

“Listen. Choice is yours. I’ll ride through the night if that’s what you want, but I promise you’re safe with me.” He checks the barrel of his revolver, counting the six bullets nestled inside before snapping it in place and holding it out by the barrel. “Here. I can’t give you both in case we get jumped, but I’ll stow the long arms on Wyn if that makes it easier.”

She sits in silence for a long while before nodding slowly.

“Alright then. You get to eating your fill while I set you up for the night.”

*****

She wakes up, well rested and warm. She takes a few minutes to lay there, watching the shadows of the flies buzzing on the canvas above before finally crawling out in search of fresh air.

Owain is grazing not so far away, but Arthur is nowhere to be seen. His long arms are still stashed, the fire just ash now. Panic rises in her throat, torn between the fear of him being jumped and him abandoning her willingly.

She frets, pacing, checking their reserves. No, she has no clue where the hell he has taken her so she doesn’t know where to even start on trying to return to Mr Matthews and Mr Van der Linde. She curses him for being so spoilt as to be threatened by a little girl.

“Mornin’, Miss Jackson.” She flinches, immediately retreating from the greeting. Arthur is frowning under the brim of his hat as he dismounts the small bay coloured horse. “Everythin’ alright?”

“I thought you left me,” she admits, still choked up. He seems surprised, then bashful, trying to hide it by patting the neck of the horse he has with him.

“Naw. There was a herd moving through here early this morning and I remembered about you wantin’ a horse of your own.” He gives her an awkward nod. “Whaddaya reckon? She rides pretty nice. One of the smaller one, but she seems friendly enough. If you wanna keep her, I’ll set you up on mine until we can get this one broke in properly if tha’s alright?”

“Sure.”

“Awesome.” He begins to pack their things away, tacking Owain and bribing both steads with sugar cubes.

“We going hunting again?”

Arthur puts away the brush and pats his horse’s neck. “Naw. Today we’re headed to Greyhound Station.”

“Why?”

“Boring stuff. Check to see if anyone’s tried to write us. Check for bounties and that we ain’t most of ‘em. See if there’s any jobs goin’, keep an ear to the ground in case there’s money to be had. You know, standard outlaw stuff.”

“I ain’t ever been on a wanted poster yet,” she muses. “That I know of anyhow. Knowing the Foreman Brothers, they’ll be tryin’ to frame me for something.”

“The Foreman Brothers?”

“The… gang. The ones I was with when Dutch and Hosea found me.” Arthur hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t press it. It’s like he knows it’s a big bruise still there after months of riding with them. “They was wrestlin’ to hang me or bury me alive. Never did find out which since I managed to wriggle off the wagon without them noticin’. So much for family.”

“Y’all were related?”

“Yeah.” She spits off the side. “Good riddance to ‘em.”

He hums. “If anybody tries to pull that with you again, you lemme know. I’ll get ‘em before they blink.” He rummages in his saddle bag and pulls out a glass bottle of clear liquid. She frowns as he takes a greedy few gulps before offering it to her.

“I ain’t much a fan of the bottle, Arthur.”

He throws her a look of befuddlement over his shoulder before understanding befalls him. “It weren’t my first choice, Miss Jackson, but I’ve yet to learn how best to store water if not in a bottle of some kind.”

“Water?”

“Water,” he repeats with a shake of his head. “Whiskey’s the other side if you want some.”

“I’m good for now, Mr Morgan,” she smiles, raising the bottle to her lips, squinting at the sunburned strip that’s the back of his neck. “Maybe some other time.”

[wordynerdygurl]

Skin Deep ~ Part 4

Author’s Note:  Hi everyone!  As @that-one-person​ reminded me, we were overdue the next chapter of Skin Deep!  I hope this has been worth the wait. As always, if you’d like to be added to my tag list, let me know!  Also, requests are open and I love when you re-blog and like my work!  Thanks for all your kindness!!

This is the 4th Part of our Story with links below to the previous chapters!  ENJOY!

Skin Deep Part 1

Skin Deep Part 2 Skin Deep Part 3

Pairing;  Loki x Reader, Steve x Reader, Bucky, Natasha, Nick Fury, Thor and Valkyrie round out of cast! Summary:  Picking up where Part 3 ended:  You’re on the run with Loki, who wants answers.  Steve comes clean to an old friend, Natasha and Fury make a plan. Warnings:  References to violence, smut, intergalactic travel, and some kissing!

From his vantage point at Steve’s grill Bucky noticed the almost frantic vibration coming off his oldest friend from all the way across the lawn.  And Steve wasn't carrying any champagne.  In fact, he was whispering furiously to Natasha, shaking his head.

Looking to the skies, Bucky smelled the electricity in the air.  It made the hairs on his human arm rise, antenna to trouble, tuning into the wrecked wavelength his friend was putting out.  It was about you, of that Bucky was certain, and with your own strange behavior tonight, he knew trouble was en route. He had let you sneak away, sensing your breaking point, knowing your need for a minute alone.  It was the reason you were such great drinking buddies.  You let Bucky be himself and he returned the favor.   Besides, something in Steve was different these days, something Bucky didn't exactly like.  His friend, Captain America, hero to the weak, was pushy.  Aggressive.  Angry.

And when Steve looked at you, there was a gleam, a spark of possessiveness that gave Bucky pause.  Sure, you were amazing.  Funny, smart, undeniably sexy in a way all your own.  Bucky understood wanting you, he even got the need to have you, hold you, lock you down with a ring.   If only Steve could see how unhappy you were.   Each time Bucky saw you, the strain had pulled more of your joy away.  Sure, you baked pies, smiling the whole way, chirping platitudes and teasing Steve.  That happiness, though, it never reached your eyes.   Telling Steve that an engagement ring was too much, too soon, Bucky had tried in his very stoic way to prove that you weren't ready.  Never fully able to give his buddy his blessing, Bucky had opted instead to provide you a shoulder to lean on.  And lean you did. Slugging back vodka shots at all these parties, in the quiet and seldom used spaces of kitchens and dining rooms, you had talked easily with Bucky.  No topic was too wild or off limits, with the exception of Steve.  Anytime the name of your new love came up, the subject would change.  You'd deflect and Bucky let you. Maybe he should have pushed harder, he thought as Steve stomped his way.  Maybe Bucky should have forced you to talk about whatever issues you and Steve faced, tried his hand at advice, or offered excuses for his best friend’s erratic behavior.  If Bucky had done that, then perhaps the stifling stench of trouble wouldn't be pooling around the party, pulsing through all the high energy people gathered together.  “Buck… come here, would ya?”  Sure, Steve sounded like himself.  Jovial, a little concerned in that serious way he had, but not mad.  For some reason, it reminded Bucky of the way Steve’s father would talk, just before he’d beat the ever loving hell out of Sarah… or Steve.  It soured the stomach of battle tested Sergeant Barnes.  War was coming. “Sure thing, punk.”  Cocking his head, Steve couldn’t quite look his friend in the face, opting instead to focus on the open back door of his farm house.  Would you come strutting out of it, unaware and un-phased?  Steve prayed for that, even if his gut told him otherwise, “Bucky, you said my girl was in the ladies’ room?” Tucking his hands in his pockets, nodding solemnly, “Yea, Stevie.  Yea.  She had to piss.  It happens.”  Waiting for the battle was exhausting and Bucky just didn’t have the patience to stew in the slow burn of Steve’s anger. Clapping a broad hand along the neck of the Winter Soldier, Steve pulled his friend close.  To anyone looking, the embrace would seem brotherly, kind.  What they couldn’t see was the tight grip used to keep Bucky contained, or hear Steve’s heated harsh whisper, “Where the fuck is she, Buck?  I know you know.  So tell me.” Reacting instinctively, pulling against the restraining hook of Steve’s palm, “I don’t know what you’re talking about… she went to the bathroom, I came out here.” “Well she’s gone now and so is Loki-” Stepping back out of Steve’s reach, “Wait.  Loki was here?  I thought you said he left.  Opened the Bi-Frost or whatever.  Disappeared.” Almost growling, Steve ran desperate hands through his blonde hair, ignoring Bucky and turning to Natasha, “We need to let Fury know.  Set a perimeter.  Loki won’t be able to get off the planet, not without help anyway.” “Fury’s involved?  Steve, what is going on?” Jabbing a finger into the chest of his best friend, Steve spun, spitting, “You let Loki kidnap my fiance, that’s what’s going on!  And now I have to find her and rescue her before that greasy alien asshole does something else to the woman I love!” Rearing back, Bucky inhaled, lifting his shoulders.  If you have to fight a friend, fight fair, he thought.  Already Bucky could read violence in Steve’s muscle movement.  The graceful way Steve bounced on his toes to build momentum into his fierce throw was minute but effective.  Dropping his right arm, just a touch before stepping into his swing, Steve's eyes screamed murder and they were locked onto James Buchanan Barnes. A swish of air brushed at Buck's dark hair as the blow missed.  Bucky easily blocked the punch, grabbing his pal at the wrist and twisting until his chest was pressed into Steve’s back.  It was as fluid as the ballet you had forced them to attend a few months back, quick and clean movements, executed flawlessly. Bucky felt Steve spin in his grasp, planting his feet, preparing to toss the Winter Soldier on his ass.  His counter maneuver was a leg sweep, one Bucky was ready to use, when Steve went limp in his grip.  Natasha had sucker punched her mission partner in order to get his attention, “Steve.  You gotta relax.  Bucky didn’t know and you’re drawing attention.  Too many eyes around here, ya know?”   Natasha waved to Tony, a gesture that said, no worries, everything is ok over here.  It was enough to satisfy the playboy, who turned back to his cocktail and conversation with Rhodes. “I'm fine.  It's fine.  I’m just…” unable to find the right word, spiraling, Steve sagged towards the ground. Catching him at the waist Bucky steadied his woozy friend as Natasha brushed off help from the other guests.  Returning to the pair of soldiers out of time, The Black Widow, barely containing her disgust, “Bucky, get him inside.  Steve, I'm sending everyone home, then I’m going to make a call.”   True to her word, Natasha whispered something to Tony and Pepper, Bucky clocking their reaction of concern for both you and Steve.  It was very clear to the Sergeant that The Avengers were not in on this mission.  None of them were permitted to hang around the farm house with Nat going so far as to walk out with Clint and Rhodes.   Bustling Steve into the kitchen, Bucky kicked a chair free from the table, dropping his buddy on his ass.  Still a little amped up from the almost altercation outside, Bucky decided to put a bit of distance between him and his childhood friend, resting his hip against the counter, "What the hell was that, Steve?" "Stay out of it, Bucky." "It's too late for that, punk.  Either you start talking or we take this back outside." Side eyeing the super soldier with a metal arm, Steve tugged at the corner of a pretty place mat sullenly, "Fuck you." "Language!" "You think I give a shit about bad words?  Now?  No… things are too far gone." Waving his hand, begging for more, "Care to elaborate, Cap?" Steve had a second to consider his options.  He could let Bucky in, tell him what was going on, hear his opinions on the situation at hand.  Or… not.   "You don't need to be involved.  Once Nat gets back, it's best if you go." Thunking into the opposite seat, Bucky leveled his grey gaze on his pal, "And if I say no?" "Look, it's an off the record thing.  Tony, the rest of them?  They know nothing.  I don’t need you sticking your nose in-" That was all it took for the dam of Bucky’s own outrage to burst.  With a wood rattling slap to the custom built dining table, open palm connecting enough to make Steve jump, "Damn it, Rogers!  My nose is in this already.  Hell, you were ready to half kill me over this… over her, not fifteen minutes ago!" Sighing, hard and heavy, Captain America pressed back in the wooden chair.  He saw the questions in Bucky's look, the need to unravel this mystery, the desire to find a way out for his friends.  And Steve realized that to accept his buddy's help, Bucky would need the full story. The truth hurts and Buck's words stung Steve.  Bucky was right and in the end, he reasoned, they might need him to help bring down Loki.  After a second of consideration, a rough hand sliding through his blonde locks, "Fine.  FUCK!  Fine.  What do you know?" Crossing his arms over his chest, stern voiced but curious, Bucky started, "Just you and Nat reporting to Fury?  Small team." "Small mission.  At least, at first."  Trying not to give anything away, making Bucky work for it felt good, almost like a return to his life before Loki, before you.   Tapping his metallic finger on the table, Bucky resumed his questions, "So, how does Loki figure into this?" Leaning forward, Steve lowered his voice, “Weapons tech.  Power.  More than when he attacked New York.  He’s been off world gaining followers, an army, and a throne.” “So the plan was to keep Loki away, right?” Nodding, Steve’s inflection solemn, “By any means necessary.” Rocking his head back, as if slapped, Bucky’s eyes widened.  Just the implication of those words, by any means necessary, used by Nick Fury meant that this mission was crossing a line from mundane into murderous.   "And she was your way in."  It started to take shape, the whole sorted plan, Natasha’s involvement and Steve’s role in it all.  Bucky felt that prickly sensation again. Bowing his golden head, Steve shook it yes, "Only… I wasn't brought in… I… volunteered." "Ok, but why?"  Inching closer to the truth, waiting out the Captain, Bucky nodded for him to continue.  When Steve wasn't forthcoming, Bucky nudged his foot with a sharp kick, eager to accelerate the story. For a second that frantic, frenzied energy flashed through the room again, pulling on Bucky's sixth sense, "Because I wanted what Loki had… who Loki had.  I wanted her, so bad Bucky.  So bad."  “Steve… come on, man.  There are other girls out there-” Cutting his friend off with a shout, “Why should that asshole have her?  He doesn’t deserve her.  Before he left, she was always so sweet, so cute… then he… abandoned her!  Left her!  Man, that was… just so hard to see.” “Yea… I know.  I mean, I remember when she and Loki were together.  And I know his leaving was hard on her.” “Hard on her?  She… she stopped eating, stopped sleeping.  God, I could hear her crying all night.  Know how hard it was to keep away?  To know that Loki had forgotten her?”   Steve kept talking, about you, about loving you, and the lengths he went to in an effort to court you.  He followed up with all the ways you denied him, over and over, until Natasha intervened.  That all of it played into Fury’s plan was a convenient cross-point, coincidence, until things had gone wrong this afternoon. Bucky let him tell his story, knowing full well it was merely a version, a fairy tale wrapped around the rotten apple of truth. In Steve’s world he was the hero, wronged by fate, Fury and Loki Odinson.  His path had been paved with good intentions and pure hearted motives.  It was everyone else who misunderstood, miscalculated and mistook his actions.  Could Steve be blamed for that?   Of course, this edition of Steve’s tale didn't include beating up a cuffed prisoner.  It also omitted the fact that Steve had been pursuing you while actively lying about Loki's whereabouts.  Glossing over the details allowed Steve to paint a picture highlighting the best of him, but Bucky had known the little punk a long time.   During a long pause that found Steve with his head in his hands, Bucky took a deep breath and asked, “And how did you and Fury know what Loki was up to?” “He was sending mission reports weekly.  Loki had been tasked with helping promote peace across the Nine Realms.  That he gained so much was the tipping point.  Fury felt like a return to Earth would be 2012 all over again, only this time… total annihilation.” Something was still nagging at Bucky, “Had Loki made any threats?” A guilty look passed over the face of Captain America and his normally solid voice wavered, “Not that I was told about.” “So, Fury...?” “Fury needed… no, that’s not right.  He wanted to keep close tabs on Loki, monitor his return, his mood, his movements, if he ever came back.” “And since she was his lover, she was a potential point of contact… the entry point?” “A possible one.” “If you were dating her and Nat was posing as her friend, then you’d know if Loki reached out, spilling the details on his plans, and be able to head him off at the pass.” “Exactly!”  Oddly proud, Steve was almost happy that he no longer carried the burden by himself.  Sure, Natasha knew, had even engineered some of it, but having a friend on his side made Steve feel better. “But Loki didn’t do that?  He surprised you today?” Blowing out a frustrated snort, “Natasha went to meet him at the base.  Apparently, the high and mighty Prince expected to be greeted by Fury and his forgotten lover.” “That didn’t sit well with the God of Mischief?” “Nope.  Somehow he froze Nat.  Confined her, I don’t know… Anyway, he came here and…”  Trailing off, Steve could still picture his lady’s body, your body bent under his own, your eyes pressed shut in ecstasy.  How you ground against what looked like his own sculpted skin, moaning through an orgasm that appeared amazing, and left you with shaky legs. Going silent, Bucky didn’t push, not this time, but he did feel the moment Steve surrendered fully.  His shoulders let go with a deep inhale, his voice sounding like that scrawny kid from Brooklyn after a bad scrape,  "She loves him, man.  And I fucked up.  Loki’s got my girl and I don't have any way to find her or fight him." Tears?  Sighs?  This wasn't Steve.  No, Captain America was an unstoppable, unflappable hero.  Spinning out was Bucky's move, not Steve’s.  Putting his fleshy hand on Steve’s shoulder, trying to console the broken man in front of him, "Come on, kid.  There's always a way to win.  It's what you and I have been doing for over a century." “Not this time, man.” "Why not?  Did you come clean?  That’s why she left, isn’t it?  You told her what was going on and she went after Loki."    Shame filled Steve’s heart, his cheeks burning, "I… I didn’t get the chance.  She left here, but not alone." "She'll be back."  Words, pathetic platitudes, were all Bucky could offer.  He had seen you tonight, skittish and jumpy.  He saw Steve’s reaction to your disappearance, angry and hurt.  Bucky thought that a snowball in hell stood a better chance than you're returning. "Not happening.  I lost it on her, Buck.  Smashed up mom's dresser, yelled… It was like being outside myself, watching myself do and say these terrible things.  And it wasn't her fault.  Not really.  I mean, yea, she fucked him but he was me, so-" "Whoa.  Stop.  Say that again?" Steeling himself to relieve this afternoon’s nightmare again, Steve swallowed hard, "Loki, you know how he can… shape shift?  Well, he came here as me and I walked in on myself screwing my girl!" Bucky's eyebrows lifted, his full lips curling into a cockeyed grin, "Wait.  You're telling me that you came home and saw yourself banging your future fiancé?" Pausing, catching Bucky barely holding back a smirk, "Yea… why?" And for some reason, after all the incredible things Steve had shared tonight, it was the idea of Steve catching himself balls deep in your naughty bits that made Bucky laugh.  Once he started, Bucky couldn't control the mad giggles from overtaking him, much to Steve’s astonishment.  But then Steve laughed, too, "I guess it is pretty funny, when you think about it." "I mean, your face must have been priceless!"  Clutching his stomach as the laughter grew stronger, Bucky had tears running down his cheeks at the image Steve described.  Sure, it was a horrible thing, but who could say that they watched themselves having sex like that without being in porno?   It took them both a minute to calm down, with Steve settling enough to counter, "Shit, Buck!  I was pissed!  I probably looked crazy." "That I do believe.  What did you say to her?  Them?" Now his face flushed scarlet, burning with embarrassment.  The lie was just easier to get out, "Um… I don't really remember.  I know I surprised Loki and well, my girl fainted from being used by him.  The shock of it not being me, ya know?" Bucky didn't buy it, but he let his friend sell the story anyway, "Must have been scary for her.  And that's when you secured Loki in the locked shed?  And set Nat as your watchdog?" "Yup."  Unable to meet his friend’s stormy stare, knowing that it would undo him completely, Steve focused on the edge of the table, running his fingers back and forth along the rough wood.  If this were an interrogation and Bucky were sitting across from a suspect and not his best friend, he’d have no problem beating the guilty man into submission.  But Steve was his strongest connection to this world, this time, and it was hard to walk away from family, even if they didn’t deserve the benefit of your doubt.  To that end, one thing still bothered Bucky, "Why not cancel the party, man?" "Because I still want to marry her."  Pulling the small black box from his front pocket, Steve toyed with the thing, his vision of a future with you still so close to realized. Whistling at the size of the sparkly rock enshrined in white gold, "Fancy.  What do you think your chances are?  Think she'll say yes?" "My chances went down to zero the second Loki dropped down to Earth.  As for her answer… Dunno.  I… I hope so, but now…", Steve faded off, knowing there was little hope for your romantic reunion if he didn’t have a clear idea of where you were at the moment. "Now Loki’s back." "Right." “And they’re gone, together.” “Right.” “And Fury’s on his way.”  Striding in on impossibly high heels, Natasha folded her arms over her chest, eyeing the two gossiping men in front of her.  It was going to be a long night. --- Somehow you had made it to the treeline undetected, using the orchard as a shield, ducking behind trunks as you and Loki scrambled toward the edge of the property.  You couldn't help looking over your shoulder, checking for pursuit, worrying that Steve or Natasha were going to find the pair of you.  There was no possible way they would let you get away, not after today, not with Loki. It was a bit treacherous, though.  There was only natural light to guide you through twisted branches and raised roots, so your progress was slower than you wanted, but Loki was with you.  Even beaten and bruised, he radiated calm, a soothing balm for your frayed nerves.  Something about that made this whole situation seem better, manageable.  You were no longer alone, Loki was here, holding your hand, not directing you but consulting.  "Pet… the roadway is up ahead.  Stay here, tucked out of sight." Pulling your long lost lover close, a small kiss passed between you, a passionate promise to sit still.  Stepping tentatively out onto the gravel filled shoulder, Loki surveyed the highway quickly.  When he was satisfied that the coast was clear, Loki waved at you, motioning you forward.   Striding confidently at your side, Loki stopped in the dead center of the yellow lines, his grounding arm around your waist.  A car, low, black, expensive, came racing round the bend, barreling towards you.  Tucking your chin to Loki's chest, you gripped him tight, readying for the car's impact.   A roar of wind swirled around you, grabbing at your skirt, whipping around your legs.  For a second you thought you'd been struck.  Breathless, your lungs emptied.    There was nothing solid under you, just the feeling of Loki and a current of warm air.  Next, you felt the impact of hard earth under your feet, vibrating through your shins, then Loki's grip loosening a touch, "Ok, darling?" Peeking from under his arm you saw lights everywhere.  A bar was to your left, filled with noisy drinkers, barely discernible from the traffic around you.  Honking horns made you jump, "Where the hell are we?" "Cleveland.  I can't yet take us off world.  I'm still a bit weak, I'm afraid… but at least we have a bit of a head start on Rogers and Fury." People pushed past you on their way to dinner, chirping happily, not seeing you in their tunnel vision.  Being anonymous was a nice change, welcome even, as your personal life had been lost to Steve's intergalactic presence.  On the busy streets of Ohio no one took notice of the two well dressed people standing on the damp sidewalk. "Um, you changed?", no longer sporting his battle gear, Loki was dapper in a black suit with an ebony tie.  Leaning closer you straightened it, not because it was crooked, but because you needed to feel it… him.  The whole look was just shy of too much, but that was the space Loki filled best and honestly, looking at him made your heart swell. Loki was back, and yours.  After more than two years, having him close again felt natural, easy.  In so many ways, the opposite of your life with Steve.  As if somehow sensing your tug into nostalgia, Loki knuckled your chin up, "Just keeping up with you, love." His nose brushed against your own, so weirdly intimate and innocent for a man who had slapped your ass red only hours ago.  Resting his forehead to yours, you inhaled that magical combination of burning sparklers, broken in leather with just a hint of honeyed citrus, "God, I forgot how great you smell." "Hmm… dove, there is nothing on Asgard that smells or tastes as wonderful as you.  Believe me.  I looked." "Careful Loki… people will say we're in love."  At your cheekiness, Loki claimed your lips, his hands sliding over the soft fabric of your dress.  Clinging to him, unwilling to let go now that he had returned, you puffed out a pouty sigh as Loki withdrew. “Norns.  You know how badly I want you again?  I can barely think straight for wanting you.” Oblivious to everything around you, lost in the sweeping pools of Loki’s desire filled expression, you toyed with his collar, “We have a lot of catching up to do, for sure.” “I’d love to get reacquainted-” here he paused to lick over his full lower lip, hunger for you dripping from every word, “-but we are on the run from the Earth’s mightiest heroes.”  Snickering, you rolled your eyes at the thought of the Avengers, hours away eating charcuterie in Steve’s backyard.  Stepping back, you sighed, “You’re right.  So, have you got a plan?” Hanging in the air, your sentence had just left your mouth, your tongue still savoring the syllables when a sizzling crack snapped next to your ear.  Swinging you away, forcing you to the sidewalk, Loki spun in a blaze of green.  Crouched over you, snarling, “Fury!  Always a pleasure to see you.” Stepping from the blazing golden circle supplied by Dr. Strange, Fury crossed onto the Cleveland sidewalk from your now empty garden party, weapon trained on Loki’s broad chest.  “Wish I could say the same, Loki.  You know it’s time to end this.  Let’s take our… deliberations back to the office.  Talk about this man to man.” A barking laugh left your lover, “Man to man?  I am a GOD!  And you… you are pathetic.  Your attempts to keep me off Earth, imprisoned, away from my woman have all failed.” “Where are you going to go?  You can’t get off the planet without help.  My help.  And it’s yours, Loki, if-” “If I come quietly?  Tail between my legs, submissive and compliant?”  As the words left his mouth, you watched, focused on the way Loki was shifting closer to you.  The long fingers of his right hand were visible, reaching back for you, a silent signal of his escape plan. Fed up and furious, Nick Fury’s voice was flat with frustration, “Loki.  Enough.  Let’s do this somewhere people aren’t.” “Oh, I don’t know, this seems as good a place as any!”  Circling Loki, edging nearer, Fury tried reasoning, “Endangering civilians isn’t going to make things easier.  You know that.” “You know, I’d love to talk about how you betrayed me.  How you stonewalled my lady… how you put Captain America in my place, as if he could ever be worthy of her.  But, I’m a little busy at the moment.”  Snapping his fingers, you jumped to your feet, grabbing for Loki’s outstretched hand.   The second your palm connected that feeling of floating overcame you once more.  This time you were ready for the roar of traveling through space by Loki’s magic, the push of meeting the ground, the curl of Loki’s body against yours.  Blinking, you opened your eyes on new scenery, the chill of a beautiful sea soaked morning breaking around you. Straightening the coat of his pristine suit, Loki smiled at you as his fingers wove between your own, “New Asgard.  My brother’s realm, now ruled by Valkyrie, by his abdication.  We need to find him.  He has a lot to answer for.” --- "Just what in the hell happened?  I thought I was very clear about avoiding this exact problem."   Pacing, hands firmly on his leather belted waist, Nick Fury growled at the bent head of Steve Rogers.  "Now Loki’s on the run, dragging your… Well, what is she exactly Captain?  Girlfriend?  Fiancé?  Mark? along for the ride." At those harsh words, Steve started, ready to focus his own anguish somewhere, anywhere.  Fury was as good a target as any, as far as Steve was concerned.  Pushing off the paving stones, he was stalled from rising by Natasha's firm hand and quiet words, "We have an idea-" "I don't want ideas.  Not from you two.  What I want are answers, Romanoff, and I want them now." Sitting on the emptied bench of the picnic table, still covered with your pretty tablecloth and jars of peonies, Natasha sighed, "I didn't have time to alert Steve.  Loki made it here first and… reconnected-" "Is that what we're calling it?"  Snapping, Nick glared from his good eye, his last name never more appropriate. Exhaling deeply, Natasha Romanoff squared her shoulders, "Sir, Loki… manipulated the circumstances." "Just what in the hell does that mean?" All three available eyes locked onto Steve, “What it means, Fury-” lifting his golden head with a jaw clenched tight, “- what it means, is that the son of a bitch showed up here and had his way with my woman. “After Loki… took advantage of her, I had him.  He was contained, here, in my shed.  It was modified with the restraints Tony provided with Thor’s direction.” “And still, he got away?”  Disbelief clouded every syllable from Fury.  That his two top agents had failed and so badly, had the normally stoic director steaming. Standing now, Steve was almost chest to chest with the man who’d been pulling the strings of this entire operation.  Natasha, watching closely, knowing that she would only be able to subdue one of them if it came to it, gently palmed the dagger concealed in her waist band.  Steve thrust forward, brushing past Fury before facing him once more, “Yea, Nick.  He did.  He got away.” “Do you know how?”  Fury’s fingers were curled around his pocket taser, just in case Captain America needed a jolt, reminding him of who was calling the shots here.  It wouldn’t do much except give Nick a head start, but with the Captain looking so rough and so raw, the SHIELD director would take any advantage available. “We believe that… he was set free.”  Natasha didn’t want to say the words.  You had let Loki go, that much she knew to be true, and she supposed that it made some sort of sense. Steve had been right all along.  You and Loki did have some cosmic connection that even time and distance couldn’t eliminate.  Intervening for the sake of Fury’s mission and Steve’s pining heart, Natasha had no qualms about why she’d guided you into a relationship, in fact, she still believed that he was a better man for you than Loki. But no.  No matter what Rogers did, you had never let go with him like you had with the younger son of Odin.  Not that you complained.  You had taken all of Natasha’s words of praise, her seemingly well intentioned advice, her flat out advocating for Steve in stride.   Sure, your friendship suffered for it.  Natasha, never having been one for close ties to anyone, had enjoyed the talking and gossiping.  It was nice to have a girl around the tower.  One who understood period cramps and cravings.  A person who would put on high heels and makeup for a night of dancing then suggest hoodies and shorts for watching Pride and Prejudice.  That was over now.  When she had been, well, frankly, overpowered by Loki and his new paralyzing weaponry, Natasha knew the plan for a peaceful capture of the prince was over.  Having seen the aftermath of your reunion with the space god, having seen Steve’s seething anger, the Black Widow felt her own ire spike. Didn’t you know how hard she had worked?  How tireless her efforts had been to keep you and Loki apart?  Just how invested she was in joining you and Steve together?  It was like you wanted to throw all of that away, squandering those bonding moments where you had become something more than a mission, those times when you were Natasha’s only real friend. Couldn’t you just go along with the plan, unknowing, quietly?  She knew you couldn’t, wouldn’t.  It wasn’t in your nature.  So, channeling that frustration into the cold facade that so many had seen just before they met their end, Natasha had to compartmentalize the “you” she cared about away from the “you” she was responsible for trailing.  Both had pissed her off. Now, hearing the gruff grumble of Director Fury bearing down on her, Natasha could only accept the berating tone of his hard words.  He wasn’t wrong.  She and Steve had fucked up royally, the whole mission was blown, and while Bucky had certainly aided in your escape, he was blameless collateral damage.  The consequences fell to you and the Captain.  Killing you was going to be hard for them both, but if it had to be done, so be it. Shrugging, Natasha started again, “Nick, we have a tracker on her.  We know that she and Loki made it to Cleveland, but he can’t get away from Earth without some aid.” “Well, that’s good to know, if only it was some new intelligence.  You’re tracking her?  Great!  Where is she now?  Don't know huh?  Well, she and Loki tele-ported from a city sidewalk, in front of me and hundreds of civilians, with no word on their next destination.  “And make no mistake.  Loki will find a way off of this planet and when that happens, there’ll be nothing else we can do.” “So what?  Let him go!  He’s won, Nick.  It’s over.”  Throwing himself down onto the bench, Steve’s dejected voice breaking, he slumped over his feet. “That’s not an option Cap.  Loki is more powerful now than he’s ever been.  You both read the reports.  He wasn’t just hanging around on Asgard.  No, Loki was negotiating peace between his native realm of Jotunheim and his adoptive home.  He was gifted with tools and technology that no human could hope to wield.  Earth ending stuff, Captain.” “Whatever plans you had of making peace are over now.  There’s no way Loki gives us any help… and why would he after all this?” “Rogers, I’ll do whatever I must to keep this planet and the creatures on it safe.  Loki is a threat to that, just by existing.  With his new powers, high placed connections and intergalactic royal title, he had the potential to be unstoppable.” Seething breath puffed out the chests of the two men standing toe to toe.  Machismo made Natasha want to vomit.  Men. “Look, I’ll go after them.  Steve, stay here, in case she reaches out.  I’ll take the quinjet and trace their path.”  Standing now herself, Natasha turned to the depressed super soldier, patting his arm, “Bucky’s still here.  I’ll let you know when I’ve found anything.” “No.  Nat, I can’t let you go alone.  It’s my fault, too.”  “You’re no good to me like this, Rogers.” “But, She’s-” Cutting him off, Natasha stepped closer to Nick, “I know, but you’re too involved.  If tough choices need to be made, can you?” Gulping hard, passing a rough hand over his face, Steve frowned, “I can do my duty, if that’s what you’re asking.” “Steve.”  Her tone said it all the words she wouldn't vocalize.  I don’t trust you, not now, not like this.  I don’t believe you will have my back at the cost of the woman you claim to love.  I don’t think you can do the job. Fury didn't allow her the chance to elaborate, jumping in with his definitive voice, “Natasha’s right, Rogers.  You’re staying right where you are, on the bench.  Romanoff and I are going to resolve this issue without any further problems.”  Half hearted, strength sapped, Steve raised his eyes to the leather clad figures before him, “Please.  Please, Nick… Nat.  Don’t hurt her.” “I promise, Steve.  I won’t.”  And in the second, all three knew she was lying.

--- Finding Thor’s shanty was easier than you expected.  A friendly fisherman was only too happy to point you in the right direction.  What you saw upon arrival was not entirely what you had expected when visiting Loki’s brother. It was a beat up looking cottage, surrounded by empty cases of cheap Midgardian beer, crumpled take out containers, and a collection of well fed seagulls situated near the edge of the village, “Ugh.  What a pig.” “Loki!  It’s… charming?”  Your admonishing whisper turned the statement into a question at the sight of Loki’s disgusted face.  For a second you just stood at Loki’s side, staring at the weather beaten front door, your hand clasped in his strong one. “It’s disgusting.” Agreeing with a small nod, “Um, yes.  Yes, it is.  But, this is your brother’s house and you said we needed to talk to him.  Step one is ringing his bell.” “No.  I won’t do it.” You had forgotten about this side of Loki.  Fastidious, precise and obstinate, Loki could cop an attitude that had the ability to drive someone crazy.  Someone like you. Over the last two years it had been easy to forget all the little things that made Loki prickly.  It was even easier to forgive him.  Since he’d left, you had looked at your life together through rose glasses, through a gentle fog of missing him, and those elements of your relationship that were less than perfect had been abandoned. Now, standing outside the hovel that Thor called a home, as a fresh day dawned over New Asgard, you were reminded of all those imperfect things that came with loving Loki.  A wave of need, love, and longing for him rolled over you.  All of those imperfections made you perfect for each other. Rising up on your toes you pressed a small kiss to Loki’s pout, taking the tall God by surprise, “What was that for?” Shyly grinning, you bit into your bottom lip, “I missed you… missed kissing you.” “Then perhaps you should come over here again?”  That was all the invitation you needed.  Stepping into Loki’s space, your chest resting against his own, you savored the nearness of him, as himself.  He wasn’t playing at being Steve.  Loki was here, he was with you, and if you weren’t mistaken his hands were drifting down your backside.  The rush of it, well, it was familiar and new at the same time.  How Loki seemed to inhale your breath, inhale you, as his mouth opened to accept your lips.  His gentle exhale, a moan, as his tongue licked over your own.  It was overwhelming.  It was wonderful. Stepping back, you started to pull away, only for Loki to wrap his arms around your waist, “Not so fast, darling.” Losing yourself, you focused solely on the firmness of his body, the weight of his hands on your hips, the intensity of Loki’s desire.  Intoxicating, heady, you leaned into those feelings.  Kissing Loki back, you tangled his hair in your hand, earning another one of those sultry sounds that made your legs weak.  How had you lived without the passion and pleasure he provided for so long? A smashing crash broke the quiet morning causing you to jump in Loki’s embrace, “What the hell was that?” Immediately on the defense, Loki pushed you behind him, crouching into a protective stance.  From over his broad shoulder you watched, worried about the new danger coming your way, unsure how to help your reactive lover.  Another rattle had Loki palming his dagger, anticipating an attack.  That’s when a raccoon, bigger than your childhood terrier, scuttled from under an overturned trash can carrying what looked like a half eaten slice of pizza in its mouth. “Appalling!  Mother would be modified!” Loki cursed as he offered you his hand, kicking away an empty glass bottle, "Why is he living like a dirty animal, surrounded by trash?  One would think they were back on Sakaar!"  “I don’t know what’s going on with Thor, but we came here for a reason.  Let’s get it over with, ok?” Loki shook his head, refusing to step any closer, “He’ll have to come out here.  I won’t go inside this… dilapidated shit box.” Sighing, “Fine.  Fine, I’ll do it.”   Stepping around a pile of broken electronics, you carefully picked your way to the front door, gracefully knocking on the splintering wood.  After an answerless few seconds, you tried again, rapping lightly with your knuckles before turning to flash Loki a small smile.  That’s when you noticed the striking woman striding towards you and your returned lover. “My, my… is that pretty Prince Loki I see?”  Even her voice was sexy, you thought, as the sarcastic words dripped from her full lips.  The swaggering stranger radiated cool, calm, sensual energy.  Otherworldly energy that made you feel mortal and boring.  You couldn’t help tugging your skirt straight and fluffing your hair as she got closer. “Ah… Valkyrie!  How are you?” Hugging her tightly when she opened her arms, Loki found that he was genuinely happy to see the fierce, battle tested warrior. Smirking at your man, she countered, “That’s King Valkyrie to you.  Your brother crowned me, or have you forgotten?” “On the contrary.  It seems like he finally realized what I’ve known all our lives.” “Which is what, exactly?” “He’s not fit to be the ruler of Asgard, obviously.” Drawing right up to Loki, hands on her hips, Valkyrie leveled her dark eyes at his, “What would you know about ruling, Mischief?” “Enough to know that you’re good at it.  Enough to know that I no longer want to be the King of Asgard.” “Is that so?  And what’s changed your mind?” At those skeptical words, Loki wound an arm around your waist, tugging you close, “I’ve got more… important concerns these days.” Looking you over with her shrewd, searching gaze, but speaking to Loki, “And she likes you?  Are you sure?” Laughing, the sound deep and rich, “As much as you like fighting and drinking.” “I hardly drink anymore.  As King I have mead only on important occasions, I have to keep my wits about me the rest of the time.” Sharing a laugh, the two shared another small hug before Valkyrie turned to you directly, “Alright.  Who’s this then?” Loki started to respond but you cut him off, extending a hard towards the newly crowned King of Asgard, “Uh, I can answer for myself, thank you, Loki.  Valkyrie is it?  Nice to meet you.  And, yes, I love Loki.” Making a face that was part disgust, part pride, Valkyrie smirked, “Love?  Oh no.  Hasn’t anyone told you yet?  Loving the Odinson boys is hard on a girl.” Pulling Loki in for a small kiss, taking him by surprise, “I’ll take my chances.” Shrugging nonchalantly, “Suit yourself.”  Focusing on Loki once more, Valkyrie shifted on her feet, “Listen, if you’re looking for Thor, he’s not here.” “Oh?  And where exactly is the lovable oaf?” Hitching a thumb over her shoulder, pointing up the hill, “At the palace… the new palace, that is.  You can come and, please, don’t forget your girlfriend.” Falling in line behind the King, Loki couldn’t help but add, “You know Val, I think I liked you better when you were drunk.” Snorting in response, “And I know I liked you better when I was drunk, weird right?” Bringing up the rear, your own sarcastic comment dying on your throat when the Palace of New Asgard came into view.  Banners of gold shimmered in the light of the rising sun, flapping in the breeze of the young morning, beckoning you closer.  You hugged Loki’s arm tighter, excited and exhilarated by the sight before you. “Home is a people, not a place.  Those were some of my father’s last words to Thor and I… and while I can never take you to the place where I grew up, this… this is the home of my people.” “Loki… it’s beautiful!” Valkyrie, stopping so you could both catch up, “It’s getting there.  Thor’s been a huge help.  Come on, let's show you around the palace and let your brother know you’re here.” ---To Be Continued!

My minxes:  @sammy-jo1977 @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki  @thefallenbibliophilequote @iamverity @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @wolfsmom1 @procrastinatinglikeabitch @mizfit2 @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @alexakeyloveloki @jessiejunebug @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @thenatalie @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @jenjen8675309 @that-one-person

[justjessame]

Starting Over Chapter 39

I woke up wrapped in the security of Bucky’s arms - and wearing my nightclothes which I have to admit took a few extra beats to catch up to remembering the cause - but his lips were on mine and it didn’t matter why.  Nightclothes, late nights, even gunshot victims sleeping their pain meds off on our couch didn’t matter - not when Bucky was kissing me awake.  

“Brooke!,” the tiny voice that called my name had both mine and Bucky’s eyes snapping open and widening. “Buck kissed you up like Rora in Sleepin’ Beauty.” And then a round of toddler giggles that had both of us pulling away with what I had to think was a silent prayer of gratitude for our fucking nightclothes.  

There, with her tiny chin propped on Bucky’s side of our bed and her dark eyes staring up at us, was Bryn.  And now that we were WIDE awake, I could hear voices downstairs - and if I wasn’t completely fucking insane - I was hearing MORE than just Connie and Sharon’s.  

While I kept Bryn occupied, Bucky slid out of my side of the bed.  A three year old does NOT need to see what Bucky Barnes is packing early in the morning, trust me.  I pulled her up into the bed with me and grabbed the remote to the TV.

“What do you want to watch?”  After putting it on her favorite early morning cartoon, I settled back against the headboard and smiled when I realized that Byrn had compared Bucky to a prince.  “Bryn?”  She hummed and I slid my fingers through her loose curls.  “What’s the prince’s name in Sleeping Beauty?”

“Phillip.” It didn’t come from Bryn.  It came from the doorway and a very masculine voice.  I glanced over to where Bucky stood, fully dressed now and I grinned with a raised eyebrow.  “What? She told me while we were talking about her dolls and our tea party.”  

I nodded and he came over to join us.  “Did you do any recon?”  He snorted.  “What would you call it? Super sneaky Winter Soldier ninja snooping?”  

Shaking his head, he kissed me again.  “I did.”  He sighed.  “Sam, Chris, Carrie, Connie, and Sharon.”  I knew my eyes were wide enough to be in threat of falling out of my head, but for fuck’s sake.  “Come on, Bryn,” he held out his arms and she hopped up and jumped into them.  “Let’s go downstairs and see if we can get some breakfast ready for Brooke while she gets ready for the day.”  

I contemplated staying in bed.  Our house had been invaded - and while I’d sworn that I’d answer my phone and door, I hadn’t been given the OPTION of answering - they’d just barged right the fuck in.  Giving myself about five minutes to stew and wallow, I finally rolled out of bed and grabbed some clothes to toss on.  A stop in the bathroom to brush my hair and my teeth and then downstairs to meet the invaders.

They were in the kitchen - ALL of them.  Gathered around the table and island, watching as Bucky worked on another omelet - omelets I corrected as I came in and moved closer to him.  Sam was drinking coffee, and I almost asked where he’d gotten it since he was drinking out of one of my mugs, but then I noticed that someone had started up my parents’ coffee maker.  I hadn’t tossed it out, of course I also didn’t buy coffee for it - Connie shook her head and nodded toward the bags of groceries that she’d clearly put away before we woke up.

“Morning,” I greeted our guests, “everyone.” Started strong, but the landing left something to be desired.  “To what do we owe this -”

“Well,” Connie came over and wrapped her arm around my neck.  “I knew that you probably hadn’t had a chance to go shopping for groceries since you got back.” Whispering very quietly in my ear that she knew exactly WHY I hadn’t and she APPROVED of why.  “I thought I’d do a run while Bryn and I were out -”

“We saw how much she grabbed and -” Chris volunteered, grins growing.  Such good samaritans and great friends.   “We couldn’t let her struggle.  She had her own stuff, yours, AND Bryn.”  

Carried piped up, “we stopped by her house and dropped hers off first.  When we got here, Sam had just arrived.”  She was beaming - and why not?  She just met the new Captain America, after all.  

“Since I have a key for emergencies,” Connie finished the tale with a shrug.  

I nodded.  “You have a key for emergencies and groceries are an emergency.”  Bucky’s shoulders were shaking, and I knew he was enjoying this shit immensely.  “And letting Captain America in - I mean, I’m sure he made it sound like it was an emergency.”  

Sam was taking a drink when I said it and he snorted, spewing coffee just a bit.  “Don’t make it sound like I was being all sneaky or something, Brooke.” He sputtered.  

I raised an eyebrow and reached for one of my tea towels.  Tossing it to him, I waited while he cleaned up.  “It’s broad daylight, I highly doubt you were being sneaky, Sam.”  He nodded.  “So?” 

“So?”  Confusion glowed on his face. 

“The reason for your visit?”  

“Ah,” I shook my head as realization dawned on his face.  “Sarah -” shit the print, but he went on.  “She and I wanted to invite you and Bucky to a celebration back home.”  

They were planning on a huge party in Delacroix - and for good reason - hometown boy makes VERY good.  And now that they weren’t selling the boat, or house, I could see why they’d want to have a party. Bucky glanced at me over his shoulder, wanting my input on whether we should go or not, but in this instance the ball was in his court.  

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, plating our breakfast - for all eight of us - and lining them up on the island for us to carry into the dining room.  “We’ll drive down.”

“Drive?”  Sam was curious, carrying his plate and refilled cup of coffee into the dining room.  “Renting a car instead of flying?”  

We settled around the table and I shook my head when Bucky moved to sit at one of the sides.  “Head, Bucky.”  His eyes went wide, but I stood firm.  OUR house, and he was the man of it.  Everyone waited to tuck in until he sat, and then I took my seat.  “Yes, drive, Sam.”  I smiled across the table at Bucky, who was staring at me like he was amazed by me again.  “We like to take our time - Bucky and me.”  That got a few chuckles, but then everyone took a bite of their food and suddenly no one was laughing - because once again they were surprised by Bucky Barnes.  

Our guests didn’t stay too long.  Bryn understood that it wasn’t the day for our tea party, since she hadn’t brought along any princesses for it.  I watched as Bucky got down on his knee to have a long conversation with her - privately, they told the rest of us, and I smiled when she hugged him tight at the end of it.  

“I think Bucky has a fan,” Sam was beside me, watching Bryn with Bucky.  “Seeing him like this -”

I felt my smile growing. I loved hearing anyone’s tone change to reflect them seeing him in a new light.  “You think this is the Bucky that Steve knew, don’t you?”  He hummed an affirmative.  “It is,” I bit my lip as Buck turned, his gaze meeting mine.  “He’s always been there, Sam.  Just took him a little longer to surface than he expected.”  Bucky came closer to include me in Bryn’s goodbye hug, and got me to promise her that sleepover too, despite my misgivings.  A kiss to her soft cheek and she was handed off to Connie.  

“We’ll let you two get back to -” I rolled my eyes as Connie waggled her eyes in her attempt at being suggestive.  “Bye, Brookie.” She was grinning when she gave Bucky his own parting, then Chris and Carrie gave us a less gregarious, but no less friendly goodbye, leaving just Sharon and Sam behind.  

“And then there were two,” I murmured, getting a chuckle from Bucky, coupled with a soft sigh.  

“I heard that,” Sam offered, carrying a stack of dirty dishes to the kitchen and shooting Sharon a dirty look when she hissed while she tried to grab some to help.  “Sit your wounded ass down.”  

She glared at him, but with a hand on her side, complied.  “Hey,” I got her attention and tilted my head toward the hall bathroom.  “Want me to have a peek at your bandage?”  

“Do you have -” she bit her lip, and I nearly laughed at her conundrum.  Does she insult me by asking if I have first aid experience after I gave her clothing and a roof over her head or does she humor me?  

“I took some classes,” I assured her.  “My parents liked to make sure all the bases were covered.”  Helping her carefully to her feet, I got her to the bathroom where one of the many family first aid kits lived.  Opening it up and setting it on the countertop, I saw her eyes widen.  “I told you - my parents liked to keep the bases covered.”  Our first aid kits weren’t something you bought at a local pharmacy or online.  “Mom was an RN,” I gestured for her to take her place on the toilet seat again.  “She made sure to keep me up to date on my safety classes.”  Every CPR class, first aid requirement, and anything else she imagined a layperson might need - she signed me up for.  I helped Sharon with the loose shirt Bucky had grabbed out of my drawer, and smiled at the wrapping the ER had put on her wound.  “Good news,” I bent down and took a closer look.  “You haven’t started bleeding through the packing and wraps, so I don’t have to rewrap you.” She sighed and I chuckled.  “Damn it,” I glanced up to see her looking down at me wearily.  “I kind of hoped to use you for practice.”  

She shook her head and a tiny smile threatened to creep onto her lips.  “It hurts like hell though.”  She started to pull the shirt back into place.  “Gonna make getting back on the road a trial,” I was just opening my mouth to tell her she didn’t have to rush when she stopped me.  “Thank you, Brooke, for your and Bucky’s generosity and hospitality, but trust me, I should go - and soon.”  

I nodded, standing up to help her to her feet.  She was taller than me, just like every other person in my life.  “Take my number,” I watched as she pulled a phone from her pocket and I rattled off the number while she tapped it into the contacts.  “If you need me or us -”

“Thank you,” she smiled, a small one, but I thought it might be genuine.  “Steve would have liked you.”  

“So I’ve heard,” I shook my head and put the first aid kit away.  “Do you need another change of clothes?”  Sharon wouldn’t hear of taking more from me, and insisted that she had a car coming to take her away.  “If you’re sure -”

“I am.” We left the bathroom to the sounds of Bucky and Sam in the kitchen, soft music not hiding the sounds of them bickering over how to fill the dishwasher.  “You’re going to have your hands full.”  

“Yeah, I do,” I agreed, shaking my head as I listened to the two of them, their back and forth, and thinking that they sounded more and more like brothers.  “I think they’re getting more -”

“Partners,” Sharon nodded.  “They’re a team now.”  

“Scary.” I heard a soft knock on the door and Bucky’s head appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room.  “I think -”

“It’s for me,” Sharon offered, hand back on her wound.  “Time for me to go.”  

“You sure?”  It was Sam who asked, coming up on Bucky’s left, arms crossed over his chest.  “You could stay, I could always -”

“I think you’re making enough waves, Cap.”  I bit my lip at Sharon using the nickname so soon.  “I can wait for my pardon.”  She was moving toward the living room, with me behind her in case she stumbled.  “I’ll just grab my small pile of stuff and be out of your way.”  She grabbed her clothes - the ones she’d changed out of and turned to find me waiting at a close distance.  “Hovering?  That’s a very Steve Rogers trait, Brooke.”  I rolled my eyes.  “I’ll be fine,” she assured me, moving her hand from the bandaged side and sighing.  “Keep those two out of trouble.”

“Yeah, right.”  I muttered, opening my arms, thinking what the hell - a hug was warranted.  She allowed it, awkward though it was.  “Stay safe, Sharon.”  

“I’ll try.” She murmured. “You too, ok?”  

I nodded and then she pulled away.  I busied myself with the living room while she said her goodbyes to Sam and Bucky, thinking that less was more in the case of Sharon Carter leaving our house.  I had just folded up the blanket and put it with the pillow when I heard the front door open and close.  

“And then there was one,” Bucky murmured, wrapping his arms around me.  “What do you think the chances are that Sam goes home to prepare for the celebration and lets us follow behind?”

“Slim and none,” Sam offered, leaning against the archway between the living room and the entryway.  “Sarah doesn’t need me to plan a party, and I have a couple loose ends to tie up here in NYC, so -”

“Don’t put away the blanket and pillow, Brooke,” Bucky kissed my cheek.  “The couch has a new guest.”

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, sivan325!

For @sivan325 <3

Read On AO3

*****

Right Where You Left Me

Pulling up outside the rundown cabin, Stiles can’t help but feel like they’ve stepped into a horror movie. The paint is peeled to all hell, the two front windows are boarded up, and the remains of an old porch swing are rotting beside a front door that’s barely holding onto its hinges. Stiles can feel Scott’s hesitation as they climb out of the car. “It’s no big deal,” Scott says, his nerves bleeding into his tone. It’s always a surprise that even after everything they’ve faced, Scott can still be nervous about something so mundane. “He’ll help us. He has to.”

“Okay then,” Stiles smirks. “Go knock.” “Fine. I will.” Scott bravados, but still he pauses. “No big deal, huh?”

“You’re the one that should be shitting your pants right now, after everything that happened. In fact, you should probably stay in the car…”

Stiles goes to make some quippy comeback, despite them both knowing Scott speaks the truth, but before he can the front door of the cabin bursts open. Derek barrels out, a shotgun in his hand and aimed straight at the two of them. “No,” Derek shouts from the porch. “Derek!” Scott calls back. “No! Take whatever bullshit you've gotten yourselves into this time and fuck off.”

“Derek, please. You know we wouldn't be here if we didn't have any other options.” Scott always tries to handle things diplomatically, with calm and reason, but Stiles isn’t sure it’s going to work here. Still, he shrinks back and lets his best friend handle it.

Derek’s glare could cut glass. “That's tragic, because I'm not an option either.”

“You don’t understand, there’s a—”

Derek cocks the gun, keeping it directly aimed at Scott’s chest. “I. Don't. Care. You have to the count of three to get back in your fucking car. One.”

“Derek!”

“Two!”

“They'll kill us all if you don't help!”

“Three!”

“Derek!” Stiles shouts, jumping in front of Scott. It’s the first time he’s spoken this entire time, not wanting to ruin whatever rapport Scott might’ve been able to create with Derek. It’s become clear that isn’t going to happen.

For the first time, Derek's eyes turn to Stiles. They've been carefully avoiding him this entire time, a fact lost on neither of them. Stiles’ silence and Derek’s avoidance speaks volumes to each other.

“Put the gun down and hear us out. Please, Der,” he adds, doing that thing with his eyes that Derek never could resist. It's not fair. It's not nice. It's downright underhanded, maybe even cruel, but Stiles needs Derek to listen. His hold on the gun falters, but only for a moment. Barely noticeable. A heartbeat passes, and the gun fires. Stiles jumps up into Scott's arms, just as Scott’s body flinches backward, propelling them both onto the ground. The dirt at their feet is disturbed from where the bullet landed.

“Five minutes,” Derek grunts, going inside.

Scott and Stiles scramble up and follow him inside the cabin without question. This is the break they were praying for.

If the outside was bad, the inside is a disaster. The walls are covered in mold and grime, and the floorboards creek under their weight with such intensity that Stiles thinks they’re going to fall through any second. There’s a couch, but it’s ripped and stained and nothing any human being should be sitting on. They follow Derek through the mess and the dreariness into the kitchen, where only a table and a couple chairs sit.

Stiles wonders why Derek chooses to live like this. He's gruff, unwashed, and surrounded by squalor. He feels a twinge of guilt, knowing it's his fault. Everything is his fault. The course of their lives all comes down to him and his selfish mistakes.

Derek tosses the gun onto the kitchen table. It lands in a pile of old dishes and newspapers. “Four minutes.”

Scott explains the situation. Derek uses a knife to cut open a bottle of beer and chugs the whole thing, some strange attempt at a power move, going for another immediately after. It's clearly not his first drink of the day.

“So, you don't need me, you just need the numbers.”

“We need everyone. Especially you. You know how to fight, and you know what we're up against. We can't win this fight without you.”

“Then I guess you're going to lose the fight.”

“Derek,” Scott pleads.

But Derek just sneers. “Get the fuck out of my house, Scott.”

Scott looks at Stiles, at a loss. Stiles nods silently toward the door, signalling to “let him handle this.” Scott quietly shuffles out in defeat, leaving behind a feeling of dread. They’d both hoped Scott would be able to convince Derek, and now they’re fate is up to Stiles, literally the worst person to be talking to Derek one-on-one.

Once he's gone, Stiles silently walks around the kitchen, running his hand along the many, many empty beer bottles sitting on the countertop.

“Derek, I—”

“Stiles. Don't.”

“I hate seeing you like this.”

“Hate seeing the repercussions of your actions? Tough.”

“That's not fair.”

“No, what's not fair is you coming here. Scott, I understand, he’ll do anything to protect his pack, but you? After what you did? You're a bastard.”

“I am. I absolutely am. But Derek, we need your help.”

“Why don't you go cry about it in the car with Scott? I'm not helping. Not him, and definitely not you.”

Stiles yanks the only other chair from the table and sits. “Pity isn't a good color on you.”

“Fuck off.”

“This isn't you. Sitting in a secluded cabin getting drunk every day isn't Derek Hale.”

“Don't pretend you ever gave a shit about ‘Derek Hale.’”

“Derek,” Stiles places his hand over Derek's, expecting him to recoil from his touch, but he doesn't. “I loved you.”

“Not enough to stay faithful.”

Now he pulls his hand away.

“I still love you, Derek. I've never stopped.”

“How much did you love me when you were fucking him?” Derek growls. “How much did you love me then, Stiles?”

They never talked about it. Not really. It all happened so fast, and before he knew it Derek was gone. He fled Beacon Hills without a word, leaving Stiles to stew in his shame alone. He deserved it, but it was still hell.

“I... I can't defend what I did. It was horrible. But Derek I'm so, so sorry.”

“Stiles. Get out of my house.”

“I—”

Derek heaves the bottle in his hand across the room. It shatters against the far wall, beer spraying everywhere. “GET THE FUCK OUT! Before I Make you.”

Stiles jumps instinctively, his heart pounding with adrenaline. Eyes wide, tears threatening to spill, he stands up. This is what he expected, this anger and lashing is what he knew would happen, but it still takes him off guard. Derek’s anger… it scares him, and it hurts. He walks right out of the cabin, leaving Derek and everything still left between them...

In the car, Scott sighs as Stiles climbs in. “I guess I just hoped he'd be reasonable.”

Stiles drums his fingers against the window, thinking. “When have you ever known Derek to be reasonable?”

“It didn't help that you came along.”

“I know.”

“I told you it'd only make things harder.”

“I know.”

“After what you did, I would've thrown more than just one bottle-”

“Scott. I get it. I'm the bad guy in this scenario. I know. I fucked everything up. I guess I just thought if we saw each other again... that maybe he'd talk to me. Maybe he'd...”

“Understand? I love you man, but you cheated on him. I don't think he can understand that.”

Stiles doesn't know what else to say because Scott's right. Nothing he says can ever fix what he broke, no amount of explaining will undo that pain. Their relationship is dead, and any small sliver of hope he may have been holding onto has to stop. It won’t help anyone, especially not tonight.

“But maybe I can still convince him to help with the fight,” Stiles finishes his thought process out loud.

“I think we should just call it. We're wasting time here now.”

Stiles, however, is already opening the car door. “I'm going to give it one last shot.”

“I don't think that's a good ide-” the door slamming behind him cuts Scott off.

He was only outside for a few minutes, but Derek managed to inhale three more beers in that time. He absolutely reeks of it when Stiles comes back in. The sad broken-hearted drunk and the adulterous ex. It sounds like a fucking telenovela.

“You're going to help us.”

“What the fuck, Stiles?”

“You're going to help us because under the self-pity, the anger, and the alcohol you're still Derek. The Derek we all knew. You'll help us because if you don't, people you still care about will die. Everyone in Beacon Hills will die, and you won't let that happen, not without a hell of a fight first.”

“You don't know me anymore, and you don't get to come in here and tell me what to fucking do.”

Stiles leans down, getting right in Derek's face. The alcohol on his breath burns his eyes. “No, I guess I don't, but you do. And you'll do the right thing because that's who you are.”

That's when Derek does something unexpected. He throws Stiles backward, slamming into the edge of the table, then collapsing on the floor. His side aches from the collision.

“If you don't leave now, I'm Going To Kill You.” Derek’s standing now. There's a fury in his eyes that's unlike anything he’s seen in him before. It’s determined. He means what he’s saying.

Stiles swallows, struggling to stand. “Then do it.”

Derek looks confused. Stiles is confused too; he doesn't know why he just said that. It’s not like he wants to get beat up, but it feels right.

“If hurting me will help you feel better, then do it. I deserve it.”

“Okay.”

What?

The punch sends him directly onto the tabletop, papers and plates clattering to the floor under him. The next one splits his lip open. The one after that makes him see blue spots. The next is to his gut and he rolls off the table, gasping for breath.

The kick to his ribs was a little unnecessary.

Spitting blood onto the floor, he looks up at Derek, who looks more like Derek than he has all night. All rolling anger and focused eyes.

But seeing Stiles on the floor, seeing him bloody, bruised, and clearly in pain... it takes the spark away. Derek's muscles relax and he falls against the table for support. The moment has passed.

Stiles smiles. His teeth are bloody. “That... that all you got?”

“Don't fucking test me.”

“D-do you... feel any... better?”

“No. Because when I see your face, all I see is you with him.”

Stiles cheated. He and Derek were going strong, but Stiles... he ruined that. It’s not even an original story: He met a guy at a bar and took him home. Fucked him. Which is bad enough, but Derek walked in on it happening. Caught in the act, right at the finish line, all he could do as he came was watch the light leave Derek's eyes.

It was self-sabotage. He knew that all along. He had something good, something real, so he had to ruin it. Because he doesn't know how to be happy.

It all sounds very clinical, very therapist and clean cut. Feeling it in the moment... that was so much worse. Knowing he fucked up so deeply, and knowing why, but being unable to express it.

He still doesn't know how to tell Derek all of that now.

Instead, he falls into another cliché. “He didn't mean anything.”

“You fucked him.” He doesn’t know how to tell Derek all of that, but he has to try.

“I was sabotaging myself.”

“You. Fucked. Him.”

“I don't know how to be happy.”

“You looked pretty happy that night.”

“I was cumming, of course I looked...” he trails off as Derek's nostrils flare. Clearly that was the wrong thing to say. Of course it was. God, he’s an idiot.

"I'm sorry."

"You're only saying that because you want my help. You and Scott both. You've had ages to come and talk to me about everything, but you chose this moment. You're a calculating, manipulative bitch, Stiles, and I hate you."

"No you don't," he replies. "And if I wanted to manipulate you into helping, I'd take a different approach."

Before Derek can answer, Stiles moves toward him, stopping when they're only a couple feet apart. This is a risky gambit but one he’s willing to try, and only partly to get Derek to join the fight. Mostly… mostly he just wants to. "I'd probably try and seduce you.”

He lowers to his knees, fully expecting Derek to push him away, but he doesn't. He watches Stiles the entire time he’s undoing his pants and tugging out his cock.

It’s a testament to how much Derek is still attracted to Stiles by how fast he gets hard. He licks the underside of Derek’s cock, tasting him. All of him. It’s like coming home after a long trip, back to what’s familiar and good. So good. A little dirty from living alone in a cabin for so long, but good.

Derek’s legs shake as Stiles wraps his lips around his shaft and works his cock like a champ. He knows every line of Derek’s body, every soft and sensitive spot, and he uses that knowledge now to make his body tremble. It’s almost hard to believe that just minutes ago this man was beating the tar out of him, and now he’s breathing heavy and moaning deep from his throat. It makes Stiles feel powerful. Alive. It doesn’t take long for Derek to finish. He shoots deep into Stiles’s mouth, pumping excesses of hot cum. It’s clearly been a while since he’s been touched.

Stiles swallows, licking his lips after like a good little slut. Derek always loved that.

Derek lets out a long breath. “I’m still not helping you.”

“I know.”

Derek raises an eyebrow.

“This isn’t about that,” Stiles says. “This was for us.”

* * * * *

Once in the car, Scott immediately grills him over the cuts and bruises, which are really starting to throb now. At least the bleeding around his mouth has stopped.

“It’s fine,” Stiles assures.

“He beat you up!”

“I deserved worse.”

“You’re a fucking mess, man.”

Stiles licks his lips, the salty taste of Derek’s cum still lingering there, and smirks knowingly to himself. “Yeah, but you love me.”

Scott starts to reverse away from the cabin, their mission officially a failure. However, that’s when Derek appears at the door, flagging them down with a wave. He doesn’t look happy about it, but he’s doing it, and that’s what matters. Scott and Stiles look at each other for a moment in disbelief. “What’d you say to make him come around?”

“What can I say, I have a magic mouth.” Maybe he’s not the most subtle, but sue him.

They climb out of the car, but Stiles pauses when his phone buzzes. He tells Scott to go ahead, that he’ll catch up, and reads the message on his screen. It’s from BtmGuy420, asking when they can meet up. He looks at the cabin, where Scott and Derek are talking. Later, he texts back, and goes to join them.

[13-reasons-ideas]

Can’t Go Back Part 14

Montgomery and I were curled up in my bed one Friday night watching The Mortal Instruments. We paid attention to most of it but there were definitely some parts we missed. Damn is he a good kisser. We missed the credits starting. “That was good.” Monty muttered as he pulled away from me.

“Very.” I agreed, though I don’t know if we meant the movie or the rather intense make out session. “I think the book is still better though.”

“I think they could have slowed down the pace some. It seemed a little rushed.”

“Okay fair, but I don’t see how that would make a difference. The book is still better than the movie. They cut out so much stuff.”

“How much could they have cut Addison?” I raised my brow and got up from my bed. I grabbed the book from my shelf and tossed it at him.

“Ow. That hurt you know.”

“No wonder we lose so much. None of you know how to catch things.” I joked.

“Is that a dig Doll?” he smirked and stood.

“Maybe. What are you going to do about it, Casanova?”

“I can think of a thing or two.” He shook his head and leaned down to kiss me. Pulling me closer, we fell back onto my bed and rolled around. His kisses quieted my giggles in case my parents heard us and came to check on me.

“Addy?” a voice called. We froze. My eyes went to my door on instinct. “Addy.” Not the door. Too quiet to be the door. “Are you awake?” The whisper call came once again. Monty and I immediately turned to the window, alarmed. Justin. I climbed off my bed and pulled my shirt off. Sneaking towards my window, I opened it and stuck my head out a bit. Not enough for Justin to see anything, but enough for him to hear me.

“Just a minute, I’m getting dressed.” I shut it again and turned back to Monty. “Hide! You need to hide.” Monty spread his arms wide, motioning around the room. He was clearly freaking out.

“No shit. Where?”

I motioned to my closet. “In there. Quickly. And stay quiet.” I messed up my hair some more as he dove for my closet and shut the door. One look in the mirror showed me how red I was. Oh well. Hopefully he’s not in the mood to chat. Opening the window, I waved him up. He tossed his bag on my previously occupied bed.

“Thanks. Mom is on another bender.” I squeezed him tightly and stepped back.

“Sorry, I was watching a movie and I must have fallen asleep.” Justin sat on my bed and I tried to keep my eyes from widening. Lying is so much easier when he’s not hiding in my closet. “So you can stay here tonight, but you have to stay in the guest room.”

My best friend rose his brow at me, suspiciously. “Uh. Okay, why? I’ve never had to before.”

“Because my dad has decided to give a shit this week?” I shrugged. “He thinks you could get me pregnant or something. You know, with all the sex we don’t have.” Justin shrugged understandingly. Thank God.

I took him to the guest room and get him all tucked into bed. I climbed onto the bed beside him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what? The fact that my mother is an addict? Or the fact that I have to come hide out at my best friend’s house every other week?”

“Any of it, Justin. You don’t deserve to deal with all of this.”

“I know that Addy. I don’t have much choice though. She’s my mom.” The crack in his voice and his eyes filled with tears, broke my heart.

I nodded and pulled the broken boy in front of me into my lap. “You know I’m always here for you. No matter what. We don’t have to talk anymore, okay?” He nodded against my lap. I pet his hair in a sad attempt to soothe him. We sat like that for a while until I knew he was asleep. The quiet snoring told me everything I needed to know about his evening. I kissed his forehead and went back to my room. Leaning against the door and sighing deeply, I was startled to find Monty lounging on my bed.

“You came back.”

“Yeah.”

“Gone a while.”

“Yeah.” It’s my house. I can be gone as long as I want.

“Everything good?”

“I guess.” I shrugged. “Just Amber being Amber. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

“He really does stay here then?”

“Yeah. Was it not clear before?”

“It was. I just didn’t realize you would let him in if you had company.” I blinked at him. I rolled my eyes and grabbed the book that was still sitting on my bed, along with my laptop. Once they were on my desk I climbed into bed beside him.

“I’m not doing this at this hour. And we need to be quiet. So good night Monty.”

He scoffed. “Night Addison.” Monty was gone when I woke up.

We didn’t text the rest of the weekend and things were still tense between us at school on Monday. We basically ignored each other in the halls. Usually. we at least nodded to each other discreetly or I acknowledged his existence when I was roped into a conversation with Justin’s friends. In the middle of chemistry, he sent me a text. Are your parents going to be home after school?

Not for a while. Why?

Talk?

Fine. I rolled my eyes and slid my phone back in my bag. I furrowed my brow at the problem on the board and its ‘solved’ counterpart. I rose my hand. “Miss uh… Hawthorne?”

“The equation actually balances to 1H10Si10O15+30HCl, not 2H10Si10O15+30HCl2.” Our substitute looked frazzled at my correction. She turned around and went over the equation again.

“Yes, it seems you are correct. Thank you.” I smiled and nodded awkwardly. A few kids chuckled.

I beat my boyfriend to my house and made a coffee. The jiggle of the doorknob brought me out of my stewing. Monty walked in and watched me expectantly. “What.”

“You know what.”

“Justin? Really?”

“Yes Justin.”

“You’re mad that Justin came over on Friday night?”

“We were hanging out. I assumed that meant you wouldn’t just invite him in.”

I scoffed. “And what would you have had me do instead? Tell him to spend the night on the street or with Bryce?”

“I don’t see why he couldn’t stay at Bryce’s.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“You think I haven’t figured out that you crash here when you fight with your dad?” His eyes darkened a shade, but he didn’t respond.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right. Sure. We can talk about that later.”

“Or we can not.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion. Since apparently you have an issue with Justin now, we have to deal with it because he isn’t going anywhere.” He rolled his eyes. “Don’t. Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“K.” He scoffed.

“Amber is an addict. She’s not picky. When her boyfriend is in town, its meth. Other times its whatever she can scrape the money up for. So, he comes here when he doesn’t want to deal with it. Or when she’s too far gone to recognize him. Because he knows he’s safe here. How safe is he at Bryce’s place Monty?”

“Safe enough.”

“That’s crap and you can’t deny it.”

“Whatever Addy. I was under the impression that us time was us time but if Justin needs to be involved, you think we have a very different relationship than we do.”

“He’s not involved. And he will never be involved in the way you’re implying. He is my best friend Monty.”

“Sure. Friends.”

“Seriously? I’ve already told you that we are and have only ever been friends.”

“You were gone over an hour. A lot can happen in an hour.” Barf.

“If I was going to cheat on you with anyone, do you really think I would be stupid enough to do it while you are in my bedroom waiting for me? Also, as I’ve said many, many times, Justin and I are nothing more than friends.”

“Then what were you doing Addison?”

“We were talking. I was waiting for him to fall asleep. I always wait for him to fall asleep.”

“Still doesn’t explain why he couldn’t go spend the night at Bryce’s.”

“He’s done it before. And Bryce’s solution is to get him drunk or high so that he doesn’t have to deal with his problems.”

“Doesn’t sound like that bad of a way to deal with it.”

“You’re kidding, right? Justin dealing with his mom who’s high out of her mind by getting high is… not bad?” I blinked at him.

“On occasion no.”

“You… no. I’ve had to go pick him up from Bryce’s place. Trust me when I tell you it’s not pretty. So, to avoid that, he comes here.”

“Is this how it’s going to be?”

His question caught me off guard. “What do you mean?”

“Am I going to come second to Justin?”

“You… you don’t come second to him Monty. He’s been my best friend since I was a little kid. We need each other. And yes, sometimes that means he will need me while you and I are together. But I can’t just abandon him. You’ve been my boyfriend for all of three months. I’m not going to be that girl that just forgets about all the other relationships in my life because I have a boyfriend. A boyfriend I can’t tell anyone about, might I add. Which I’m completely okay with for now by the way. And as much as I don’t like him, Bryce and I are the only real constants in his life. He’s family.”

“Fine. I just didn’t realize how close you two are. It’s not exactly the easiest thing to deal with when your girlfriend basically has a second boyfriend.”

“You knew we were close going into this.”

“Yeah, I know. But that isn’t the point. I don’t want to be second to Justin Foley.”

“You aren’t. Justin is my best friend. He is the closest thing I have to a brother. He is going to be around. You are just going to have to deal with that. I’m not going to fight you on him.”

“Fine. I’ll try.”

“Thank you.”

“Bryce’s place is still an option though.”

“It is for you too.”

“I’m not doing this now Addison.”

“You want to sit here and complain about Justin showing up in the middle of the night like you haven’t been doing it since we started dating.”

“That’s low Addy.”

“Am I wrong Montgomery?”

“No but that’s low.”

“You think I haven’t noticed the bruises?”

“I’m not doing this Addison. Not now.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to. I’m not in the mood to discuss this.”

“But discussing Justin was fine. Whatever. And don’t try to say its two different things because it’s not.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

“I get that you’re upset and stuff and that’s fine. But you don’t get to sit here and act like you don’t do the same thing. That’s not fair.”

“Okay.” I realized he wasn’t going to budge on the topic.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

[mae-gi-writes]

Deobi Playlist (EP 8) | The Boyz Imagine

Ep 8: In which Mae and Kevin have THE TALK, and Juyeon and Hyunjae gossip about them. 

The Boyz x Hospital Playlist inspired drabble series. 

Main characters: Kevin, Juyeon, Hyunjae and OC (Mae)

Sides: the rest of The Boyz

Genre: fluff, slice of life, BROMANCE BRUH 

EP 1 | EP 2 | EP 3 | EP 4 | EP 5 | EP 6 | EP 7 | EP 8 | EP 9 | EP 10 | EP 11

----------

Kevin's heart is racing in his chest and up his throat. Suddenly, it feels a little too hot in the room, his coat weighing down on his shoulders like wet clothing that makes him want to squirm in place. 

He knows he can't avoid this forever. But he also can't seem to look into Mae's eyes, for fear of what he might find there. 

"Kevin?"

Running a hand over his face and allowing a sigh to escape, he answers, "yes. Yes, I do."

He focuses his attention on her feet. Silence reigns over the room as he contemplates whether he should bolt out of the door. 

"You idiot."

He forces himself not to wince, preparing for the rain of rejections that will splatter his body like arrows.

And then, Mae is punching his shoulder, "you idiot. You're so stupid." 

Surprised, his eyes flutter up to her face only to see her flustered, somewhat guilty expression. Realization dawns, chest releasing its tension. 

He grabs her wrist in mid-punch to halt her actions, unconsciously pulling her closer as he does so and there's no chance of hiding his joyous surprise when the said woman averts her eyes this time as though she is embarrassed.

"I like you too," comes her mumble, "why didn't you tell me?"

"How was I supposed to tell you? I was friendzoned before I even tried."

"I didn't friendzone you."

"You kept saying how you'd never date any of us because we were like brothers to you."

"Okay fine," she pauses, "I might have said that. But that's beside the point. The point is…"

She trails off unsurely then and Kevin's heart practically skips a beat at how close they are. A little closer and his lips can touch her cheek. 

"The point is that we're both idiots running circles around each other," Kevin says. 

"Excuse me, weren't you the one hiding underneath YOUR DESK?"

"I was panicking, that doesn't count."

They trail off into another bout of silence, albeit comfortable this time. Kevin allows his thumb to stroke the underside of her wrist, relishing in its softest and not failing to catch the hint of a smile Mae tries her hardest to tuck away behind a mask of nonchalance. 

Ring ring ring!

UGH, Kevin feels like groaning out loud as he whips his phone out of his coat pocket before slamming it to his ear with barely restrained annoyance. 

Of all times, why now?

"Yes?"

"Dr. Moon! Patient Seunghee who you sent for an MRI scan is having difficulty breathing! Her blood levels are dropping rapidly and she says she's having chest pains."

"I'll be there in five. Where are you?"

"Block four Pediatrics, doctor."

"I'm coming. Try to calm her down."

He snaps his phone shut as Mae allows her hand to return to her side, "emergency?"

"Yeah. She was admitted yesterday. Seemed fine though," he mumbles, brain already speeding through his thoughts at the numerous reasons why her body is reacting this way and unconsciously striding towards the door, when he swivels back round to face Mae. 

"We need to talk."

Mae waves her fingers at him, "go. We’ll do that later.” 

He doesn't need to be told twice before dashing out of his office and down the corridor.

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

"Psst. Juyeon."

Juyeon glances back at the door to see it ajar, with Mae's head peeking out from the slit. He looks back at Doctor Sangyeon talking about the medical care for one of his patients and hands his clipboard over to the other intern before quickly slipping out of the office. 

"What is it?" He asks, taking note of her flustered expression and...is she blushing?

"I told Kevin." 

His eyes grow wide, "told Kevin...what?" 

"That I knew about him liking me," she pauses, "and that I like him."

"What? Wait--" Juyeon frowns in confusion, "is this why you pulled me out?!"

"Maybe."

"Mae!"

"What?!" She can't help but stomp her foot lightly and is glad that at this time of the day, there aren't many doctors around to see the frazzled state in which she's in, "Hyunjae's in surgery and I needed to talk to someone."

"Thanks for making me sound like the last option that you have."

"Juyeon, not the time for jealousy right now."

"But, okay wait--what did he say?"

"That...he thought I had friendzoned you all and that's why he never said anything."

"He does have a point."

"I did not--when did I friendzone you?!"

"Oh come on, Mae. You totally did, remember when we were--"

"Juyeon!" Sangyeon's voice booms out from his office and the said intern tenses up in panic. 

The door slides open to reveal the said doctor looking more than a little displeased. 

"Sorry Dr. Sangyeon," Mae quickly fibs, "it's my fault. I needed some data for the reports I'm writing up and Juyeon has them."

"Well make it quick. I need him."

"Yes, doctor."

Mae waits until the door slides fully closed before quickly ushering Juyeon away, "I'll see you later."

Juyeon pauses, hand on the doorknob, "dinner?"

"Sure."

"I want steak."

"Ask your girlfriend to buy you some."

He pouts, "you're so mean."

"See you, loser."

"See you."

"Love you."

"Keep that for Kevin." 

Juyeon wastes no time in shutting the door before Mae can come and kick his ass. 

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

The moment Hyunjae steps out of the surgery room to peel off his mask and let out a relieved sigh -- a sign that the surgery has gone well without any complications -- his phone starts buzzing through his pants pocket. Fishing it out and seeing Juyeon’s name flash across the screen, he pulls his face into a grimace before accepting the call. 

He presses it to his ear, “I don’t have ramen. You gotta go buy some.” 

“That’s not why I called,” Juyeon retorts at the other end of the line. 

Hyunjae rolls his eyes. He moves towards his office, nodding at the few nurses along the way, “yeah? What do you need then?” 

“Are you done with surgery?” 

“I answered the phone didn’t I?” 

“Come to the cafeteria.” 

“But I’m tired,” Hyunjae whines.

“Trust me, you’ll want to hear this.”

When Hyunjae steps into the cafeteria a few minutes later, it doesn’t take him long to spot Juyeon sitting at one of the corner tables tucked away in a corner, digging into his food with barely contained gusto. Smiling at the sight that brings back memories of his own internship days, Hyunjae quickly grabs his own tray, fills it up with food and curry (beef stew, his favourite) and goes to join the katter at his table. 

“Hello stranger, haven’t seen you around here in awhile,” the older man says while taking his seat opposite Juyeon. 

“I’ve been needing to hand in reports back to back and I have a surgery at six tonight. I’ve literally got only this time to eat,” Juyeon replies.

“Oh? With who?” 

“Jacob. His interns are taken up with the Emergency Department so Sangyeon sent me over.” 

“Damn,” Hyunjae shoves a spoonful of food into his mouth, “so? What’s so important that you couldn’t tell me over the phone?” 

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he catches sight of the grin blossoming over Juyeon’s face and lighting his features up like a Christmas tree. 

“What?” Hyunjae asks impatiently, “What is it? Tell me!” 

“Mae dropped by to see me this morning.” 

“Uhuh.” 

“And she said--” 

“Wait wait,” Hyunjae cuts him off, “she didn’t come to see me?! Wow, that’s just rude of her--”

“You had a surgery.” 

“Oh right. Go on.” 

“So she came to me and said--” Juyeon proceeds to lower his voice, “that she and Kevin had THE TALK.” 

Hyunjae blinks, “Huh?” and then, realizing the importance of Juyeon’s words, his eyes widen, “WHAT--”

Juyeon doesn’t hesitate to shut him up by shoving some curry into his mouth, “shush!” 

“Sorry,” Hyunjae mumbles with his mouth full. He swallows it quickly with some water, reaching over to slap Juyeon’s shoulder in the process, “tell me! What talk?! What do you mean?! Do you mean--” 

“Yeah,” Juyeon shoots him a pointed look, “yeah. THE TALK. You know what I mean.” 

“And?! What did he say?! Don’t tell me he denied it!” 

“Keep your voice down!” Juyeon glances around just in case there are any eavesdroppers, “anyway, yeah they talked. And they--well, I guess they came to an agreement that they both liked each other--” “About time.” 

“Yeah. Apparently he told her that he thought he was being friendzoned.” 

“Oh yeah, wouldn’t surprise me there. Mae has some amazing friendzoning skills,” Hyunjae’s shoulder lifts into a shrug at that, causing Juyeon’s eyebrows to stitch together, “what do you mean?” 

“Let’s just say I thought Mae was pretty cute--” 

Juyeon gawks before smacking his arm, “Why didn’t you tell me?!” 

“--Before she opened her mouth,” Hyunjae finishes with a roll of his eyes, “that girl has like a sniper inside her tongue. With the amount of shit she spouts on a daily basis, I’m surprised her tongue hasn’t fallen off yet.” 

“Oh. yeah. She’s kind of rough around the edges.” 

“Not that I mind that type of girl. But it’s just Mae. I can’t see her as anything more now,” Hyunjae says with a shudder, “also, I think my mom might have dissuaded me from even thinking about dating her.” 

“But your mom loves her.” 

“Exactly my point. I don’t want her getting any in on who I can date or not. It’s my life, I can do whatever I want.” 

“No wonder you’re still single.” 

“And you’re whipped.” 

“Mae came to me first though.” 

“Because I had a surgery!” 

“Yeah whatever, loser.” 

------

Tagging: @juyeonzz​ @thesingingfae1905​

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! 

[annaphoenix1994]

Horseshoe Overlook - Exit Pursued by a Bruised Ego

Her nerves rattled within as she did everything in her power to ignore nausea coming over her, but the strong grip on Arthur's coat and constant bouncing from his horse walking failed to make anything better. "I feel like I'm going to faint," She whispered, hating to admit that she was weak when she was known to be strong. She was gripping just his jacket to keep herself centered, afraid to avoid physical contact.

"You need me to stop?" He asked, slowing his horse, sitting up slightly.

"N-No, I'll be fine." She waved her hand, feeling dizzy, encouraging him to continue.

"You sure? I can take you to a doctor if you need me to." He suggested.

"No," She panted. "I don't know why you just won't leave me here."

"I don't have that in me, Miss," He replied, feeling her grip loosen on his jacket. He immediately turned his head to check on her, seeing that her sunken eyes were starting to shut. To keep her from sliding off of his horse, he stopped his horse completely, using both of his hands to wrap her arms around his waist, his heart fluttering as he felt her head rest on his back just between his shoulder blades. "You'll be okay, just hang on." He assured her, feeling her nod her head weakly in response.

An hour later, he had returned to camp right at early evening, seeing that almost everybody's head had turned to see that Arthur returned with a woman. "Arthur!" Hosea said, quickly walking up to him, grabbing his horse's reins, helping him stop his horse. "What happened? Who is this?" He asked worriedly.

"Found her back at that cabin Kieran told us about. They killed her father and had her tied up for a while. Figured we could give her some food and get her back on her feet." Arthur explained, dismounting his horse carefully before reaching up to help her down, noting how weak she was. Hosea nodded as he looked at the poor woman, taking in her features as she looked familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Okay," Hosea sighed. Although he was eager to help, he didn't like the fact of constantly rescuing strangers and bringing them back to camp. He liked dear Sadie, but for now, she had no benefit to the camp as she was another mouth to feed, this woman all the same. "You know Dutch ain't gonna like this." He whispered.

"Dutch'll be fine," Arthur scoffed. "Besides, this is who you think it is." He hushed, watching the old man's brows rise in surprise. Minnie Barlow was a woman he had always wanted to meet. Arthur ignored the camp's wandering gaze as he led Minnie towards the main wooden table the gang had their meals at, helping her sit down before rushing to his tent to retrieve a wool blanket to drape over her shoulders as she was cold to the touch.

"Arthur..." He heard Dutch say in a low tone as he was watching him tend to her from his tent, a pipe hanging between his lips. Arthur turned to walk towards him, his arms open and his face begging for forgiveness.

"I can explain. I-"

"Explain why you just brought a woman back to camp without askin' me?" He scolded in a whisper.

"It's not like that, Dutch. I found her at Six Point Cabin where Kieran led us to. Turns out Colm killed her father and he was keepin' her hostage as he was gonna turn her in for the bounty."

Dutch raised his hand to stop him from speaking much more, "Bounty?"

"Yeah, she's Miss Barlow." He replied.

"Minnie Barlow, huh? How do you know she's tellin' the truth? Is she really who she says she is?" Dutch questioned, nodding his head as he looked at the woman as her back was turned to him as she was sat at the table with her head resting on her forearm as she fought another round of nausea.

"Just look at the 'wanted' poster, Dutch. I'm sure it's her," He begged. "She hasn't eaten for days. I told her I could take her to a doctor, but-"

"Why didn't you anyway? Then leave her there? If she's who she says she is, she should need no help from us." Dutch argued in a hushed tone.

"I wouldn't do it..." He frowned, feeling embarrassed.

"Because you have a crush?"

"No!" Arthur argued. "I'd do it to anyone else, not just her. Just let me make sure she gets back to her feet. She'd do it to one of us..." He suggested.

Dutch scoffed, "You don't know what a woman like that is capable of."

"Oh, I do. She pointed a gun to my chest when I stepped foot in that cabin. I thought she was dead. I believe all the stories." Arthur remarked.

"Okay, so if you know she's that dangerous, why is she unbound in my camp?"

"She can't do much, Dutch," Arthur frowned.

Dutch smirked, "If you're gonna have her here, she needs to earn her keep until she gets back to her feet. We're gonna have to treat her just like that O'Driscoll. Tie her up to that tree and give her what she needs. Once she feels better and gets some food in her belly, we'll question her, then decide from there."

"I don't think we should do that, Dutch." Hosea intervened, keeping his voice low.

"You gentlemen have to understand that we are wanted men. You know her history. How do we not know she's settin' us up right now? I ain't takin' no chances!" Dutch hissed.

"You fools are actin' like I'm deaf!" Minnie said, keeping her back turned to them.

Dutch shot Arthur a glare before making his way out of his tent to her, cautious in every step. Hosea and Arthur shared a look as well as a smirk, enjoying Minnie's attitude. "She's a pistol," Hosea chuckled, patting Arthur on the shoulder before following Dutch. "We got our hands full with this one, I can tell."

"That, you may be right," Arthur said, keeping his voice low as he too followed Hosea.

"Minnie Barlow, is it?" Dutch questioned.

"Unfortunately." She replied, looking down at her lap.

Dutch chuckled, "Well, you're not known to be frail and scared like this, what happened?"

Minnie rolled her eyes, "What happened? My father was killed and I was tied up like a damn mule for days with barely any food or water. Tortured by those men who call themselves O'Driscoll's. You can take me over there to that cliff and shoot me in the back of the head for all I care. I got nothing more to live for." She seethed.

Arthur frowned, his heart breaking for the poor woman as he knew she was everything he had heard about, hating how Dutch was treating her like she was a liar. In a way, he could understand where Dutch was coming from. By how Hosea told it, she worked for the Pinkerton Detective Agency for a while before she became an outlaw. She made a living in exposing crude acts and lying to get answers. The brief thought of her lying to them at that moment crossed his mind, but his gut was telling him that she was what he was seeing: a brittle and frail woman who needed help.

"That could be an option if it becomes one, Miss," Dutch replied, taking a seat across from her. "Listen, since our dear friend here has let his heart swell for the past few weeks and as much as I don't want another mouth to feed, you're welcome to stay here until you feel better, but I have to treat you just like any threat, in which you are. You get to make friends with that tree over there, so make sure you're comfortable." Dutch explained.

'You goddamn bastard,' Arthur thought to himself, glaring at Dutch.

"Hosea, you and Arthur make Miss Barlow comfortable by giving her something to eat and drink, then tie her up at that tree. Can't have her runnin' off and tellin' the law about us." Dutch demanded, standing to his feet.

"I don't think this is necessary, Dutch." Hosea said, catching him by his elbow as he was walking back towards his tent.

"Oh, it's completely necessary," Dutch replied. "Do you not remember those stories you told me? I'm not takin' any chances. If she's who we think she is, she could kill every one of us with no problem or run off and tell the law about us. If she earns her keep here, then that's how it is. But until the time being, she's our prisoner."

Arthur pursed his lips as he watched Dutch walk away before looking at Hosea, "Looks like Micah's been tellin' sweet nothin's in his ear."

"I know," Hosea shook his head. "We'll figure it out. Go take care of her, Arthur, but make sure you follow orders." He warned.

"Sure," Arthur nodded before walking to the pot to get her a bowl of stew and a tin of water, setting it down in front of her. "You need to eat." He said as he took a seat next to her, keeping his eye on her.

"I know," She frowned. "Can you just kill me now?" She asked, her hazel eyes looking into his blue orbs, the sight of her making his breathing hitch.

Arthur gulped, "I'm not doin' that, Miss."

She rolled her eyes, hiding a sly smirk, "It needs to happen soon. Beats bein' tied up like some mule."

"I know," He sighed. "But you have to understand that I have to do what I have to do. You're a dangerous woman. We can't risk someone with your background turnin' us in..."

"Someone with my background? You mean when I worked for the Pinkertons, thinking I was doin' honest work when they tried to have me killed because I knew too much so I became an outlaw?" She questioned, her brow raising.

"Y-Yes..."

"You think I'm gonna turn you in, huh?" She chuckled. "Listen here, you're right, I am dangerous, but if I was gonna turn you in, you woulda been dead by now since I done had ya by the ear back at that cabin. I'm nothing to mess with, but I'm not doin' nobody dirty. I may be an outlaw, but I don't thrive off of claiming bounties on other gangs. If they leave me alone, I leave them alone. Simple as that. I used to investigate the mob, not gangs like this. Shit, that's petty work. I was doin' big jobs in big cities, not shit like this." She explained.

Arthur's mind searched for a response as she explained herself, believing every word she was saying. His gut was telling him that she wasn't lying. "I understand, but I still have to follow orders. Now eat somethin'." He said in a low tone, biting his cheek as her words hurt him - hurt for her.

───※ ·❆· ※───

"Alright, you know the drill," Arthur said as he led her to the tree that Kieran was once tied to. She nodded as she willingly put her hands behind her back, her arms erecting chills as she felt Arthur's hands grip her wrists cautiously as he guided her back to the tree before gently tying her wrists together after she slid her back against the trunk as she sat down. "Are you uncomfortable?" He asked, his face flushed as all he wanted to do was nurture her, not make her feel like he was torturing her.

"Well, I've had my shoulders in an awkward position for a few days now, I'm sure it's now seen as normal." She replied with sarcasm to which Arthur couldn't help but chuckle at.

He knelt down to her level, "Just be on good behavior. You cooperate with Dutch, you'll be just fine. I don't want you havin' to live like this, just know that," He whispered, hoping to assure her the best he could. She nodded as she accepted her sentence before leaning her head back against the tree's trunk.

Arthur was hesitant to leave her tied, but he knew he couldn't bring much attention by constantly tending to her, even though that's all he wanted to do. He sighed as he entered his tent, sitting down slowly on his cot, pulling out his journal.

𝓘 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓘'𝓭 𝓫𝓮 𝔀𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼, 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓜𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓑𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓸��� 𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓬𝓪𝓶𝓹... 𝓢𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮, 𝓘 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀. 𝓐𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓰𝓸𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓪 𝓼𝓾𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓰𝓮𝓽 𝓪 𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓼𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓱𝓮𝓻, 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝔂𝓮𝓽 𝓘 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓪𝓽 𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝓬𝓸𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓼𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓶𝓮. 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓸𝓸𝓻 𝔀𝓸𝓶𝓪𝓷 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓼 𝓪𝓼 𝓲𝓯 𝓼𝓱𝓮'𝓼 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓪 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓽. 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮'𝓼 𝓪𝓵𝓶𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓷𝓸 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵 𝓲𝓷 𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓼 𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓯𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓴𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓭 𝓫𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓫𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓭 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓶. 𝓝𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓵𝔂 𝓰𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓱𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓘 𝓫𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓽𝓸 𝓬𝓪𝓶𝓹 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓽𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓓𝓾𝓽𝓬𝓱, 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓪 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓶𝓮 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓮. 𝓗𝓮 𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓪𝓵𝓶𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓪 𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓻 𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓵 𝓼𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓴𝓼 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓲𝓷-𝓭𝓮𝓹𝓽𝓱 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝔀𝓱𝔂 𝓼𝓱𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓼𝓱𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓲𝓯 𝓼𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓷 𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓴𝓮𝓮𝓹. 𝓔𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 𝓘 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝓱𝓪𝔃𝓮𝓵 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼, 𝓶𝔂 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓼𝓴𝓲𝓹𝓼 𝓲𝓽 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓼 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮. 𝓘 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓼 𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓪 𝓫𝓮 𝓪 𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶 𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓷'𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓾𝓹 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶...

"Arthur," Hosea whispered, breaking his attention from his writing. "Meet me in the mornin'?"

"Sure," Arthur nodded. "Whatchu need?"

"I may have a huntin' trip on our list..." He suggested.

"Good, I could use one!"

"What do you think Dutch is gonna have us do with her?" Hosea questioned, keeping his tone quiet.

"I don't know," Arthur shook his head. "We'll figure it out."

"Sure," Hosea nodded. "I'll check on her before I turn in for the night. Meet me after you check on her in the mornin'?"

"I'll do it."

───※ ·❆· ※───

"Did you get any rest last night?" Arthur dared to ask as he checked on her as soon as he awoke, seeing that the morning dew had moistened her clothes.

"What do you think?" She frowned. He looked at her with guilty eyes, feeling like he could have done something to prevent her from being treated this way, but he knew he had to follow the rules. He was at least grateful that she was being cooperative.

He lowered his head in shame as he thought about how her night could have possibly gone. Being cold and hungry all while trying to rest as she was tied to a tree while he slept soundly on his cot. He felt so selfish that maybe she would have been better off staying behind. "I'm sorry. Do you need me to get you anythin'? Pearson is cookin' some eggs and ham for breakfast." Arthur suggested.

"No, save it for the fortunate and worthy mouths." She replied.

He could tell by just looking at her that she needed food. She was not a skinny woman naturally as she had more of a pear shape body instead of an hourglass, but she carried herself well. "How do you like your eggs cooked?" He asked, not taking any stubbornness from her.

"Excuse me?" She asked, confused.

"You heard me," He raised his brow. "How do you like your eggs cooked?"

She looked him up and down, "And I think you heard me, Mister..." She said, suggesting an answer to her question as she wanted to know his name.

He sighed in defeat, "Arthur, Arthur Morgan."

"Well, Mister Morgan, I would gladly shake your hand and introduce myself, but I'm kinda restricted to do so," She replied with sarcasm. "But to answer your question, I do not need food as I am perfectly fine in the confines of my sentence."

She looked up at him as she watched him smirk, which was almost too attractive for her, "Not to be rude, Miss, but I don't really care what you have to say about the matter. I'll be back with some food for you."

She nodded in defeat and hung her head, feeling ashamed that she let her stubbornness get the better of her, desperately not wanting to admit that she was hungry, but she felt like she didn't deserve it.

"You gonna feed me, too?" She scoffed playfully as he soon approached her with a tin plate.

"If you wanna act like a baby, I will," He remarked. "I can untie you so that you can eat, then I gotta tie you right back up." He explained.

She nodded, "After I eat, can I please get approval to go down to the river and get a bath? I can't stand feeling like I stink." She asked hopefully.

"I don't see why not, but you'll need to be chaperoned."

"I'll sit and rot in my own filth before I have someone chaperone me while I take care of myself." She rolled her eyes.

Arthur smirked, "Well, I guess you'll sit and rot then, huh?" He teased.

"I guess so." She sighed, looking up at him as he held the plate of food in his hand before crouching to her level.

"You ready to quit bein' stubborn and eat somethin'?" He asked.

"I guess I have no choice."

Arthur nodded as he set the plate down on the ground before unsheathing his knife, cutting away the rope binding her wrists together carefully. He helped her bring her arms around to where they were sitting in front of her as she rubbed the raw skin on her wrists, clear that the rope had made a dark red mark on her flesh. She flashed Arthur a weak smile as she took the plate from his hand, slowly raising the fork to her mouth to take her first bite of food since the prior night.

"Can I trust you to sit and eat while I go talk to Hosea?" He asked.

"If you didn't trust me to begin with, you never woulda untied me." She warned.

He pursed his lips as he nodded, hating her sarcasm when all he wanted to do was help her. He thought a lot of her as a mirror of himself as he did the same thing. He always was the giver, being reluctant to accept help when he truly needed it. In a way, he couldn't blame her. She was scared and in a position where she couldn't trust anybody herself.

"Hosea." Arthur said to the old man, seeing that he was oiling his favorite rifle.

"You wanna go huntin'?" Hosea asked, seeing that he was finished tending to Minnie.

"What are you hunting, an elephant?" Arthur asked as he took the rifle from Hosea, examining it.

Hosea chuckled, "I wish! No, I saw a huge bear. One of the biggest I ever saw. I reckon nearly a thousand pounds..."

"My God. What, you need me to come with you?"

"Of course, that is if you're finished tending to Miss Barlow..." Hosea teased.

Arthur chuckled, hiding his smirk behind the brim of his hat, "You were right, that woman's a pistol. She may be in a weak state now, but she's a tough nut to crack." He admitted.

"She reminds me of a mustang whose spirit can't be broken," Hosea admitted. "Remind me to have a talk with her when we get back. She looks timid right now and I can't blame her."

"She is. Probably just where she's so used to bein' alone and losin' her father... I don't know." Arthur shrugged.

"Let's go. I'll go get the horses ready and you go check on her before we leave?" Hosea suggested, hinting that he could already see that she meant far too much to Arthur already, but he wasn't going to let him know that.

"Sure," Arthur replied as he nodded his head, turning on his heel to proceed to the task at hand. He slowly walked up to her, seeing that she had only eaten the two eggs that were cooked for her, taking little bites of the ham. "You okay?" He asked.

"I guess so," She shrugged. "Time to tie me back up now?"

"Unfortunately." Arthur frowned.

She nodded and accepted her sentence, willingly putting her arms behind her as they wrapped around the base of the tree. She was never going to admit that her legs and lower back were aching as well as her shoulders feeling out of place. Somehow, someway, she felt like she wasn't in danger anymore. Even though she was in the possession of another gang, she didn't feel like she was going to be tortured nor starved. 'I really gotta earn my keep around here...' She thought to herself as she felt Arthur's presence kneel behind her, crouching down to carefully tie the harsh rope around her wrists.

"Thank you again for bein' so cooperative, Miss." Arthur said in a low tone.

"Pleasure," She said sternly, hearing a faint chuckle from him.

"I'm gonna be gone huntin'. May be gone for a couple of days. Until I get back, Susan and Mary-Beth will be lookin' after you." Arthur explained.

"So I take it you're my assigned nursemaid?"

"Well, I did bring you here, so yeah, I am. Like it or not," He replied, somewhat agitated. "I'll be back soon."

"Yes, I long for the weary timed trial for your return," She swooned, rolling her eyes in a teasing way.

Arthur stood up and looked down at her, "You keep talkin' like that, and I won't be and I'll have old Dutch breathin' down your neck." He warned.

"So terrifying..."

"Spirited little thing, ain't ya?"

"Maybe," She teased. "Won't you go kill that bear and make a man outta yourself before I bruise your ego."

Arthur raised his brows, "Yeah, I'll bruise you." He said playfully.

"So tough! Wouldn't be the first man to put a bruise on me, 'cept I bruise harder." She warned with a playful wink.

'Goddamn this woman, already makin' my heart beat,' He thought to himself before rewarding her with a smirk before walking away. He could feel her eyes on him and he would proudly admit that he liked it.

He soon met up with Hosea, seeing the sly grin on his wrinkled face, "Your chemistry you have with her is recognizable." He said.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about." Arthur blushed as he quickly mounted his horse.

"Whatever you say," Hosea chuckled. "Let's go get this monster."

[piraticalarchive]

@twistedwit :

It was clear that Killian was not handling the situation well, though Guy knew he had every reason to be tense about it – with the Irishman’s background and history, handcuffs were a whole different matter to him than they were to Guy, and had a lot more anxiety attached to them. It had frankly surprised the detective when Killian had even suggested cuffs at first, but he’d gone along with it, confident that nothing bad would come of it.

But he hadn’t counted on not having the proper key to go along with them, and now chained together, their options were limited, and there was a hint of rising panic in the younger man’s expression.

“Oi, that’s still attached,” Guy complained when Killian jerked at his arm, wrenching the detective’s wrist painfully, a frown creasing his brow at the notion of trying to go fetch the key from his desk. “It’s too great a risk…I’d call a locksmith first. The worst they would do is laugh and have an interesting story to tell tomorrow.”

Sitting beside Killian, Guy studied the cuffs for a few moments, debating the options. He could try to pick the lock – he’d done it before, though it was a different set of cuffs and not these new ones they’d been issued recently. Whether it was even possible to jimmy the lock the older man had no idea, but it was better to try than to sit here and stew on it for hours. At least his hands would be busy while he was thinking of other options.

But then Killian’s question registered with him and Guy turned to look at him with wide eyes. “No, I don’t have a saw, and you aren’t cutting my hand off to free yourself, so put the thought out of your mind,” the detective replied, scowling. He could practically see the gears working in Killian’s head.  He considered the options once more, sighing as he gave in to the inevitable.

“You know…we could call someone.”

“Yeah? Like who?” The derision that coated the question let the older man know in no uncertain terms just what the Irishman thought of such an idea and blue eyes rolled skyward as he gave another jerk of his arm, dragging Guy’s own. Bloody fucking git. Serves him right. “No offense but hey here’s me naked pet detective isn’t exactly how I want to introduce you to me mates.” Teeth worried at an already raw lip as an ever growing frustrated irritation tickled the back of his mind.

“Aren’t gits like you supposed to be the brains of these operations?” His cuffed wrist is raised until it sits in the air between them, a slight shake wrangling the chain just enough to coax a small sound forth. “What kind of fucking copper grabs the wrong bloody key?” Oh, the words are really pouring out then - no amount of deep breathing able to stop the flooding tirade that spills forth like a high tide. “Wait, no. Don’t answer that. I know what kind of fucking copper grabs the wrong key. The same one that can’t catch a man he’s after with any sort of skill and has to settle for fucking him instead.”

Dark blue eyes met ones so much like his own and Killian scowled, considering Guy’s earlier thought of a plan. “A locksmith?” Tongue pressed to the inside of one cheek. He wanted to find some other means by which to tear it apart, to beat into the other man’s head once more how fucking stupid he was all while carefully ignoring how the handcuffed together thing was his idea to begin with.

A challenge, he had said. It’ll be fun, he had argued. Fucking -

Chest deflated in a heavy sigh as the younger man collapsed against the headboard, brows furrowed in a sulky silence. “I still think we should just go get ‘em off your desk. That’s what this was about, yeah? Puttin’ a little twist on things?” A huff of breath passed through pursed lips, blowing tousled dark hair off of his forehead as the next words were muttered with petulant edge. “..a saw would work. I’m just sayin’. “

[komahinasecretexchange]

Title: The Sun Always Rises in the Morning

Author: @spacechild-glitchypix-tip

For: @emmakoneko

Rating/Warning: T (Warning for descriptions of gore)

Prompts: ‘Post-canon mutual healing’, 'Something cute, hand-holding maybe’ and 'Let Hajime tell Nagito that he loves him 2k19’

Author’s Notes: I blended all three together since doing that just made the most sense

The scent of viscera would haunt his nostrils. His eyes would scan across an apocalyptic scene with a mountain of bodies and his Rapunzel-like black hair would flow along the wind as he stood on the top of the highest mountain. This time, he saw cotton-like hair beside him, he saw a familiar and adoring face staring at him with a chain leading to his own cadaver-like hand. The scene would always be muffled, like he was hearing it from behind the door of another room and he would never quite make out what his servant was saying. Eventually, the scene would start melting, the gore would cover the scene until his vision would just become red. Then he’d wake up.

Hajime’s eyes shot open, his heart beating hard and fast in his chest. It took him a second to realise he was panicking but he quickly rushed to get up out of bed as soon as realised how badly he was shaking and shivering. Quietly, he made his way out to the boat’s deck.

It was still dark out, the stars twinkling above him. Hajime stared at them, desperate to forget about the nightmare he just had. The stars almost seemed peaceful, even if Hajime logistically knew that multiple of them were probably dying millions of lightyears away, something he couldn’t see from his placement on Earth. Hajime couldn’t tell how long he was standing out on the deck before a rather frantic, terrified-looking Nagito came running up to the railing. It didn’t take long for Nagito to notice Hajime’s presence as well.

“Nagi-oof!” He was cut off with a tight, scared hug from his boyfriend. He looked down at the head of fluffy hair that was tickling his face as Nagito practically squeezed him enough to crush his insides. He would’ve mentioned that but Nagito also seemed to be crying which wasn’t good and Hajime wouldn’t feel right telling him to get off when he’s like this. Instead, he hugged Nagito back, stroking his fluffy hair as he did.

It took a few minutes but eventually, Nagito calmed down enough to move his head from Hajime’s shoulder. His face was stained with tears but he wasn’t crying which was good. Hajime guided him over to a bench just by the door leading back to the interior of the ship. Sitting down, Hajime took this time to wipe away the tears still lingering in Nagito’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He tried to keep his voice soft to keep the atmosphere peaceful. Nagito blinked at him and sniffled before replying with a very watery version, clearly fake version of that carefree smile he always had on.

“Oh nothing, please don’t feel obligated to-”

“What’s wrong?” He said it a little slower, voice a little sterner but not too much so. Sure enough, the carefree smile wavered a bit before Nagito spoke once more.

“It was just a nightmare, nothing too pressing,” Hajime couldn’t trust that it was just a nightmare, not when Nagito’s had nightmares that often resulted in despair episodes or panic attacks. Running his hand through that off-white, fluff ball that was Nagito’s hair, Hajime began speaking again.

“You know I love you, right?"

Nagito nodded in response.

"Then you know I’ll help you with whatever it is that’s bothering you, right?” Nagito nodded again before taking a gulp and speaking again.

“It was pitch black, I couldn’t see anything. I could- I could hear her voice laughing in front of me. I think I was being pulled along by- by a chain?” He took a shaky breath, almost bracing himself to continue. “Suddenly, I’m shoved into a seat? I can hear plane turbines and I can smell blood and-”

At that point, Nagito couldn’t speak any longer, Hajime could tell since Nagito was swallowing rapidly like he had something stuck in his throat. “It’s ok, you don’t have to keep going,” Nagito almost immediately sagged in relief before Hajime pulled him into another hug which he happily reciprocated.

“You know I would never let that happen, right?”

“I don’t think that really could ever happen. Then again, knowing my luck-”

“There has to be a chance of something happening for your luck to affect it, there’s literally zero chance of her coming back,”

“Hmm…I guess you’re right,”

That was a first, Nagito usually didn’t give into Hajime’s arguments that easily. It was probably the tiredness, both of them should be tucked up in bed anyways. Hajime feels a shiver pass down his spine as he thinks of the nightmare he himself had earlier. He’d hoped Nagito hadn’t noticed but, ironically, Nagito himself shot down that hope when he moved to look at him. They stared at each other for a second before Nagito spoke.

“I probably should’ve asked this first but why were you out here Hajime?”

Hajime was silent, not wanting to dump all his problems onto Nagito after what had just happened earlier. Not that this was an option since Nagito wasn’t about to let him stew in his own nightmare but it was worth a shot.

“Hajime,” Nagito gave him the most disapproving look he could muster. It wasn’t super effective since Nagito was tired and still slightly weepy from the nightmare but it was stern enough to make Hajime look away. “It’s fine, just focus on yourself,”

Nagito sighed. “You shouldn’t force yourself to deal with my problems at all really but, if you are going to then at least let me try to help you,"

Hajime hesitated before nodding. "Alright,”

Hajime tried remembering the scene. “We- there were lots of really big piles of corpses- just, giant piles of corpses everywhere and everything must’ve just been covered in blood. We were standing on the tallest pile- I was Izuru and you were in despair, I was holding onto one end of that chain you usually wear,” Hajime took a pause, trying to remember what else happened. “You, you were saying something but I couldn’t hear what, it was muffled. Then everything just sort of started blending together,”

Hajime felt sick to his stomach just thinking about the scene but, luckily, the faint after image of the gorey scenery was washed away by Nagito’s concerned, comforting face. Any brief remembrance of the smell of carnage was replaced by the shampoo that Nagito uses to wash his hair and Hajime was rather eager to sink into that smell, pulling Nagito into a giant hug and planting his face softly into the toasted-marshmallow-coloured hair. Nagito seemed just as content to sink into the warmth of the hug, practically squeezing Hajime with all his might (which wasn’t all that painful given how skinny Nagito actually was).

“I love you,” Hajime moved so he was face-to-face with Nagito, placing a soft kiss to his lips before moving on to kiss the rest of his face.

Nagito gave a light chuckle. “I love you too,”

After the two had spent a good amount of time sharing gentle kisses and rubbing noses and just generally being softly affectionate, they both turned to the horizon. The sun had begun to peek out, casting the sea in a light glow as dawn slowly creeped in. Nagito had his head rested against Hajime’s shoulder as Hajime let his own head rest against Nagito’s. The two would watch as the sun rose higher into the sky before being abruptly interrupted by a very nosy Ibuki, keen on seeing what the couple were doing. Eventually, one of them would have another panic-inducing nightmare and the other would be sat at his side and then the same would happen to said other another time. For now, however, they were watching as the sun made it’s peaceful ascent.