#how to i tag blood and mature shit on here anymore

[renonv]

Freaks off their leash who fight like dogs

[steviewashere]

Decorate My Silence While I Figure Out How to Breathe

(also on ao3)

CW: Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Suicide in a Minor Character, Self-Harm (Without Realizing That's What it is) This is rated mature on ao3 for a handful of reasons, including the content warning. Please take caution and care for yourself.

wc: 10,624 (I know, it's a doozy), Steddie Tags: Post Vecna, Post Season 4, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Steve Harrington is a Mess, Self-Hatred, Worried Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Bathing/Washing, Steve Harrington Has Shit Parents

(I apologize for how long this is, but I just don't feel comfortable separating it into different posts.)

Heed tags and all content warnings, please!

—

The night was silent. Except for the wind. It was whispering in Steve's ears. Muttering soft things, soothing him, blowing air back into his lungs.

He's sitting in his backyard. On his diving board. Jeans cuffed to mid-calf, feet dangling in the cold water, beer between his hands—it wasn't cold at all, pulled straight from the box and warmed with the setting sun. He watched it disappear over the horizon, dipping down between the trees, tucking itself into the soil. He wishes he could do that. Maybe if he could mingle with the worms and the centipedes and the forgotten pinecones, the night wouldn't seem so lonely.

It's July 1st, 1986. Steve's anticipating the onslaught of fireworks. Waiting for the hissing of fuses, billowing of smoke, and shout of color overhead. Over the last week, he's kept his ears on high alert.

In case, he tells himself.

Though it's silent, with the wind brushing against his back, he can hear a heavy accent spitting words between his eyes. Can feel blossoming bruises and fresh, dripping blood. Crunchy hair stuck to his tacky cheeks. Burns across his body from what kept him tied up to Robin.

Speaking of Robin, he wonders how she's doing. What she's doing. Her parents ushered her out of Hawkins to a lake trip. He hopes she can still call. Her voice is constant when he's so absent to the world. Maybe she's in the wind. Maybe she never really left. Maybe she's just as bad off as he is.

He shutters when the wind stops teasing his spine.

It's late. The sun is asleep. His feet are numb from the water. And the beer has been sipped once.

He's not really a beer drinker anymore, not since Barb's death. How did I get here, he wonders.

Steve is sitting alone in his backyard, staring down a beer tab, longing to go under the freshly cleaned water, and sink to the bottom. Lonely and tired and desperate for the phantom touches to go away, that's his life post-Upside Down.

He sips his beer. It fizzes against his lips and leaves a sticky trail under his nose. Drips down his Cupid's bow. Trails across his wobbling lower lip and chin. Then, it settles atop his thumbs, not tracing along the ridge of the can. Sharp under his fingertips, scraping across the sensitive skin, giving him a taste of muted pain.

Terribly he wonders, If I dug a little deeper across the rim, would I bleed? (Maybe he should put the beer away, drain it into the pool, and let it swirl across the surface.) Would I bleed? Would I seduce the monsters below me? Could I be nothing just for the next few days?

He takes a deep breath. Lets it fill out like a balloon and pop between him and the gravestone embracing his feet.

It's late and Steve is tired. Stuck in a dredge as sticky and lukewarm as the beer in his hand. The silver spoon he ate from as a kid digging into his sternum, melon-balling his cigarette stained lungs and beaten, but broken heart, ladling his blood like pasta sauce, and pouring it across the world for all of Hawkins to see. For the demogorgons to taste. For the people he calls his friends to stumble upon, gag over because it's the essence of Steve Harrington spattered across the poolside, and scrub at like taping over a wedding video.

He aches and sizzles. Burns and shrivels. Drinks and drowns.

Nothing bad is going to happen again. Nothing as dangerous as having to pull Eddie Munson from the Upside Down, protect Robin Buckley from Russians with sharp teeth and blunt force, save young Lucas Sinclair from Billy Hargrove, and defend oneself from being eaten alive—by bats and friends and own self-hatred.

Nothing terrible is going to happen again. So, why does Steve Harrington want to throw himself into danger so bad, why does he yearn for it, why can't he feel bad for himself? What does he do if the person he needs to protect the world from is him?

Let the fireworks come, Steve threatens. Let them rain upon me. I can't care anymore.

---- Steve wakes up in his bed the next morning. Unaware of how he even got to his room.

The sunlight is pouring through his window, spilling across the carpet, and staining his duvet. It's warm. Makes his skin itch and burn.

He's still tired, he finds. Aches erupt behind his eyes, under his thumbs, across his cheekbones. Fresh bruises. Belts digging into skin. Blood across his drooping eyelids. Everything hurts and tenses and rips into him.

The spoon digs deeper. Closer to his bare back. Travels to the bottom of his ribs. Scrapes against every bone in his abdomen, squelches every inch of his intestines. He wants to scream, but the energy to pull sound from his lungs hurts.

In the sun drenched room, warmed by rays and birdsong and gentle sway of trees, Steve wants to disappear into the world. Melt into his mattress, if possible. He wants to sit straight in his bed, hands cupping under his chin, mouth gaping with saliva, and project acrid yellowish beige puke across his fingers, escaping through the gaps to his lap. Wants to sit in the mess for a long while and realize, there's no point in cleaning himself up if he's going to do it again.

There's no point in a lot of things post-Vecna. The party is almost the same age he was when all this shit had started, they're about ready to run off and rebel against the damned world they swore to protect. Robin and Nancy and Jonathan are leaving to go to school. Eddie will surely go off and do his own thing, always too big for such a small town. His parents weren't present before and they've already communicated they won't come back.

So where does that leave Steve? The kid who had everything laid out for him. A future promised by his name. Friends who were on par with him; not that his new friends aren't, they just are bigger and better than what he could ever imagine for himself. He doesn't deserve them or this current life he has.

He's decided, he doesn't deserve anything. All his life he's been handed the better deck of cards. Been boasted over. Has been a bully though and through; major aggressions like the breaking of Jonathan's camera, minor aggressions like threatening to knock Dustin's teeth out, a joke that would have never landed. Got Barb killed by his own selfish needs and tired to persuade Nancy to move on; that was too fast and he knows that now. If only I hadn't been so stupid, he muses. Couldn't get into college. Or make his parents proud. Has nearly gotten other people killed too.

I should've died, he laments. Which, shouldn't that be true? The demogorgon in 1983, those demodogs and Billy in '84, Russians in '85, bats and Vecna in '86. He had every chance to get himself killed, to show that he's done his job, that he's taken the hits for the people that mean so much more than whatever pathway he's dug. He couldn't even do that right.

And now...now it's just a countdown to the next thing that could get him killed. Hoping for once, that nobody goes after him or is there to be his aid. To let him slither away, be beaten beyond pulp, and pulled apart like pork. Even then, would his killers be satisfied? But he knows he should die.

Maybe he can conspire that in his bed. Where he doesn't move from. Maybe a stray firework will come crashing through his bedroom window. He hopes that it will explode and drench him in stray fire. Hellfire, drown me in hellfire, he wants to beg to nobody in particular.

Steve rolls to face away from the window. He wraps the blanket tighter over his shoulders and buries his face into the pillow. It smells like night terrors. The skin on his face is slick with sweat. Torso ripped by scars. He doesn't want to move. Isn't hungry. Isn't thirsty. Doesn't want anybody to find him.

He doesn't have much energy, but he forces himself out of bed. Only to go down to his front door, hide the key on his porch, and lock it behind him. He pulls shut all the curtains. Climbs the stairs like a mountain and slams the bedroom door behind him.

In hindsight, maybe he should call someone to say that he's sick or something. That he wants to be left alone. He doesn't though. Maybe he should shower and eat and force himself to have a good day. But he doesn't. Won't.

Can't. That's going to be his favorite word. And who's going to shut him up? Nobody. They can't.

---- It's July 4th.

Steve hasn't left his room in two days. Well, only three times to use the bathroom. But otherwise, he's kept his promise. Successfully made himself a shadow, a silent specter.

When the phone rings, he covers his ears. Everything is so loud, he realizes. The fireworks and neighborhood kids screaming. Cars driving by. Even the smell of smoking barbecues, which really doesn't make sense, but it's so much.

His stomach growls, but his limbs are stiff. Unable to shift and get food. At the very least crackers or soup. Even then, he can't.

Steve's starting to smell ripe. Which is pretty unusual for a guy so high maintenance. The mere thought of standing under a shower stream or having to strip his clothes or having to even turn the bathroom light on is, daunting, to say the least. There's only ten feet between him and the upstairs bathroom and even then, he only goes for emergencies.

With the way he smells, he could envision himself rotting. Turning green from the outside. Turning red and mushy on the inside. If a mirror were placed in front of him, he could watch the way his eyes turn white and glassy. See the areas of his skin that are burned red from the pooling of his blood. He could watch the life literally leave his body. He could watch his body warp into spirit and then continue to haunt his childhood home. I've already rotted, he thinks. I'm already a ghost.

The phone rings and rings. His fingernails dig into the soft flesh around his ears. He pulls at the roots of his hair. Grips to his biceps and squeezes. Makes himself hurt over and over and over again. To escape his senses. To feel something else.

There's an emptiness where his lungs are. It's sucking down every bit of his insides. Enveloping him in a dry-heaved breath. Where he would usually cry and swallow down his guilt over how he's survived, there's nothing. He feels every last awful thing of himself, but not the tears. Can blink and be spitting in Jonathan's face. Take a deep breath and be recommending Tina's party to Nancy. Bite his lip and hear the way Dustin's name spill from his mouth to the Russian bastards. And he can rub across his skin, feel the way his scars aren't as deep as Eddie's. But he can't cry. Can't make himself feel better. And he doesn't know if that'll ever be a possibility for him again, if he's stuck this way. If he'll be forever broken. Ruined.

Because this is new to Steve Harrington. Not once has he ever felt so in the dark about himself. But now that the fights are over and everybody is safe and living as large as possible...Now he's left with what didn't happen, what should've happened, with the question on the tip of his tongue: Why am I still here? And he can feel himself crumble under the weight of his own breath. And though he's miserable, he aches to feel this way forever.

This is karma. This is what he deserves, right?

---- A rustle and drop break Steve out of pulling his hair.

There's something downstairs in his home. It could be a demogorgon or a demodog or a demobat or Vecna. Something dangerous could be lurking in house. But he can't pull himself up to find his nailed bat. Can't come to his dull senses and put his fists in front of his face.

He can't pretend to care.

Footsteps cause a stampede on his stairs. Heavy with each step. Loud on purpose. To alert Steve most likely, but he can't bring himself to be alarmed.

The thing hasn't even made it to his bedroom door. But all he can feel, for once over the last few days, is relieved. This is his moment of release. The moment that should've come during the first Upside Down encounter; Steve Harrington's untimely demise.

He holds his breath. Untangles his fingers and lets them drop across the pillow. He swallows all the saliva pooling in his mouth.

The door swings wide open and a breath is released into the air.

Nothing happens after that. The thing's presence is standing in his doorway, but it doesn't move or breathe or prowl. It assesses, but doesn't do anything else.

Steve doesn't drown in a pool of his blood or get ripped to shreds or strangled by a rope-like tail.

He cracks his eyes open. And there, watching his form, is Eddie Munson.

Eddie's hair is wiled, more untamed than his everyday. Like it was in the Upside Down. As if he fought to get over to Steve's house. His clothes are nothing usual. Sweatpants and a plain t-shirt, Reeboks still on his feet. There isn't a jacket or a vest or several chains. He's normal, regular citizen, must've rolled out of bed, Eddie.

When his eyes finally meet Steve's, he whispers, "Oh, thank God." He even does the Sign of the Cross with his eyes closed, finishing by kissing the edge of his t-shirt's collar, where a cross would lay. His eyes reopen to gaze at Steve once more. "Oh, thank God," he fervently presses into the air.

His eyes are too intense. Steve looks away without speaking. He buries himself further into his blanket and stabs his fingernails back into the meat of his biceps.

Eddie hastily makes his way to the side of the bed that Steve lays on. He slowly crouches down to land on his knees. Brings his hands up to lay on the space between Steve's heated body and the spare room on his mattress. His eyes roam. They map every exposed bit of skin, the drooping, greasy hair, rumpled clothes. He reaches outa hand to lay atop Steve's, to try and pull his fingers away.

Steve flinches backwards and growls, "Don't."

"Okay," Eddie placates. He pulls his hands back towards the edge of the mattress. Lets there be distance between them. Steve hates it, but he can't express that. There's no way he can express anything other than apprehension. "I just," he stammers. "I came to check on you. The backdoor was unlocked. You weren't answering your phone and both Robin and I were getting worried."

His voice is soft and sad and concerned. It makes Steve's skin itch.

"Well, you're here," Steve flatly states. "And I'm alive."

Eddie is taken aback by the tone of his voice. He winces like he was slapped. And maybe the lack of intensity, yet the severe intensity of Steve's voice, really has that power.

"Well apologies, asshole," he spits back. "But when somebody in the group doesn't fucking answer, we tend to get worried. We thought you weren't alive," he barks. He pushes his body up and looms at his full height. With one last look thrown in Steve's vague direction, he makes his way to the door.

Steve knew he couldn't say anything in return. Not yet, at least. Because how would he respond to that? "I wish I was dead. Sorry for worrying you, but I think you'd be terrified to know what I'm thinking about."

So instead of saying something as treacherous as any of those responses, his body betrays him differently.

Right before Eddie crosses the threshold to go back into the hallway and down the stairs, Steve lets out a wounded whimper. He lets several loose into the tense air. Maybe he will cry, he can't, but it could happen, but it can't, and it will, but he so badly wishes it wouldn't.

"Steve?" Eddie whispers over his left shoulder, eyes pierced to where the lump of his friend stiffens with every sound. He feels his heart breaking like a brick wall struck by a wrecking ball. His ribs are collapsing. His heart is sifting through stomach acid to try and float back to his chest.

Steve's body convulses with every breath. He stammers, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm s-sorry." Over and over until each word is unintelligible. "Don't go," he pleads between each staccato intake.

He feels warmth crowd over him. Like the sun. There's a hand hovering over his shivering shoulders. But it doesn't touch him. As if, to Eddie, it can't.

"Sweetheart..." he coos sadly. "What's wrong?" He watches Steve's face turn red. Sees the tremble of his eyelids as it tries to contain whatever pressure is building there. How his chin wobbles.

Steve doesn't really respond. He mutters "Wrong" on repeat and "Dunno," but each word is slurred. Eddie sits down and asks to touch him, when he gets a nod in return, his hand digs into the greasy hair. He lightly scratches his scalp. Untangles knots. Repositions certain strands of hair to where they'd normally sit.

Eddie notes how pale Steve is. The indents of fingernails on his biceps and areas of red, irritated skin where his hand teases hair. How wrinkled his pajama bottoms are, indicating how long they've been worn. His hair is an easy giveaway. He can hear his stomach growl. He realizes how resigned and numb Steve appears. The way there's no other emotion on his face outside of accepted misery.

He sweeps his hand to cover Steve's exposed right ear. His thumb is careful as it caresses his cheekbone.

"I don't know what's happening, but I've got you, Stevie." And as if that was all the permission Steve needed, he begins to sob. Wet and congested and rough. "I've got you," Eddie whispers. Soft like the wind.

Every screeching sound leaving Steve's barren chest ripples through the air like an ocean in a storm. Each gasp rocks Eddie's body and settles tense like a fresh scream. The noises are that of several sheep being slaughtered brutally by the hands of unkind men. Calloused is his breathing. Innocent are his cries.

The spoon has cleared all the way through Steve. In its wake is a gaping, frayed crater. Each seize of his lungs squirts blood halfway across his room. If he squints, there's droplets the size of beads bedazzling over Eddie's left side. The sprays seep into his clothes and harden the carpet and stain his closet door. In every part of the house, though he's been cooped up in his room, Steve can feel his soul being ripped apart and strewn over; every corner occupied with pre-1983 him and every seam in the hardwood now glued by the residual sweat from his last run through the Upside Down. The carpet contains his footprints. But his room is a slaughterhouse; in his bed is him, the version of Eddie pre-occupied by the last swirl of demobats, but by his dresser is Nancy fresh from the pool, and out his window is Barb grasping to a cement edge, being dragged by her feet, and taken for all she both was and wasn't. His house is a morgue and a graveyard and a funeral home; it's a last resting place and a crime scene. There's death everywhere.

And that's why it would be perfect, right? For Steve to rot there?

He has been. He still is. He can't stop.

When the room has fallen silent, so has every emotion Steve could possibly feel. His eyes burn like they always do after he cries. But, his chest is loose, yet tight. There's a new hollowness to him. And it's exhausting every stretch of his muscles.

Eddie is still caressing his face like he's something worthwhile. He's gentle. Even if he's usually boisterous in conversation, violent in his mannerisms, brash across his clothes.

Steve's breath quakes in his throat as he chokes, "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Eddie whispers. "You needed that, it's alright."

He shakes his head at that. "No, I'm sorry for being so mean," he swears. "I didn't mean it, I didn't mean to be that way, I didn't," he garbles and gargles and drowns.

The hand on his face shifts to his back. It taps across his spine and presses between his shoulder blades. "I know, honey. I know you didn't mean it. You're okay," Eddie coos once more.

"Somethin' is wrong," Steve tells him. "Bad."

Eddie's face glows with fear. His eyes widen as two black holes. Mouth wrinkled downwards. "What do you mean? Do I need to call Joyce?" he tries to not frantically question. Reaches out, too, to grab Steve's right hand, squeezing over his fingers, thumb massaging against his bones.

Steve turns to strangle his face in the pillow. Mutters, "No, no, no...with me. Not Vecna, just me."

And then there's silence. Nothing now. The wind is stagnant. Eddie's hands have stilled.

Steve isn't sure what to do with so much swirling inside of him. What he's willing to let spill across his mattress. If there's a way to go back in time to when Eddie was just about to leave, stomping out the front door, and for his underwhelming, sad, decomposing body to be left here; he wants to figure out that science.

"Steve," Eddie calls. "Can you tell me what's wrong? Maybe I can help you out." He continues to rub Steve's back. Squeezes the hand he's holding too.

He waits a while to hear a response. Steve is still pressed into the pillow. But he positions his face to look out over the side of his bed, not looking directly at Eddie, though it's nearly the same.

"My body hurts," he whispers. He inhales as deep as he possibly can, exhaling what feels like shards of crumbled glass. "And I'm heavy," Steve states. "Like...like somebody set a cement block on me. And I can't get up." His voice is small and worn and stretched thin.

Eddie acknowledges by humming and rubs against the veins in Steve's hand.

"But I also don't want to get up? Not in the lazy way, but in the..." he trails off. His breath catches in his throat, knocking around the tunnel of his windpipe. There's a ruthless, scalding burn settling in his chest. "In a way that would make a lot of people unhappy, but I can't stop thinking about it. And I know maybe I shouldn't think that way, but it won't go away. And I wonder..." He doesn't finish.

"What kind of thoughts, Stevie? What are you wondering?" Eddie calmly asks. Inside though, he knows the answer. Has heard it before from his own mother. Came across her in the after of those aforementioned thoughts, seen the way life had been cruel. How life chose, so full heartedly, to take goodness from the Earth.

"Why does it happen to good people?" He had asked Wayne at one point. His uncle's response, "I'm not sure, Bubba. I wish I could tell you." And Eddie had whined, "That's not fair." Wayne responded, "I know Ed. I know."

So, though Eddie could relay to you the words he knows are building in Steve's chest, he's freaking out. Trying to connect the dots as to when this all started. Asking himself if it's possible to go back in time and prevent these horrendous thoughts from building inside his friend. Praying too that they may never come, that he can be safe from torment. But none of that can happen, won't, wouldn't. He'll forever be stuck in a time where he's met Steve Harrington as a great person to the universe, where he beats himself internally for things outside of his control, where he walks across hot coal just to make himself feel alive.

"I wonder if—if maybe dying would make it stop," Steve admits, shamefully. "I think I've been wanting it for so long that it doesn't surprise me, but I've never felt like this." Eddie's fingers begin to tremble from how hard they grasp to Steve's slick skin. "I can't stop it and I think I deserve it, Eddie. I really do."

His body nearly seizes with the intensity of his breathing, willing himself to not cry. He's never been so ashamed to be the person he is. And the person he isn't. Every word cuts across the roof of his mouth and scrapes against his lips. He wants to be evaporated into the hole in his chest. Waits, practically, for the universe to collapse in on itself now that his confession is out in the open.

Instead though, gentle hands continue to traverse his frame. They squeeze passionately at any tense muscle. Not once do they pull away or become sharp in nature or shove him.

"You don't deserve death, Steve. Nobody does. Not for anything like this," Eddie whispers. "I can't say that I know, but I want to understand. And I want to help you not feel so bad."

"Why?" Steve breathes. "I'm not worth that."

"Because you deserve good things. You deserve kindness," Eddie replies, factually. "I'm not sure how to stop those thoughts. But maybe I can help you feel fresher? If you'll let me?" he offers. His eyes are full and earnest, hand still careful, breath warm across Steve's skin where he now bends to gaze into his eyes.

The offer rattles in Steve's skull. Eyes searching over each one of Eddie's features; his beautiful, brown eyes, bulbous tipped nose, his chewed lips, and small freckles; each one reads: "I'm telling the truth, I want to do this." He's never been offered help as large as this. And he hates the way he feels, yet finds he can't do anything about it. This would be good, his brain says. Then you can rest, it adds.

"What did you have in mind?" Steve asks. His eyes drift down to where his hand is being held. He brings his other fingers to tap across the back of Eddie's hand, toying with his sharp knuckles.

Eddie swipes his thumb across Steve's ear. He hums thoughtfully. "I was thinking of running you a bath. So that you can sit instead of stand? And while you soaked or whatever, I make you something you'd like to eat. Then, I'd change out your bedding, but I would put it in the dryer for a little bit so that it's warm when you get tucked back in. And the rest is up to you," he lists. "Is that some stuff that you'd like to do?"

He caresses the side of Steve's face. Patiently, he waits.

The energy used to keep talking is depleting rapidly. He isn't sure how much longer he'll be able to keep up with Eddie for the day. For the night, more like. It's already 8 PM, fireworks sounding distantly. But Steve remains heavy in his bed.

"Sounds nice," he eventually breathes. "But, can you stay with me in the bathroom? I don't want to be alone," his timid voice shakes. As if asking such would turn around to punch him across the jaw. He swears he can feel the pain bloom from his chin, an unsettling pop tossed around the room, echoing across his plaid walls.

"Of course, Stevie," Eddie murmurs. His face is soft. Dimples barely appearing around his mouth, but still he gives Steve a gentle smile. It pays to see Eddie at night; quiet and careful and less devious than when he's around everybody in the party. "I'll do whatever you need right now."

----

Eddie's sitting in Steve's bathroom, filling up the tub with warm water. He's got a plastic cup sitting on the ledge, a mountain of bubbles threatening to spill out onto the tiled floor, a washcloth, and two towels; one for Steve's body, one for his hair.

Steve still hasn't left his room. He's currently sitting up on the edge of his bed, staring down at his bare feet in the carpet. His torso is curled over his knees and his head pounds. There's hair falling into his eyes, but he can't bring his fingers up to swipe them away. He's only wearing sweatpants; but his heart is worn across his chest in a splattering of reds and pinks and muted blues. With every beat there's that creeping itch to collapse onto his back and crawl through the mud that is sleep. He yearns for the firm mattress to comfort his exhausted muscles, a pillow to smother himself in, his blanket to cover the errors of each Upside Down fiasco; drag scars, torso chunks, plate cuts, crooked nose.

He wants to close his eyes against the brightness curling into his bedroom from the hallway, so he does. Lets his head droop down to curve the top of his spine. Blood settles along his lower back, sloshing down the tops of his thighs, anchoring to his toes. There's almost a calm within being so weighted, to being too heavy for words and sounds and lights and movements. With each breath, the crevice from the spoon begins to stitch. Not entirely. It won't ever close up completely, but he can feel the sinew of muscle reattaching; blood seeping across his chest hair, tacky across his sternum, threatening to pour back into his belly button.

Eddie opens the door and tiptoes to the bed. He settles on his knees in front of Steve.

Though he can't bring himself to stand, he can feel Eddie's warmth. And he yearns for it.

"Ready to go to the bathroom?" Eddie questions. Not loud. Mellowed and pastel in the way it breaks through Steve's collapsing lungs. Steve shakes his head.

"Not yet," he whispers. "Can't."

Instead of being shamed, like he would be when he was home from basketball practice and too sore to move, he's left with softer words, "That's alright Stevie, take all the time you need. I can always refill the bath." Eddie stands and sits next to Steve on his right. His hand tucks hair away and tickles down his earlobe, settling warm across the back of his neck. Thumbs dig into the top of Steve's spine, lightly scratching over several moles and freckles; connecting them into various constellations. Eddie doesn't say anything for a while. Just hums random notes and heaves breathing exercises when Steve seems to seep inwards.

Steve raises his head ever so slowly, every vertebrate realigning. He tilts from side to side, reintroducing his muscles and nerves to the normal of sitting straight. "I'm ready. I think. Can I—" he begins. There's a voice in his head that screams: Don't ask for help, you don't need it. Don't ask for help, you don't deserve it. A battle twitches between his eyebrows. The muscles throw grenades and stab arteries and shred arms like raking soil. He tentatively asks, "Can I lean into you while I walk?"

Without answering, Eddie stands in front of Steve. He grasps onto his hands, heaving his body fully, steadying him when he wobbles on shaky knees. One of Steve's arms goes across Eddie's waist. "Put your head on my shoulder, I got you," he whispers.

They make their way and when they cross to the lip of the tub, Steve feels heavy with no emotion; only one cracks through him though.

Adoration.

That's the first thing outside of being bodied by emptiness and loneliness and weighted cowardice, that Steve can feel through every limb, in every vein, at the edges of his frayed nerves and still beating heart. For a mere moment, he is able to tally away one reason why he shouldn't disappear. And that makes his heaviness lighter, he sits like a bag of bricks, but his toes begin to tickle like feathers.

Eddie is silent and attentive in the way he undresses Steve. With his eyes as they roam over wilting hair and kissed-pink puckering scars and knotted muscles. And with his deft fingers as he plucks away the sweatpants' waistband, shimmies them over Steve's knobby knees, and bunches them over his long feet. He folds the dirtied laundry and sets them on the floor by the sink. Tucked away, yet noticeable for later; whether Steve cleans up or Eddie does by proxy when he changes the bedding for a warmer set—a duo of sheets covered in dainty lavender flowers and a duvet dusted with pink stitching.

He dips his elbow in the sudsy bath water, nods to himself over the temperature, and then carefully maneuvers Steve's legs to face inwards. His left hand holds steady to Steve's and his right massages over the other's shoulders. Simply just smearing his palm's softness over the spattering of back moles; previously connected by careful lines, shining bright like an array of white fireworks in the dimmed bulb of the bathroom.

Once Steve is submerged to just under his pecs, Eddie whispers featherlight, "Does everything feel okay?" His hand cards through stringy hair, timidly cautious when he meets a new knot he hadn't quite untangled.

Steve nods. Words feeling too big for his sullen mouth.

"That's good," Eddie states. "Do you want me to help you with washing up or would you rather I sit here and talk?"

He isn't sure how to respond quite yet and Eddie doesn't seem upset at his molasses responses. In fact, when Steve looks over him, his eyes boring and at ease, he finds that Eddie is just patient. Which normally, he's stubborn with his temper and anxious to get things moving and for his voice to be heard. But in this moment, he longs not to be heard, but to be understood. And that's enough for Steve to request, "Please do both."

Eddie's hand slips through the ends of his hair and easily reaches over for the washcloth folded neatly on the toilet lid. He dips it under the mound of bubbles and brings it back to wring out. His movements are languid, wary, but not in a fearful way. As if when his body settles over his heels, he's gauging Steve's reactions, as subtle as they are.

"Do you want bar soap or body wash?" He kindly asks. And Steve feels warm without sweat at the question. He's never had the choice before when he took baths as a kid; his mom always ran a bar of soap between her hands and then gently stroked it over his body.

"Bar," Steve croaks.

The washcloth is set on the edge of the tub. Eddie leans over to the bathroom's counter and grabs a handful of boxed soap bars. Each one has a different label.

"I found these in the cupboard. There's a peach scented one, vanilla musk, whatever that means, and the classic Irish Spring. Is there one you're more particular to?" He asks, holding each box up as he goes, and then placing them on the edge alongside the rag.

"You smell like Irish Spring," Steve observes.

The scent had brushed him once at a gathering in the Wheeler's basement. It had been a warm day in May and the A/C was running, but everyone and their mother was sweating. He had been invited to watch a campaign oneshot. "Something short enough to keep your attention," Dustin had said. The kid genius had been right, of course. Though, Steve paid attention differently on that day. He noticed this new awfulness he resides in start to creep across his skin, light like the hum of the air conditioner. He was fighting with himself during that little get together, but Eddie had came over during a snack break, long arms, slim figure. Plopped down on the worn sofa and slung an arm over Steve's shoulders. His t-shirt was damp with sweat, but all Steve really could smell was the citrus and bergamot disguised in green.

The feeling of Eddie's arm was comfortable. And so the scent stuck to the inside of Steve's nostrils. When he left that night, he stopped by Melvad's and bought a bar. With the intention of eventually using it, but he had to work through his body wash first.

He is given the option here. He can ask for it.

Eddie chuckles, "I guess I do. It's my favorite soap. Wanna use it tonight?"

Steve nods and whispers, "Please."

So, the washcloth is redipped in the warm water, rung out so it's not sopping wet, and the bar is ran through ever so carefully. Eddie starts with Steve's neck, rubbing small circles across his skin. The dead skin flakes away over the coarseness of the cloth. It's worked over the slope of his shoulders, into his chest hair, his biceps, and pecs.

But Eddie skips his hands and instead moves down to his legs. Each swipe like a paintbrush marking a sunset sky. The reverence in which Steve is being treated with is so foreign that he begins to tear up. His lips tick into a tiny smile, only an inch wide, but brighter than any firework beyond the windows.

"Still doing alright?" Eddie asks when he rings the washcloth out once more and hangs it to dry over the toilet.

"Doin' better," Steve whispers. Though, there's still a fault line fracture in his soul and a bullet would scar from that spoon.

He inches his fingers to settle over the surface of the water. They're pruned. Over the lip of the tub, he dances them until he's touching Eddie's pointed elbow.

Eddie gently takes his hand. Intertwines their fingers. He smiles without teeth.

"You're really good at this," Steve mutters through a sigh.

"Used to do this with my mom. I don't mind doing it," Eddie responds.

Steve hums. He licks his dry lips. Feels each one of Eddie's words settle over the bathwater and drown his limbs in sorrow. Ever so carefully, he shifts his hand back into his own lap, and watches with regret as Eddie's beautiful face sours. He sucks on a lemon in the time their hands separate. And Steve is so tired.

His throat stings. Scratchy with oncoming tears. His eyes water. Bubbling with something he didn't know he had to feel that night.

Remorse.

It seems that being gone to the world for days on end, for a while so it's been said, really brings down everybody. At one point, Steve was okay with being alone on weekends and holidays and birthdays. He was doing just fine inviting over Tommy and Carol for stale beer his dad forgot about or muck water weed. In his evenings, he was settled with laying in his giant, cold bed; tucked under a duvet that smells like a different detergent than his childhood. And it seems that's how life moves. Steve grows bulky and remorseful and regretful. He grows ashamed and bastardly and inside this need to be constantly admonished.

Never in his life did he imagine he'd feel so greatly, yet so few. Would be left with a rusted spoon in his grip and a body feeding from survivor's guilt. He wants to scoop the rest of himself from his ribcage and serve his rot to the world. Force Mother Nature to birth a son and kill a son and start his grass anew.

If younger Steve knew that he'd grow to not only disappoint, but also make his friends sad, he would have gone missing or ran away or been found dead by age ten. His mind flashes with Tommy yelling at him in that convenience store parking lot, a cold Coca-Cola forgotten in his tyrant rant. A sign reading: Nancy "the Slut" Wheeler. Jonathan's hardened face over being called queer. And Robin's original distaste for him. The way Dustin had to call him out over the teeth joke. Eddie's initial bias over his popular jock persona.

Now, he's looking at Eddie's crumpled face. Hearing back his concern and Steve's blatant disregard for the tremble in his voice.

I should just drown in this tub, his inner-monologue hisses.

A tear he couldn't feel drips down into the rapidly cooling bathwater.

Eddie's hand scrambled to cup Steve's face. He says, "Steve, it's alright. It's okay." But those words fall upon deaf ears.

Steve flinches back hard enough to slam his head into the ceramic tile backsplash. His voice trembles, "I'm sorry that I made you sad. Maybe you should go, I'll finish in here and then I'll go back to bed and you won't have to deal with me anymore. I'm so sorry, so so sorry. I didn't mean to." There's wetness coating his cheeks, an erupting pulse of pain in his head, an empty ache in his chest.

As he begins to sob again, albeit quieter than before, Eddie begins to speak. "No, Steve, no. You didn't do anything wrong, I promise." His voice is all passion and alighted flame and bursting firework. "You were caving again and I was getting worried, you're alright. You're alright," he whispers when Steve's body shivers and his crying slows. Hesitantly, cautiously, he shows both his hands and floats them closer. "Can I check the back of your head? Just to make sure you didn't crack or split anything." Steve nods with the smallness of an injured child fallen on hard pavement.

Eddie combs his fingers through hair, separating along Steve's part. His fingertips lightly trickle over and around and through. He doesn't miss a single spot. With care, he massages at the irritated red patches from where the hair had been pulled. "Nothing damaged, but let's be careful," he breathes against Steve's ear. He settles back on his heels and assesses.

Steve won't look at him. Can't look at him.

"Steve," Eddie whispers. He doesn't get anything in return. Steve's body sits like a Raggedy Andy doll that's been shoved onto a high shelf. And that's really who he is, isn't it? He's been placed somewhere he can't get down from and needs somebody to pull him away. He keeps pushing back, flailing, and then the other person gets hurt.

His eyes close. Throat bobs with the force of his swallowing. He takes a dangerous moment of peace in the silence. With it, his skin crawls. But he doesn't mind. When he does breach the quiet, he asks, "Can you hold my hand again?"

Eddie obliges. Both of his hands wrap around Steve's left.

His skin is hot. Not uncomfortably. Not in a sexy way either. The heat reminds Steve of soup and saltines when he was sick as a kid. Reminds him of late night bonfires with old friends out by Lover's Lake in the fall. Heated pool late at night. That beer from a few days prior. The sun.

He's decided that Eddie is both the wind and sun.

Bright. Yet calm. Brash. Yet timid. Burning. Yet soothing.

And that's really Eddie's essence, isn't it? Some bigger, more necessary, more constant thing. Washed between trees and light all around. Creeping his way through billowing curtains and gaping doors and finger gaps. Looking to nestle and maneuver and cushion. In his consistent, over-bearing, tumultuous everyday normal; Eddie is all around in smaller ways, hesitant moments, and manicured silences. He's worked his way to being somebody Steve can expect as being reversed in his mannerisms; going from big to small to mild. In each sense, Steve's been wondering where the sun and wind are. They're here in his bathroom, holding his hand so lightly it's as if they're merely brushing skin with feathers.

Eddie knows how to decorate Steve's silence.

So, gently and shamelessly, Steve requests, "Tell me about your mom?"

"Do you want me to wash your hair while I do?" Eddie asks. Steve just nods. He grabs the shampoo and squirts a small amount into his palm. "Well, she's a good woman first. One of the best people I've ever come to know." Once it's warmed in his hand and frothy, he gently rakes through Steve's hair, not going to the ends. "Very kind. Warm. Soft. It's a wonder that I ended up the way I did, guess we can thank my dad for that," he snorts.

Steve's eyes are drooped, body lax against the back of the tub. He whispers, "I think that you're all those things."

"Yeah?" Eddie breathes across the crown of his head. His hands scrub fervently, precisely, and painlessly meticulous. Steve hums. "I think you are too," he states.

He fills the plastic cup with warm water and leans Steve back. One arm wrapped around his neck and back of head. His thumb massages where skull meets spine. He doesn't pour the water all at once, rather trickling small waterfalls over and over. When the suds aren't as noticeable, he eventually does pour it all. And then, he begins on the conditioner. Warms it the same as the shampoo.

"My mom, she dealt with what you're going through. I think almost as long as I got to know her." He rubs the conditioner over the ends of Steve's hair, bunching it as he goes. "She had her ups and severe downs. Sometimes we'd go out for days on end; basking in the sunlight, feeding ducks at the pond, going out for ice cream. Those were great days." Steve watches a wistful smile ripple in like a small tidal wave. Intense in the nostalgia and the childhood and the ache. "Her down days...Toughest fucking days I've ever had to endure. Saying something, I suppose, considering all that was spring break."

"I'm sorry," Steve sympathizes. Though, he can taste empathy like a packet of salt on his tongue. Violent in flavor, buried in his teeth, roaming through his saliva. Each swallow burns.

"It's alright," Eddie whispers. He works water through hair again. "I was with her on those days. May have been tough, but at least I got to spend time with her." He assesses Steve's hair. Wonders very briefly if he should do one more shampoo rinse. He does, a smaller amount filling the well of his palm. "She did what you've been doing. Laying in bed, not really doing much, but that was all she could do. Several days she'd go without washing herself or eating something, sometimes just drinking water was too much on her mind."

He shutters through his next breath. It stutters warm and cold over Steve's skin. Audibly, he swallows. As if he was consuming whatever was left of his mother. The bad days. The good days. The end.

"She lived in those thoughts you've been having," Eddie adds. Barely makes a sound. If Steve weren't sitting so close, so heavy to the world, he would have missed it. "I could just tell some days when she was lost in one. Had to hide things around the house. Medicine and sharp things and cleaning products," he lists. Each word cutting against his throat, deeper and deeper. "Dad had told me about all of that. In case he wasn't home. He rarely was considering his criminal history, but at least he taught me something valuable."

His hands travel down Steve's neck and the slope of his shoulders. Works all the way down to hands, wrinkled like old skin. And Eddie thinks, I want to see him like this.

Eddie keeps his eyes on the shriveled tips of fingers. "One day I came home and she was just still. Silent." His throat clicks through the next swallow. "I didn't get much time with her. Only twelve years, but each day I spent with her was the best. Whether it be that we walked to the park and she pushed me on the swings or I washed her skin the way I've been washing yours. As long as I could help her feel at least cleaner, it was a good day."

He falls eerily silent. Steve uses any mustered strength to squeeze at his veins, his fingers, his palms.

"So, whatever we need to do today, I'm willing to offer. Because I love you so much, Steve. I can't even find all the right words. I'd say you're everything," he whispers. "Everything," he urges. "And I want you here, and I have the chance to help those thoughts simmer. So, let's get you dried off and reclothed and then I'll make you some food. How does that sound?"

"Like music," Steve shares. His eyes burn, his breath cuts, his brain is silent. For the first time in two months, his brain hears silence.

----

After several minutes, Eddie sits Steve down at the dining table. He sweeps wet hair away from his forehead and gazes into his eyes. Steve's face is dim and hard-set, wrinkled with loss.

"I'll make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, get you some ice water too," Eddie whispers between them.

Steve hums. "Can I have mine without crusts, please?" he sweetly asks. His lips curl up and his eyes are consuming. Color starts to wash over him, painting hues like a sunset, a billion red and blue fireworks, the deep magentas and light pinks of cosmo flowers.

"Of course, sweetheart," Eddie breathes into his left ear. Before he evades Steve's space, he presses a light, simmering kiss to his temple. His lips brush skin as he says, "I'll turn on music too."

So he slithers away to the kitchen and turns on Mrs. Harrington's radio in the window. Usually, he'd tune it to a heavy rock station, but today he turns on pop. He mutters under his breath, hoping that Wham! plays. The ingredients aren't hard to find and neither are the utensils.

His hands keep busy while Steve sits at the table. Back hunched over tangled hands. Set down onto a hardwood table that used to house family dinners.

Visions of his father at one end, his mother by his side, him across form his mom. They eat Chinese takeout because it's a Friday night and nobody has to work or go to school over the weekend. Steve's dad eats sweet & sour chicken directly from the box. His mom eats rangoons with her dainty hands. And Steve slurps noisily at sauced noodles, successfully coating his lips in something sticky and his cheeks with a deep color. Mr. Harrington sticks the chopsticks under his upper lip, mustache tickling over the edge, and he barks like a walrus. Steve laughs so hard that tears spill down his cheeks, water spraying from his nose. Mrs. Harrington giggles too. In this, they're happy.

But now, Steve is—he's muddled. Eddie notices how cold the downstairs is. The scrapes in the hardwood from chairs digging and being shoved around. He recalls a time a while back where Steve had mentioned his parents purchasing a new home in Southern California. The postcard he got in the mail reading, "Greetings, From Sunny California." There was a return address, but specifics about not contacting them. Not visiting. That they'd handed him the home in Hawkins, his responsibility now, cursing his name for digging his feet in retail and Barbara Holland disappearing from their backyard. Disappointment being scrawled in bold, black, scratchy handwriting. And then, when Eddie chanced a look at Steve's face, he was resigned.

Like he is now.

He wonders if that postcard had been the start. If Barb's disappearance eventually settled in his lungs after Nancy's Vecna vision. Maybe it wasn't familiarity that Steve was looking for in the Upside Down, but rather, protection from himself. A time where things were simpler and happier and smaller. Where his life wasn't on the line.

Now, he's looking for that sign. For that moment of brevity where Satan climbs through the forest floor and creates a vortex to Hell. A whispering through the wind, vicious and hissing, telling him to "Climb in."

Maybe if Nancy wasn't the one that Vecna trapped, it would've been Steve.

Eddie realizes, he probably would've broken out of it. And he would've been upset to hear Steve swear, "I'm still alive!" like a slur.

Steve is a teenage boy still, even if he's freshly twenty years old. But, his maturity certainly hit him all at once. Whether that be the last time the Harringtons were all in the same room or when that nailed bat was being swirled around in the air, Eddie isn't sure. Somewhere though, Steve lost his sanity. Lost his patience. Lost himself.

He comes back to the table with two sandwiches wrapped in paper towels and a tall glass of ice water. Wham! is on the radio.

"Thank you," Steve murmurs when he takes his sandwich. He takes a bite and hums. "Like when my mom made them."

"That a good thing?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah, I like to think so," he mutters. "Also, you don't like this music, how come you're playing it?" His big eyes land on Eddie's.

Eddie grins. There's crumbs on Steve's lower lip. Water in the corners of his mouth. He reaches out without thinking and drags his thumb to wipe away the wetness. "You like it," he answers. "Anything you like, I like." His thumb rests on the divot under his lip. Gently holding his chin.

Steve's chewing slows and he swallows. His eyes fill with something. A sparkle where they were once vacant and drowning. "You're too nice to me," he whispers. His head swivels back to his food, leaving Eddie's hand to roughly drop onto the table.

And his eyes clear once again.

"You know, you don't have to stay here with me. I'm probably just going to be like this for a while," Steve hollowly states. That spoon is back again. Playing his ribs like a xylophone; hitting hard enough to crack and disturb. He wants to throw up the little bit of food he's managed to swallow.

He just wants to disappear.

Eddie opens his mouth to say something, but he eats his sandwich instead. Slowly, too. The room is heated with tense energy, crawling under his t-shirt, scraping against his spine, and ripping his hair.

His friend, best friend he considers, curls smaller. Hands picking at the crustless edges. Balling corners of paper towels, eyes half-lidded and just empty.

In another life, Eddie starts to think, we would be eating sandwiches and watching fireworks. His hands tremble on the surface of the table. In another life, he begins, we are sitting at this dining table creating a grocery list, arguing whether or not we should get orange juice with pulp. Steve's not eating anymore. Head firm in his hands, elbows on the table, so informal. In another life, he muses, he is so happy, overflowing with it, body warm with it, eyes shining with it.

In another life, Steve doesn't cry into his hands at the dining table. He doesn't fall in love with a boy. He certainly doesn't work measly retail. Or have scars across every inch of his back. He doesn't sit by his pool late at night, wondering if he could die by proxy.

In the next life, he can only hope he's treated with reverence like this, from birth in screams and blood to death in whispers and halted breaths.

The radio fizzles. Batteries dead. Fireworks quiet for the night.

Every inch of the Harrington house is silent. Surfaces coated in stale breath and curdled blood. Bathwater cold and getting colder. Beds stiff and empty and too wide.

The silence is so loud.

And so hungry.

Steve aches. He confesses, "I love what you're doing Eddie, but I'm tired. And I'm so empty. And I don't know what to do. I can't—" His chest stutters so hard that the muscles in his back spasm. "I can't do this everyday." His arms fold crossed onto the table, head hitting his forearms.

Eddie scoots his hand close and gently brushes his fingertips over Steve's left forearm. "What do you mean, Stevie?"

His fingers tremble where they rest.

"I can't be like this forever. I feel like I've been stuck since we got back from the Vecna shit." His hands reach up to rub harshly at his face. "What if I never get better? You don't want to take care of me everyday and I can't do it by myself. I mean, God—" His palms press harshly into his eyes. Hands turning white from the pressure. "I've been in bed since the first. What if I just stay in bed for weeks, Eddie? That's hardly living. I can't do that to you or anybody or myself."

Eddie's palms firmly grasp his arms. They pull Steve's hands away from his face. There's blooming redness across his eyebrows and waterlines. Snot threatening to drip across his lips.

The shuttering breaths that Steve explodes into the air are breaking Eddie's heart further. Crumbling into thousands of little pieces like bread crusts.

"Steve, I need you to listen to me okay?" Steve doesn't respond, but Eddie continues anyway. "I want to help. I'm sure our other friends would be willing to help too. It's daunting, but eventually you may have to talk to somebody. We won't be able to help with everything, but we can do our best." He swallows every awful emotion making itself known on his tongue. Flashes of his mother and her death. "If you need to rest because your brain is telling you to, then you rest. Even if it's for weeks or months. Fuck, Steve, you could lay in bed for years. You've been through so much awful shit and it's all over. Of course you're stuck right now. You aren't in overdrive. It's okay to be this for a while," he breathes.

His breath leaves him hot and wet. Choked in muscles and blood. Rippling through ribs and fingers and toes. "You don't have to be anything right now. If you have days like these, then that's okay. I would rather be here taking care of you, helping you, whatever you need. I'd rather clean your home or change out your bedding or run you a hot bath. I'd rather do all of these things than..." his voice wavers and thins. "Than go to your funeral. Because you deserve to be here Steve, no matter what your brain says. I know that it's being unkind and that you think this is it for you, but I promise it's not.

"It's not. And we'll figure out what we need to do when we get there. But for now? Let's finish our sandwiches and I'll change your bedding and then, you can just sleep. If that's what your body is asking for, then we oblige. No need to do anything else, do you understand?" He asks, smoothing his hands to hold Steve's. Eddie's eyes are wet, he knows that. His eyelashes are anticipating the need to clump. But for now, he gazes at Steve's form, watches it fight and breathe and shiver.

Steve nods and squeezes in return. He doesn't let go with his left hand, but with his right he continues to eat his sandwich. It's sweet and fulfilling and warm in a comfort sort of way.

Eddie eats too and they both end up with crumbs on their lips.

----

By the end of the night, nearing eleven, Eddie has warmed Steve's bedding and tucked him under the duvet.

Steve's hair is unstyled and wavy and spread like a halo around his head. There's a crumb still nestled on his mouth, but neither make a move to brush it away. Eddie lays across from Steve, gazing, memorizing, creating memories.

In eight hours, Eddie will wake up with strains against his spine. Each vertebrae will pop and settle and his blood will be warmed. Steve will still be asleep most likely. And what he looks like in that state, Eddie can't wait to see.

For now, he holds his breath and counts Steve's moles. Over and over three times. Making sure he doesn't forget. Because, what misery would it be if Steve was forgotten in these silent hours? Terrible, it would be. There's something new to ogle at. A freckle birthed from the sun. Those damned bread crumbs. Flecks of gold and green and honey brown in each eye. Stray blonde hairs nuzzled into his hairline—baby hairs.

His palm holds Steve's left cheek. Thumb dotting over two moles. Then, it sweeps under his eye, catching in an eyebag divot. "You can sleep, honey," he murmurs.

"Can't," Steve mutters back. "Don't wanna lose you."

"You won't, I promise," Eddie fervently swears. "I'll still be here in the morning."

Steve hums. His left palm cradles Eddie's wrist.

His head scoots closer to Eddie's. He basks in this. How pleasant they both smell, wrapped in the same scents and breath; peanut butter and strawberry jelly and bergamot. Though that crater still throbs in his chest and his mind swirls and teeters, there's something settling inside him. With each swipe of thumb, each careful cradle, each promise whispered like prayer, Steve feels one thing.

Contentment.

He knows that tomorrow he will get up feeling like an untreatable basket-case. With a new gruesome idea and unpleasant ending. In the sunlight, he will drown and try to save himself by scooting away from the window. The fireworks will be silent, but the imagines of Barb's wretched screams will wash through Steve like a shipwreck on shore. He'll pick apart his brain, wood buried under sand, and find the sunken eyes of her teenaged body; still vulnerable and venerable.

Steve will bury himself in blankets and wish it was dirt. He'll burn and shiver and sob and choke. Each hour spent in bed will feel like eternity. And he'll rot from the outside in, then the inside out, and in each corner, the tub, down the stairs, out the front door.

He'll have to call Robin. And he will berate himself as she rambles down the phone how worried she was, how miserable her night had been because she spent each second twisted with nausea and anxiety and panic. He is going to remind himself that she doesn't mean it in a "you're an asshole" way, but rather, "I thought something terrible happened and I'd come home to you gone."

I'm still apologizing, he thinks. I deserve everything bad, he will think.

There will be a memory of this week when he's eventually out of his rut. And it may be shameful, but he'll be fond.

"I'm glad you came over," Steve admits. "I'm sorry that I'm so...bleh."

"That's alright," Eddie whispers. "We'll do this together and maybe you'll get sick of me."

"Never," Steve promises through giggles. "I love you."

Eddie presses another one of his wet forehead kisses into Steve's skin. Sweet and long and reverent. "Love you too, now get some sleep. I'll bring you pancakes in the morning."

And so, though tomorrow will be hard, possibly the next day too, Steve snuggles closer to Eddie. Head on his shoulder, one arm wrapped around his waist, thumb rubbing into his side. And he sleeps.

Dreams of Irish Spring soap and warm duvets and kind, unwarranted comfort.

—

Apologies, again, for how long this was. I just really love this one that I wrote some months back, thought it was worth sharing here, too. Take care of each other <3

[oldfashionedmorphine]

hi, it’s me again, here with another small preview of my upcoming byler big bang fic:

on the same frequency

-.-. .... .- .--. - . .-. / -....

December 28, 1985

“So what about Plan B?” Lucas asks, first to break the stretch of silence after they finish eating. “Obviously I don’t wanna resort to it anymore than you guys do, but Plan A feels pretty solid now…” then he looks directly at Mike, “and you did say you wanted to be one hundred percent prepared for it just in case.”

All it took was the mere mention of Plan B for Mike to start fidgeting. “Yeah, I know what I said,” he grumbles, getting up off the floor.

“So then how’re we gonna set the trap? Like how do we get him to take the bait?”

“I don’t know.” And at this point, Mike was pacing.

Lucas and Dustin glance at each other, shrugging. It didn’t seem like either of them had any new suggestions to offer, or maybe they were waiting for Mike to throw out the first suggestion. Except Mike just kept pacing back and forth saying nothing, which was making Will even more nervous than he already was.

December 29, 1985

“Shit—sorry,” Mike whispers into his ear as he loosens his arms around him and leans away a bit, but doesn’t fully let go. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he says. And then they rest their foreheads against each other, making Will’s heart race.

“It just seemed so real and I—”

“Mike!” Dustin yells from above, causing Mike to flinch and take a step back from him. “Your mom’s making chocolate chip pancakes! Get up here!”

“We’ll be right there!” Mike shouts back.

It was impossible not to feel a little disappointed when Mike flinched away from him again. But he swallows it down, forcing a smile instead and says, “Pancakes sound good.”

🎶 a song from chapter six 🎶

rating: mature

tags: alternate universe, not canon compliant, major character death, grief/mourning, ptsd, blood and injury, supernatural elements, time shenanigans, butterfly effect, thriller, angst with a happy ending

release date: 11/26/2023

✨ previous chapter previews ✨

ch1 | ch2 | ch3 | ch4 | ch5

tagging:

@kaiminluu @greenfiend @total-serene560 @across-thestars @boahey @magentamee @daydreams-in-the-moonlight @soyboystan @foodiewithdahoodie @booksandpaperss @likegoldintheair @mandycantdecide @hazmatazz @sparks-olivarpente @1-tehe-1 @wheelersboy @rebellius @maru-chu @septembr-moon @kamomillatea @trvbblemaker

(only one more chapter preview left!!)

[leatafandom]

🦮 "Gabriel's gaze couldn't stop stalling over the wound he had healed or his hands that had healed it. The slick slide of blood and the sound of shuddered breaths wouldn't leave his mind. There was no denying that the fear in his chest had been more than just the terror of losing another mortal friend, and he couldn't ignore it."

(i had to!! lol)

Lmao! I was wondering if you would. I know it was supposed to be a snippet, but... I slipped and wrote a whole fic. I hope you enjoy it!

Ship: Sabriel - Gabriel/ Sam Winchester

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1,223

Warnings and Tags hurt/comfort, blood & injury, friends to lovers, feelings realization, fluff, hurt/comfort, getting together, first kiss

It wasn't a big deal; a hunt gone wrong. It wasn't even anything spectacular. Basic human slowness and lack of higher vision, because Sam was many things but above all else he was human. Gabriel had lost humans before, it wasn't a new feeling to lose someone who was meant to die. It was an unfortunate downside of befriending mortals. This however wasn't the familiar feeling of grief. It was fear, regret, and heartache. It was the loss of something more. This time he was fast enough and flew towards the weak prayer to a rundown house filled with more than one pissed-off spirit. 

“Shit.” Gabriel didn't have any other words as he rushed to his knees before the gurgling human. ”I got ya,” he whispered, his hands wrapping around Sam's throat. Gabriel's lips tightened, swallowing back the waves of what-ifs at the slick feeling of Sam's blood between his fingers. “Give it a second, kid,” he whispered as terror gripped him even as the blood ran back into Sam's slashed open throat. “Don't try to talk, I'm here.”

The brunette tried to nod and breathe as his windpipe cleared of blood. His fingers gripped the edges of Gabriel's jacket, closing his eyes, and trusting his friend to handle helping Dean and the teenagers with him. Gabriel's eyes didn't look away from Sam as the hunter's consciousness faded at the sudden fall and rise of his blood pressure. Gabriel's eyes filled with grace, hiding his fear in fury and packing it away until Sam was back in the Impala. 

Unfortunately, he had moved past fury quickly after having cleared the ghosts that had lingered within the house. He didn't leave once the Winchesters had returned to the Bunker. It wasn't uncommon for him to hang out with them in the Bunker, but Gabriel's gaze couldn't stop stalling over the wound he had healed or his hands that had healed it. The slick slide of blood and the sound of shuddered breaths wouldn't leave his mind. There was no denying that the fear in his chest had been more than just the terror of losing another mortal friend, and he couldn't ignore it. It was all he thought about as he sat with Sam throughout his day. 

The internal contemplation left him noticeably quieter and filled with anxious movement. He couldn't help the way his gaze lingered or how he seemed to put more into being helpful rather than pushing his luck with the brothers. The older being was sure that Sam had noticed, but Gabriel had brushed anyone’s comments on his fidgeting away with a joke. The being unsure of what to do with the realization of how much Sam had come to mean to him. He pushed the questions about his behavior away until the one person he needed to talk to questioned it, and he couldn’t avoid it anymore. 

“Hey, Gabe?” When the archangel in question didn't look up, Sam signed as he glanced at him from the drawer he was shifting through. “Gabriel?” He repeated more sternly, frowning when the archangel finally looked up.  

“Huh?” 

“You're being quiet,” Sam frowned, twisting around the storage room to face the shorter being bodily. “Are you sure you're okay?” This wasn't the first time he had caught the archangel staring at his hands and falling quiet.

“I'm fine, Sam, stop mother-henning me,” he replied with a curled lip, moving a box for show. 

Sam’s frown didn't lift, studying him for a moment. “Sure.” Hazel eyes rolled as he drew out the word, watching Gabriel try to hide behind humor and his pointless shifting of crates. “Come on, I know something's on your mind. You know you can talk to me,” he offered, looking away from him and back to the list of items they were looking for. “You just seem off, lately,” he said before he read off the list again.

Gabriel huffed, poking at the box he had moved for no reason at all knowing that the weapons and ingredients they needed weren't there. He kicked the toe of his sneakers against the cement floor with a frown, determined not to start lying to Sam now. 

“I’ve just been thinkin’,” he mumbled, looking over his shoulder at the other. 

Sam didn’t look up from the list, his fingers tapping on the tabletop before moving to another cabinet and pulling out a satchel of dried plants. “Yeah, I kinda figured you were in your head.” He stood back up adding it to the small collection they had made, watching as Gabriel moved to take up the list. “Something I can help with?” 

Gabriel offered a hum and a slight nod, eyes looking from the list and towards one of the drawers. “Maybe… probably,” he said as he tossed through a row of drawers before he found the iron brand he was searching for. “I just realized something, when you were hurt like that.” 

The brunette nodded, crossing his arms over his chest as Gabriel walked back with the small token, putting it with the others. “I’ve gotten hurt before, died before. I'm fine. You healed me.” Sam’s broad shoulders shrugged, used to the risk of his profession as he grabbed a larger bowl and a jar of pig’s blood. “Thank you by the way,” he added, unsure if he had already thanked the archangel for finding him. 

The shorter being waved a hand physically brushing off the hunter's thanks. “You don’t have to thank me, Sam,” he said, narrowing and glaring at the row of cabinets and premade potions.

“So,” the brunette started, lips twisting as Gabriel glared at the cabinets before searching through them. “What did you realize?” He asked as Gabriel found the copper dagger the spell required.

He sighed looking at it as he walked back to Sam. “That I really needed you to be safe,” the shorter being mumbled, looking up at the brunette before looking down as he placed the knife with the bits of a spell they had gathered in hopes of helping a couple of hunters. When Gabriel looked back Sam’s brows were pinched and his lips already forming his next words, words Gabriel knew would give him an out if he wanted it. “I didn’t want to lose you. Lose more time together. Before we were even together. I didn’t want to be too slow, or not have enough juice... And once you were safe I just… I just wanted to kiss you.” 

After a moment his lips opened and closed without a sound, and the tall man shuffled his feet. Sam’s brow didn’t loosen nor break Gabriel's serious stare. “Do you,” he cleared his throat, eyes darting away from the archangel before going back to him. “Do you still want to kiss me?” he asked, watching Gabriel’s fine movements closely. 

Gabriel blinked, leaning backward slightly to take in more of Sam. “Yeah?” He asked, more than said making Sam’s brows fall completely, and his lips press into an unpressed line. “I mean yes! Duh, yes I still want to kiss you,” the archangel quickly recovered, returning to the space he had filled before. 

The hunter’s lips crooked up, bending slightly for the archangel to claim his lips. Gabriel hummed into the soft press, fingers gripping the cuffs of Sam’s rolled-up sleeves. The taller man's fingers turned upwards gripping Gabriel’s forearms, parted his lips, and invited Gabriel closer. The archangel smiled into the exchange, tongue diving past the brunette’s lips as his hands climbed higher. His fingers twisted to hold onto the lapels of Sam’s overshirt keeping him close. Sam released a muffled sound against the archangel's exploring tongue, hands sliding to Gabriel’s waist for support against the archangel’s grip. He deepened the kiss as he wrapped his body around the shorter vessel, before dipping his head back to break the tender exchange. Gabriel released a groan of disappointment as he let Sam pull back for air. 

Sam hummed, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips. “We have to finish helping them,” the hunter said in a chuckled breath against his lips. 

The archangel swallowed, not wanting this to change what they had grown into. “Yeah,” he grumbled, dragging his fingers across Sam's throat before moving higher to cup his cheek. 

“I know,” he hummed, stealing another kiss. “We will.” He sighed, dragging his thumb across Sam’s bottom lip, unable to help but return the brunette's dimpled smile. Gabriel didn’t look away from his fingers as he dragged them over Sam’s smiling lips. “We’re still on for movie night, right?” He questioned, worried about the friendship he had come to cherish. 

“Of course,” Sam nodded, hearing the archangel’s subtext and sharing the worry. He offered another smile, pressing his face to the celestial's hand before he heaved a sigh. “But, not if we don’t finish the spell,” the hunter continued, nipping at Gabriel’s fingers before pulling from his reach. “After we’re done we could set it up in my room instead of the den,” he suggested turning back to the items they had. “Dean and Cas aren't supposed to be back for a few hours.” 

Gabriel hummed watching as Sam made himself busy with the list. “The day I say no to your bed is the day the sun flickers out, Sam-I-Am,” Gabriel hummed, knocking his shoulder against Sam’s side with a bounce of his eyebrow, drinking in the other’s laugh. 

“You're ridiculous.”

For the fake fic ask game

[akanothere]

About me

Part time fandom artist, full time clown.

20+, she/her.

DO NOT REPOST, EDIT, PRINT FOR COMMERCIAL USE OR BULK PRINTING

DO NOT FEED MY ART TO AI PLEASE

AI IMAGE GENERATOR USERS DO NOT INTERACT

TRACING& COPYING ARE FORBIDDEN AND BLOCKED. IF YOU ARE TOO AN ARTIST PLEASE RESPECT THIS UNIVERSAL RULE (UNLESS MEME/PARODY). “HIGHLY INSPIRED” WITHOUT CREDIT WILL BE BLOCKED AS WELL. MY HOURS OF HARDWORK AND BRAIN JUICE ARE NOT FOR YOU TO USE IN THIS WAY. I APPRECIATE THE LIKE BUT PLEASE DO NOT DO THIS

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, DO NOT FOLLOW.

THIS IS A MATURE BLOG OFTEN ENGAGING WITH DARK CONTENT, HOWEVER I STILL HAVE DNIs.

THIS BLOG CONTAINS NSFW, BLOOD AND GORE DRAWINGS, TONS OF TOXIC RELATIONSHIP AND OTHER TW (ALL PROPERLY TAGGED UNLESS I FORGOT ONE OR TWO. IF I DO PLEASE TELL ME!!!)

FULL DNI, DOS AND DON’T, FANDOM CONTENT WARNINGS BELOW. I AM BAD AT EXPRESSING SO IT GETS LENGTHY BUT UM HOPE IT CLEARS UP EVERYTHING

THIS USER DOES NOT ACCEPT INSULTS, VIOLENCE, ABUSE, SLURS, AND DEATH THREATS TOWARDS HUMAN IN REAL LIFE.

What to expect or not here:

⚠️VERY IMPORTANT

I can tolerate/will create darker themed content when it comes to slashers or mature fandoms and villains. I would say this is NOT a safe blog (I mean come on those are bad guys what do you expect! Don’t be too delulu to a point you gonna make them a good guy). However I do not tolerate any form of violence, abuse and discrimination in real life. Seriously, get help if you come across to any of these.

All my darker artworks are NOT for you to follow irl (can’t believe I still have to say this in 2020s do people use their brains nowadays)— It is for me to explore darker concepts, trying to figure out how, for example, how people attracted by psycho criminals, WITHOUT using an existing criminal and hurting anyone irl. Bc everyone is FAKE, they don’t exist, it’s FICTIONAL. Also, to explore my own/seen traumas. I turn personal issues into NSFW kinks or simply dark shit etc, and cope with it as a fictional content. Not exactly the best idea I know but this keeps me sane and overthinking about the past irl. I do not tolerate death/abuse threats and insults towards human in real life, it’s stupid. And all of you should also keep every dark shit fictional content in fictional world. We do not need anymore crime irl thank you very much. Think before you act or talk. Fandom is not that serious to a point you wish death and suggesting violence upon someone.

For my Haikyuu or Naruto art those are mostly safe as hell (my opinion) just loving caring and tons of smooch smooch!😭💖 OMFG I MEAN BOKUAKA HOW YOU GONNA LOOK AT THEM AND THINK OF ANYTHING DARK HELLO EXCUSE ME

Generally I’m open-minded to all ships and kinks (even with complicated relationships where abuse are mentioned for plot reasons, or larger age difference), I’ll simply not interact with contents I’m not interested with… so it would be nice to not recommend any ships or contents through ask, because I mayyyyyyyy ignore it if I don’t like it lmao.

⚠️I draw fictional slashers/villains, g0re and blo0d and other dead dove/ abusive relationships shit, you are warned again!!! However irl crimes/ criminals supporters please do us all a favour go fuck yourself. People who can’t distinguish fictions from real life are not welcomed here.

I DO NOT accept any NSFW commission. Also again and again, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. This is NOT a minors safe space.

I create art for my inner peace and needs. I cannot babysit and accommodate everyone, so, if you don’t like, don’t engage. The definition of “problematic ships” differs from person to person coz fk me people nowadays overuse this too much to a point idk what is & what is not…

-

Fandoms and ships

Dead by Daylight

Ghostface centric, Ghostface x OC/ x reader, sometimes GhostFrank, GhostMeg and GhostFrankMeg-the-daddy-issue-trio-poly

⚠️IMPORTANT: It’s totally okay to consume my version of Jed Olsen X OC content and imagining in your brain it’s you or whoever his S/O is, but I block people who draw my version of Jed with themselves/self-inserts/OCs, or generally drawing him. It’s a culture here: impolite to draw someone’s design without permission😭💦 So please don’t take it personally, it’s just me not comfortable with sharing my design of Jed with other people’s self insert/OC. Also I have many plans for him so when people draws him (even not a ship art), it might actually interfere with my WIP sketches and ideas which makes me so awkward like “should I continue when someone drew it already???” However I am glad many people like him! Thank you for giving him love he really doesn’t deserve it he belongs in the trash💥

PS. There are some designs out here alike which of course is fine, I do not own the character himself, but I‘ll stay away or block if it’s too alike/ overly referenced. I stay quiet about things I don’t like so unless shoving it in my face, I will just walk away🧍‍♀️💦Need not worry!

Haikyuu!!

BokuAka, sometimes Tsukishima centric and SunaKita

Harry Potter (Wizarding World)

Tom Riddle centric, Tomione. Casual: Tomarry, Drarry/Harco, Voldantonin, Antonmione, GGAD, SebOmi/OmiSeb, Sebastian Sallow x MC, Ominis Gaunt x MC, Seb+Omi+MC trio friendship.

⚠️I DO NOT SUPPORT JK ROWLING’S TRANSPHOBIC SPEECH. TRANS WOMEN ARE WOMEN. IF YOU CAN’T ACCEPT OTHERS HAPPINESS AND RIGHTS, THIS IS NOT A PLACE FOR YOU. FK OFF.

ALSO THAT ONE TOMIONE ANON WHO KEEPS ANNOYING WRITERS WHEN THEY WRITE FOR OTHER PAIR— DO NOT INTERACT.

Don’t follow me for ships. See me as a cheap ass £10 all you can eat cushion buffet please. No quality of art here. Just pure delulu and bad drawing skills.

Naruto

KakaSaku, ObiRin, ObiKaka and InoSaku.

⚠️Note that my main ship in this fandom is KakaSaku, but only when Sakura is of age and usually I ship them in same age/ sort of colleague AU

Other games, films and anime

Who’s Lila?, Cube Escape & Rusty Lake series, Year Walk, Disco Elysiumc, Good Omens, Hotline Miami, Chainsaw Man, Golden Kamuy, Dorohedoro, any Kon Satoshi/ Ito Junji/ Wong Ka Wai’s creations, Horror and thrillers, Sci-fics

Fic recommendation lists

(Most of them are dark, dead doves and NSFW. Some are light and cracks! Read TW and tags. Read at your own risk.)

Danny x You/OC/SO

Tomione

[pinkdollyboy]

Pinned Post~

Note:

my asks and dms are open but I do have my dearest boyfriend @switchyftm so uhhh don't flirt with me or send me sexual messages!! I'm really not interested. Asking me questions is welcome but since I'm so new to this kind of thing I've no idea if I'll be able to answer them

UPDATE: If we are mutuals and you reblog or post kink content that explicitly mentions r*pe (like, the actual word, not just CNC stuff) without either tagging it as such or giving a warning, I'll block without hesitation. I no longer care. It's not kink shaming: I'm just so tired of blocking so many triggering tags and seeing that shit pop up with no warning on my dash.

Introduction

hi everyone! i'm dollie or pinkie or Ark, idm which, you can call me whicheeeeever

i'm 21 years old and an aroace gay transmasc nonbinary "boything" . i use he/him, they/them, and it/its. I'm a switch, slightly more inclined towards submission just because that's the kind of person I am on a day to day. I have BPD and audhd and I love to make jokes about them lol

I started off this tumblr with a cutesy persona but the thing is I've found my footing and realised idc anymore

Boundaries

this blog is run by a masc person!! respect my identity and don't reblog using wlw/sapphic tags

this is an nsft blog! do not view or interact with my content if u are a minor (under the age of 18). i dont give a shit how "mature" minors are btw bc once again they are MINORS and they should not be viewing my content

likewise do not share/distribute my content to minors or in spaces where minors are likely to be

I BLOCK AGELESS BLOGS

i am gay, uhhh...i only like being flirted with by men/masc leaning people. sorry ladies

straight men or men dni blogs this blog is not for you

Hard limits are (and i will block over these.)

scat, noncon, ageplay, feederism, chasers, detrans/misgendering, bigotry

Likes/Kinks

Switchy shit, being a puppy, rough sex, biting, being possessive/being possessed, bruises and other assorted marks, exhibitionism, edging/overstim, objectification, pain (sort of...yeah), breeding, blood, voices, piss...probably more

No real limits on what I call my bodyparts but like. Don't be discussing my body ANYWAY unless you're my favourite guyyyyy

Weird sort of shit that's just me rambling abt things i find strange or funny: pinkdolly.rambles

answered asks: pinkdolly.answers

EDIT: my sfw writing/random idiocy blog is HERE: @wormdolls

[zemossunshine]

Sunshine Chapter 39

Pairings: Zemo x You  Bucky x You

Summary: Falling in love with a villain. This will start sweet and then go very dark.

Tags: Explicit. Mature. Not for minors. Dark. Angst. Knife play. Depression. Suicidal thoughts. Self Harm . Vomiting. Nightmares. Sleepwalking. Torture. Smut. Broken Bones. Blood. Injury. Violence. Rough Sex. Rape. Kidnapping. Spanking. Unhealthy Relationships. Mental Health Issues. Anal Sex. Orgasm Delay. Fear. Blow Jobs. Sexual Violence. Suicide Attempt. Reference To Domestic Violence. Sleepwalking. Memory Loss. Gen Violence. Threats. Manipulation. Manipulative Relationship. Murder. Death. Loss Of Parents. Implied Alcohol Abuse. Threats Of Rape. Non Consensual Drug Use. Emotional Manipulation. Gaslighting.

Warnings for this chapter: Threats & Murder.

Feel me now, hold me please. I need you to see who I am. Open up to me, stop hiding from me, this hurricane, only you can stop the pain. Don’t leave me out in the cold, don’t leave me here to die. I gave you everything, I can’t give you anymore, now I have become just like you. My lips feel warm to touch, my words seem so alive. My skin is warm to caress, I’ll control and hypnotise. You taught me to lie without a trace, to kill with no remorse. On the outside I’m the greatest girl, now I’m dead inside. Lyrics owned by Muse.

–

You came to accept your life with Victor, after all Victor promised he would take you back when you found the house, not if but when. Keeping track of everyone you could, except Zemo, as he never appeared in the news. Sam was a frequenter on your little screen, which always warmed your heart. As far as you knew everyone was out there doing what they were supposed to be doing. Saving the world, keeping everyone safe, living, happy.

You had spent the last few days training, well Victor's version of training, solving puzzles and cryptic clues. You just were not this way inclined. Victor was, Zemo was, not you. You didn’t feel frustrated, you just accepted it, no one was talented at everything. Zemo is. You rolled your eyes at your own mind, once again adding in its own helpful comments. A new puzzle appeared and you crossed the lab to fill your glass with that Sokovian wine, which Victor must have gone back for at some point while you were sleeping. After a mouthful of the delicious nectar, you settled back down to attempt to solve yet another puzzle. You recognised it as a cipher, something that needed to be decrypted. Numbers and symbols that concealed the true message.

“I’ve seen this before.” You exclaimed to Victor, you had seen this exact message. The email you extracted from Madripoor, then everything went to shit and it was forgotten about. The email titled V. You watched with charm as Victor solved it.

SUNSHINE?

That was it, the entire message Jason had, your nickname. Nothing more. Victor had a shy smile on his face. Victor sent this message to Jason directly, to find you. Victor sent this message to Hydra. You felt nauseated that Victor would do such a thing.

“Jason adored you. Denied all knowledge of your existence, refused to tell me anything.” Victor huffed sadly.

Adored me? “Jason was Hydra.” You stated firmly, adored or not, he was part of a group that routinely violated you, that tormented you in their sick games. Victor shook his head slowly. Jason wasn’t Hydra? That would mean Bucky killed him for no reason. Another secret you would have to keep. Before you could even understand how to feel about this Victor spoke again.

“Let me show you.” A portal opened with a green ring around it to what you knew was Madripoor. It seemed Madripoor featured heavily in your life, well alternate lives. You always seemed to appear in this outlawed land. Perhaps you had become accustomed to that kind of life, if Hydra got to you in every one. Which was a rather daunting prospect.

Madripoor the city adorned with weapons, machine guns half your size, a fully stocked armoury for each and every citizen, weapons everywhere you turned. Catching sight of a newspaper you saw this was during the time you were with Hydra, before the coma, before Bucky, before Zemo. You found yourself staring up at the same sex club you walked into a long time ago, it felt like another life, almost as if it were yours, not a different earth. It looked as if you had been put on display for people of a certain proclivity to watch. You spent an evening here dancing and laughing with Victor, forgetting what Madripoor really was. A sanctuary for open and obvious crime, there were many foul and disgusting people crawling the earth. Why wouldn’t they come here to watch you be tortured? You probably turned a good profit for Hydra, you felt sick to your stomach. You wouldn’t just sit and watch someone endure that much pain. No one stepped in for you, they laughed at your terror, paid for it.The world is a shitty place. You thanked Victor for not portalling you straight into that club where you would have to witness it.

“I told you before, I can’t watch what Hydra does to you.” Victor shuddered. Even a man as cruel as Victor couldn't stomach the vile acts they performed on your body. You spotted Jason walking out of his club with a frail dishevelled woman clinging onto him.

Me?

Horrified that that was you. You looked half dead. Hair hanging down to hide. Layers upon layers of men’s clothing, stumbling over your own feet, too weak to hold your own weight. Jason took large strides away from his club, creating distance for you, pushing anyone away who got even remotely close.

“I didn’t know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Jason’s voice trembled. “Just hold on. I’ll find you a way out. You aren’t alone.”

You could see the alternate version of you was coming down from a panic attack. Clutching onto Jason for dear life, He wrapped one arm around you, rubbing your back, shushing you, soothing you, his other hand contained his phone, he was scrolling through his contacts. No doubt trying to look for a connection that could help him, get you away from Hydra and hopefully not send you away with anyone worse.Jason tried to save me. It was suicide, if he managed it Hydra would have killed him, before Bucky did. Bucky killed the man who tried to save you, who was thrilled to see you again, to see you safe, to see you happy. Bucky murdered him.

The other you pulled away from Jason, feet dragging started to walk slowly in another direction. At first you thought the other you may be frightened of Jason, but you were walking with purpose, even if you were limping, still wiping away tears. You had stopped panting and the darting of your eyes wasn’t fear, you were searching. Was it possible Zemo was here? In your world he was still in the holding facility of Berlin. Jason curiously followed you, watching you intently, perhaps he was holding out hope that you saw someone who could help you both.

“Red.” the other you whispered. Red not black. Before you had your powers, when you felt the red stirring in your gut, you turned raring to go, to defend this alternate version of you from any further damage. How the fuck did I survive this? This was the past, you probably didn’t, you probably died in this world. You stopped in your tracks when you saw the broad shoulders and leather clad outline of the most deadly assassin to talk the planet. Bucky was standing at parade rest watching what you could only assume was his handler. Your eyes bounced between the alternate you and the Winter Soldier. Jason grabbed your wrist when the other you moved towards him, you brushed him off easily. Jason’s adam’s apple bobbed, he knew what Bucky was and seeing the compassionate look on the other version of your face. You didn’t. Stop you naive little girl.

The alternate version stopped in front of Bucky, staring at his chest. As if you could see through it, as if you were looking for his heart, searching for the humanity within him, his soul. The other version of you slowly lifted her hand to her stomach, she smiled in relief at Bucky's chest. The smile was crooked, as if her muscles stopped moving that way long ago. Your heart lurched at this poor desperate woman, you wanted to cry for her. She recognised something. Red? A kindred spirit, someone who held the same pain within them as you did. She just wanted to know that she wasn’t alone, so desperately alone. I am alone. The other you lifted her head to look into those empty cerulean eyes and her face soured, disbelief contorting her face, eyes flickering, something registering within your mind.

“The Winter Soldier.” The other you mouthed, her eyes lit up. She knew him from the smithsonian. Tears formed on your eyelashes, knowing that the other you was about to say something incredibly stupid, get herself into another dangerous situation trying to save someone that she couldn’t, something you had done so many times on your world. This alternate you looked like a gust of wind could take her out.

“James.” The other you spoke unsteadily and you watched those hollow eyes move to you and then away. You were not his mission, the protection of his handler would be, you were an annoyance. The other you look so frustrated, like his name should set him free, restore his memories, give him the strength, the knowledge to just walk away. “Buc-”

“RUN!” Jason screamed before being tasered to the ground.

You thrashed in the arms of the Hydra agent, trying to get to Bucky. You were so close to feeling hope only to have it ripped away again. You know what the other you would be screaming behind the hand smothering your mouth, crushing your jaw. You would be begging Bucky to find Steve. The regret the other you would feel at not saying the name Steve instead of James when you had the chance. You had mere moments and you didn’t relay the correct information. Your gut churned, now you would know to relay the right message. Limited time means you get the most important information across. Instead you called Bucky, James and name only one person used for him, and he hadn’t even met Zemo yet. You hoped both you and Bucky were able to break free in this world too. How unfair it felt that Hydra were able to wreak their havoc across the multiverse. How they had you both in yet another world.

“Do you remember this?” Victor asked quietly.

“Remember?”

This was your past, you not an alternative you. This happened to you. You met Bucky before you actually met Bucky. Bucky hadn’t flinched, a statue in the same place, you were insignificant, another person dragged away by Hydra, he probably saw this a hundred times, a thousand. Why would he remember this? Hell you didn’t even recognise yourself, why would he? He would be wiped again anyway. You watched your past self being told that you were going back into Jason’s club for any one who wanted a turn, that was your punishment for approaching The Winter Soldier. A punishment so severe, it would ensure you would never do it again. You wanted to hold your past self as she repeated that she was so very sorry like a mantra as if it would save her. The fear she felt you knew all too well. Hydra kept you away from Bucky, just as Zemo said.

How many times had you suffered to try and save Bucky? Zemo? How many times were you raped? Beaten? Broken? Mocked? Humiliated? Died? How many universes? How many times? Why did you have to live this way? While they were out there living?

“I want to see the world where I live a boring life.” The frenzy in your voice was shameful, but you needed it. You needed to know there was one life out there, you didn’t care where or how, just the boring, mundane, life. Just one.

“I haven’t found one yet.” Victor said matching the tears in your eyes. You don’t know why you laughed. Perhaps these revelations about your life were hurting less and less, perhaps you were used to it, perhaps you already knew you would never have that tame life you craved. It would forever allude you.

–

You had made mistakes in many worlds, in your own, always believing somehow that you knew better. That you were infallible. Evidently not. You would give and give until you were empty, until there was nothing left. What’s worse is no one was stopping you? Even in your world Zemo allowed you to continue on, swallowing the truth and believing in your own lies. Victor was trying to show you a different path, but you didn’t want to end up as cynical and bitter as Zemo, as Victor. To assume that everyone is a liar, is out to get you, only serves their own selfish needs, if the world turned that way, well then it would be in a much more dire state than it already was. You didn’t want that, you couldn’t just give up.

Victor was, however very interested in the fact that in the past you could sense pain in others. Claimed you could always do it despite your promises, vows, your word that you had never ever been able to achieve such a thing. “Listen to me!” You begged, frustrated to your very core.

“I do listen to you. You are drawn to pain, look at the type of men you fall for.” Victor chimed a bit too enthusiastically. Yet you had to face the truth of that, it was undeniable. The suggestion that you fell in love with their pain and not them was unsettling to say the least. You loved them for who they were, not what they had experienced, not their past, you hated learning about yourself. You loathed every scrap, every grain every last little piece of information. Every flashback, every discovery, all of it. You wistfully watched two friends in a cafe, gossiping, living a normal life. You had those things, you lived a normal life, ish. Reaching the Trevi fountain, watching hundreds of people just living, reaching into their pockets to deposit their hopes and dreams into the water. You felt jealous, elated, sour and hopeful. A place of optimism, of faith, of wishes and desires, you decided to focus on that.

“The water should run red.” Victor splayed his arm out to showcase the coins being dropped in. “Pain, the Trevi fountain is full of pain.” And just like that Victor shattered your hope again. You looked at him in disgust. To take something so beautiful and turn it into something so ugly. Victor looked at you fixedly waiting for you to see what he could. You witnessed the coins falling but this time you looked into the faces of those with dreams. These were not the faces of wishes, these were the faces of those with no where else to go. The Trevi fountain was a last ditch effort, their last hope. Wishes to save dying friends, family, wishes for food, for shelter, for an escape. Agony and misery with every drop into the water. Victor as perceptive as Zemo, they both saw what was really there, hidden in the lies. You didn’t realise how big your smile was until you saw it in the reflection of the water.

“I’m going to attempt to quiet your mind. If you did it before-”

“Victor.” You snapped. “Can’t you just slip into my mind, I can’t see pain!”

“I only do that if there is literally no other option. Your mind is crawling. Every thought of yours struggles to the surface, begs for time to be processed, then just as it is given air, the next thought drowns it out. Your mind isn’t fractured, there is just too much in there, it’s suffocating, a prison of your own making. “ Victor winced, worried he had hurt you, offended you in some way. You were too shocked to feel any outrage, to hear Victor describe your mind in the way you saw his. A frantic mess. “I’m not ready to see inside your mind.” Victor said seriously, there was something in his eyes, that almost resembled fear. Which confused you more than anything had before. Victor didn’t feel fear, he never needed to. Victor’s eyes twinkled at you, he believed you could do it, which flowed out and made you think that maybe, just maybe in a place like this, it was possible. Victor wasn’t trying to hypnotise you or get inside your mind, he just wanted you to centre yours, to clear the clouds. D pushed your hands into the water and Victor encouraged you to gently swish them around. D rubbed your back which was distracting you could hear him whirr away behind you, in his, well Victor’s attempt to get you to focus.

You shook D off and opened your eyes. There was a flash of frustration on Victor’s features, he needed D to assist you. “You can help me.” You assured, succumbing to his persist need for permission. Victor moved himself behind you, placing his hands on either side of you against the edge of the foundation, shielding you from everything else around you, forcing you to concentrate. He pulled you hair back tenderly, you felt so vulnerable yet so content, your breath hitched as your limbs loosened. He rested his chin in the crook of your neck, goose pimples washed over your body when his breath fluttered across the shell of your ear.

“The birds have stopped singing. People have stopped talking.” Victor rasped. You closed your eyes and exhaled. Slowly the low hum of chatter around you halted. You breathed in time to Victor's chest brushing your back, he cupped the water and slowly let it run over your hands, the intimacy of the act was tranquil. “You can only feel the water, twirling through your fingers, washing away everything.” The cool water flowed freely through your fingers, pure in its form, running down your hands. “My voice is fading and all that’s left is-”

“Serenity.”

You gasped at the sweet silence, the peace, your mind was no longer pacing for answers, no longer a caged animal, it was as calm as the water. You were alone with the Trevi foundation, standing at the foot of its beauty. Serenity, so close to oblivion, parallel almost. Gradually, single black flames surrounded you, enclosing you. Almost as if it were an altar, an offering to the true source, to the real power. You.

Pain.

Everywhere.

One candle was ablaze, brighter than the rest as soon as you took a step towards it everything slammed back into place, the flames turned into people, the roar of the chatter, the concrete underneath your feet, the gushing of the water, almost falling to the ground Victor arms wrapped around you, pushing his hands into your stomach, reminding you of why you were here.

“You did it.”

“No, you did,” Victor said in wonder, releasing you from his hold. He jerked his head over to the direction you attempted to walk in. You pointed at a man who looked desolate, hollow. You knew he burned black intensely, the one calling to you, presenting his pain like a gift. Noticing the discarded ice cream next to him Victor duplicated it in front of your eyes.

“That’s stealing!” You chided, side eyeing the ice cream parlour.

“How? I didn’t steal the product or service. You are so stubborn sometimes.”

“Yeah, I have been told that's a bad thing.” You said while scratching your hand, scratching at that never ending itch in your mind.

“It’s your greatest strength.” Victor said almost with force behind it.

“You're not coming?” You asked taking the ice cream.

“This isn’t my area Sweetheart. Everyone likes you. I do not share that privilege.” Victor beamed at you. You knew as you walked away you would come into view and be seen by the world. D dutifully handed you a cap and sunglasses. You skipped in the direction of the man on the verge of sobs over an ice cream, practically jumping for joy as you headed towards the man in the most pain. The ice cream would have been the straw that broke the camel's back, in a string of experiences that brought him here. To the fountain that heard everyone's deepest secrets, darkest desires. Your eyes lingered a bit too long on a young girl, wondering if it were possible that you had ever just walked past Rebecca, then you realised how stupid that was. Rebecca had never left that house, you would know. You handed over the ice cream wordlessly. Squeezed his shoulder with a compassionate smile. Maybe it would help, maybe it wouldn’t but you tried. An ice cream wouldn’t cure anything, just it would give him a moment, a sign of hope, you hoped you brought light into his life or maybe you were just so happy to see the darkness within him. You walked back to Victor with your heart full safe in the knowledge that the Trevi fountain was even more beautiful now you knew it was full of pain. The water should run red, or maybe black. Victor was waiting with a celebratory glass of that delicious Sokovian wine for your success. Which was bold for six in the morning, you made a point to look up at the clock with raised eyebrows as you approached.

“An Italian proverb. Years, lovers and glasses of wine. These things must not be counted.” He held out the glass to you with a coy smile playing on his lips.

“That sounds like a line people use to get people drunk,” You paused. “And into bed.”

Victor simply smiled into his wine glass, with a slight shrug of his shoulders and a slight pink framing his sharp green eyes. You snatched your glass with very little agitation, mouth watering at the wine you liked a bit too much. Victor raised his glass to yours. “To power.”

–

“I wonder what Zemo would have done if you both died?” Victor pondered out loud, almost as if it was a thought he shouldn’t have spoken aloud. That world didn’t bear thinking about. Zemo turned into someone else when you were injured or even close to danger, let alone actual death. Something sinister, unrecognisable. Something that could alight your very bones with terror. Something that you had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting once or twice. Zemo hadn’t done anything, you assumed this was because he had Rebecca, but a world without either of you. No. He was bad enough the last time he lost his family and you didn’t even witness it. Dread tingled over your body as you crushed that thought down. That was a thought that didn’t need to be given air, time to breathe. That one could stay buried. For all eternity.

You screamed as a portal came rushing towards you. Slamming your eyes shut and covering your ears. “VICTOR! Take me back!” You hollered. Refusing to even give this world a peek, you knew Victor wasn’t nearby, he would have listened to you. You howled for Victor like a woman possessed. Even without your senses you could feel the wallowing misery of this world, it infected the air. Just being here you knew, there was no hope, there was only death and destruction and there would only be one cause. My husband. You once said he would burn the world to the ground to get to you, what steps would he take for revenge? Your body trembled unable to fight the tears. The despair of this world crawled along your skin, digging in and dragging you down. As if it were a warning, this is what was coming for anyone who remained here.

You wailed, trying to think of ways to cover your nose, sinking into yourself as much as you could, sobbing for Victor, only to feel your temper flare as you recognised D’s smaller metal hand pulling you up. Sensing the misshapen bricks under your slippers. You grabbed the nearest object and launched it straight at Victor.

“FUCK YOU! How could you do that to me?” You exploded. Watching your mug shatter against Victor's armour and having no effect on him whatsoever, only fuelled your rage.

“Who are you more afraid of? Hydra? Or your husband?” Victor enquired with a tilt of his head that was a bit too close to home.

Zemo.

Your mind answered for you, without hesitation, heating your skin further, the fire in your heart, spreading out. Furious that you had betrayed yourself. The pain Hydra gave you was unspeakable, but never personal. Zemo was an expert on you, he knew exactly what to say, which buttons to press to hurt you the most. He didn’t need to physically hurt you, he was enough. He even managed to increase your powers with just his biting words. The fear Zemo expertly instilled into you was enough. The prospect of seeing that world was enough, the terror in your heart, enough to chill your bones, your nerves alight, your mind screaming at you to run. The thought of even seeing him in that state, seeing what he had done, evoked a horror in you that Hydra would envy.

“I hate you.” You poured the venom into your words, staring daggers at Victor who was giving you that look. The look that said you hadn’t answered, but he already knew the answer. Victor summoned a portal behind you, immediately recognising the sound of the ocean, you stomped straight onto the sand, kicking up the pile of ash that was swirling at your feet. You stormed away from him, pounding down each time, imagining it was his face, as if you could actually cause damage, inflict pain.

“Don’t blame me, you married him.” Victor scoffed.

“I DIDN’T HAVE A CHOICE!”

Victor appeared in front of you, his eyes burning with something you couldn’t quite place. He stepped towards you pointing down at your ring. “You said no?”

“I-” You stopped only just catching up with what you said. That you didn’t have a choice in your marriage. You signed for a car. It was embarrassing that was still the story you were sticking to. “It’s complicated.” you swallowed, rubbing the inside of your ring. Victor's eyes narrowed in annoyance. Wanting to defend Zemo you continued. “I’m sure we would have got married eventually, it’s just I said no at first and then-”

“You said no?” Victor repeated with an edge to his voice.

“Zemo loves me.” Your voice was quieter than you hoped. “He is kind and generous and sweet and-”

“Dead.” Victor said dangerously.

“You can’t.” You rolled your eyes at Victor’s ridiculous statement. “You promised to protect him? Everyone. You gave me your word, Victor.” You reminded him.

“My word.” Victor whispered. “Was for protection. I didn’t say anything about not killing him.” Victor breathed out revealing a smile of pure bliss, his eyes glittered with anticipation, you could almost see the various ways he planned to end Zemo.

Eyes rounding at this information, bypassing scolding yourself for not remembering that Victor is very specific about what he says. Ignoring the pace of your heart. You knew you had to make Victor give you his word, his whole word, that included everything. “You have to promise me that you won't. Not you, or your bots, or D, or any of your machines, past or future machines, no inventions, no alternate versions of you, no variants, no multiverse, No past or future versions of you, no nothing. You cannot be directly or indirectly responsible for any harm, or injury, nothing. You have to protect him, everyone, like you promised.” You rambled out, watching Victor’s smile fade with every word in defeat, you covered everything he thought of. You didn’t have anything to give him, no leverage to use, nothing he wanted, he didn’t have to agree to your terms.

“Fine.” Victor grunted. Running his metal hand down his face. “I hate you too, right now I hate you.” Victor said exasperated. Feeling only a little relieved you started to walk along the shore line with him, rotating your ring around your finger. Watching the water ebb and flow towards your feet, the spray of the ocean on your face. You didn’t exactly feel that sense of calm the water should bring when you thought about how little choice you were given in your marriage. No choice at all. Victor probably even had the knowledge before you did, if Zemo had it legally notarized, which of course that fucker did. You looked down at the sun gleaming of your dazzling emerald ring. I have to keep Zemo safe. Well as safe as you could anyway.

–

Two years old.

Two years free from all this.

Your daughter was two. You wished you had left her a message, a letter of some kind. You thought you were dying, it would have been the perfect time to do it. But as Zemo so strenuously denied your death. And he was right. You imagined that anything you left for her would have found it’s self lost. You took a moment to thank your mind for being ever so helpful again. You tried not to dwell on your tumultuous relationship with Zemo and concentrate instead on the fact that he was Rebecca's father and clearly went to extreme lengths to protect her. Victor had tried incarnations, spells, potions and he couldn't find her. Even tried a lock of your hair. Made you sit and describe trees, birds, seasons, any wildlife anything that could narrow it down. All to no avail. You had no knowledge of wildlife or nature or botany.

You wondered if you were too much of a liability down there on earth, maybe no one wanted to find you, you took up resources, time, effort. Rebecca could walk around with no attachment to you, it would be much easier to hide her, to remove that burden. You missed her of course you did, but it was becoming harder to miss someone you didn’t know, who didn’t have a face, a voice, a personality. How could you miss someone you didn’t know? You were starting to resent Zemo for allowing this to go on so long, but then he could have moved on. Decided you weren't worth it. You believed Zemo wouldn't stop looking for you, but you had been here for two years now. Zemo was a parent before you met him, maybe you were never supposed to be one. Maybe you were nothing to him on your earth either. Not anymore.

“We could take someone in exchange for Rebecca. Sam seems pretty important.” Victor tried, reaching up for his sword as he calculated the time it took to drift away from him up here on the moon with zero gravity. Not going to work. Zemo would let Victor take every person on earth. On every earth and not give it a second thought. He wouldn’t give Rebecca up. Coming to the end of her birthday, watching every country possibly inhabiting your daughter come into view and then fade, hoping she looked up and could see you. Victor reminded you it was time to make your wish.

“A boring life.” You huffed out, wondering if maybe you should ask for something else. That she wasn’t enhanced, or maybe she could be, just not have your particular power, that Hydra would never find her, that she was happy. Giving the earth one last glimpse before you hopped back onto the ship you wondered why you felt as if you sounded like Zemo, you shook it off quickly. Wishes were not real. It didn’t matter what you said, it wouldn’t come true. It was out of your hands. Everything was out of your hands.

–

Before both you and Victor's mood could inevitably nose dive into hell with your birthday approaching, he suggested a trip to Louisiana, he said it would be to cheer you both up. Only this time Sarah and the boys were home. Victor fed you cocktails in the sun as you watched Sarah live her normal life, taking in dry clothes, making lunch, making cookies. Alcohol that liquid gold, that brings out a confidence, a surge of courage that nothing else quite good, you wandered into her house. Opening the fridge and mouth salivating at the very thought of Sarah’s homemade peach iced tea.

“Steal it.” You giggled to Victor with a slight slur.

“Oh Sweetheart, am I bringing you over to the dark side?” Victor teased with playful smile on his lips. You swatted him, he shook his head in feigned disappointment before he poured the contents into a glass and sent it off with one of the doombots back to the castle. You sat lazily on the porch, just happy to be in the presence of your old life, even if they couldn’t see you or feel you. Just to watch your old friends live, happily, peacefully. There isn’t anything quite like the buzz of alcohol. You were not even surprised when Victor made it rain down nerf bullets from a tree with a gust of wind. It was Victor. All that time ago, when you stared down in horror at your swollen belly, thinking your little one had powers. As Victor smiled in delight at the boys laughter, you haphazardley drew a smiley face on the windows. Desperate to leave something behind, desperate for them to remain as happy as they had been today, for them to know you were here again, maybe the boys had gotten to old? Children were so inquisitive, then something happens as they age, the magic is lost somehow.

Victor didn’t truly like days like this, you knew he wanted to repair something, build something and you could see him survey Sarah’s house looking for things to do, that or making a mental note of it all so you could both come back and do it when the premises were vacant. Sarah called in the boys as the sun started to fade. Dinner was already consumed and you remembered that strict bedtime routine. You stood up, wavering on your feet, waving goodbye to the boys. Not quite noticing the reason they were so vocal, so hyper.

Bucky.

Bucky had arrived from home. From a mission. From the store. You didn’t know, your body hummed as he embraced Sarah. They were both still so happy, that would be you and Zemo one day.

“Bye Aunt S!” Cas called out. Sarah’s face turned dour, Bucky smiled sadly and ruffled his hair. You waved to Cas again, heart soaring that he noticed. Bucky rolled his shoulders, then flinched as if a fly had landed on him.

“I’ll be right in.” Bucky said to Sarah, saying something with his eyes. Sarah urged the boys inside. Bucky stood to his full height. You stepped towards him in wonder, your pupils constricted a physical reaction you couldn’t help, your body aware of the danger before you were. The serum. Bucky calmed his breathing, he rolled his neck, when his eyes snapped open, they landed on you. Victor put his finger to his lips, urging you to be quiet, sensing the air change, able to pre meditate Bucky’s actions. You waved him off, you and Bucky were friends, ex-lovers even. Bucky could feel you, not because of any childhood wonder, but because the serum enhanced his senses. You knew Bucky could feel you, you flung the martini glass, the alcohol clouding your memory, your judgement. Bucky followed the sound, not even seeing the glass. Holy shit. You stepped towards him again with hope, nervousness pinging through your body, if Bucky could feel you, then he could tell Zemo. Your foot stopped mid air when a deep growl emitted from Bucky’s chest.

His shoulders had squared, his jaw was set. His hands were in balls shaking at his sides. His pupils dilated, a dark fire behind his eyes. Victor beckoned you to him. You shook your head trying to eliminate that overwhelming sense of dread. Bucky started forward, his gait purposeful, his eyes ablaze. You fell back, breaking your fall with your hands you stared in horror as The Winter Soldier in full form pressed forward to you, you scrambled back towards Victor, hyperventilating. The memories of the box beating themselves into your mind, the promises to break your bones, the dead look in his eyes.

“I’ll fucking kill you myself.” Bucky snarled. The seriousness of his words cut into your soul. You reached Victor just as your limbs went numb and the walls of your world caved in.

–

In a flash the feeling was gone, but he couldn’t deny it to himself. You were there. You were right in front of him. He felt you. You were alive and fucking bailed on everyone. Quelling his rage he quickly scanned the area as only a covert spy could, he headed back to the house. Pausing at the porch he peered through the windows to Sarah’s kitchen, he needed to check if anything was missing, anything obvious, if you left something behind. To find out where you had obviously disappeared to, leaving behind all this mess, leaving your own daughter. Abandoning everyone.

A single cookie was missing off the tray, it could be the boys, that was the obvious and most likely answer, but then he did show them how to rearrange the tray to cover their tracks, but they were kids, they could have forgotten. Eyes searching the rest of the area, there wasn’t anything missing, nothing that you would have moved, taken, left behind. He let out the breath he had been holding, only to rapidly suck the air back in. His breath revealed a smiley face on the window. A symbol of happiness. He wanted to tell himself this was the boys, they drew stars for Sam, but he knew immediately it was you. Taking a quick picture, he scrubbed the evidence. Calling out to Sarah saying he forgot to wrap up some paperwork, he pulled his phone to his ear.

“Shuri I need a full work up. No, no nothing has happened. Just the arm feels like it need recalibrating after that last mission.” He lied. He needed to be sure. Shuri had done her best work on him, on his arm, on his brain, but he couldn’t tell Zemo without being certain, without checking it wasn't a random malfunction. Get the very best he knew to give him the once over first.

If you were alive, just up and left then he really would kill you himself.

–

All clear. In perfect health. As always. The curse and blessing of the serum. Which could only mean, there was no glitch, it wasn’t another sudden wave of missing you, of not understanding why you had to die. No you fucked up, big time. He greeted Oeznik quickly, interrupting Zemo’s bedtime routine with Rebecca.

“Zemo where is your laptop?” Bucky sniffed yet again, not quite having the handle on his emotions he wanted to have. Remembering only sound of his boot traipsing through your blood as he retrieved Rebecca.

“Uncle James,” Zemo inflicted his voice for Rebecca. “In the kitchen.”

“Not that one.” Bucky answered all too quickly, giving Rebecca a goodnight kiss into her hair. The government monitored one? Hard pass. He needed Zemo’s real one.

“The office.” Zemo didn’t even turn to look, he would deal with this after. Zemo returned his attention to the bedtime story and his daughter.

Bucky’s leg giggled constantly as he uploaded that picture onto Zemo’s password protected laptop, which he almost cracked. Zemo text him just in time. Cropping that smiley face to one eye. A perfect fingerprint. He hit search and waited, hands fumbling with each other, looking out into the night. How would he tell Zemo? How would he explain this? How he would wring your fucking neck for ever leaving? The grief everyone went through. The boys, the boys, not quite understanding why a baby, why Rebecca took your place. He blinked back the tears threatening to overflow, hearing Zemo approach.

“Would you say Sarah is house proud?” Bucky chewed his lip, trying desperately to find another explanation.

“I would.” Zemo answered fluidly, giving Bucky whatever answers he would seek at any time, however mundane the question was.

“Do you think it’s likely that she forgot to wash the windows for years?” Bucky’s thumb nail found its way into his mouth, gnawing down, remembering how your brain splattered across the walls, chocking on the overpowering metallic smell in that fucking box.

“It’s unlikely.” Zemo answered cautiously. An odd line of questioning but nevertheless, he would answer.

“Have you ever seen the jug of iced tea empty?” Bucky closed his eyes remembering how many people they had killed to protect you, the violence they both shared.

“James are you quite alright?” Zemo was concerned now, this was unusual. “Has something happened to Sarah? Whatever it is, we can hand-”

“Do you believe your wife is dead?”

“Which one?” Zemo answered on reflex.

Bucky stared at Zemo, unable to witness the look on his face, yet unable force his eyes to move away. He had never spoken of it. Neither had, it was too much to handle. Too painful. Zemo’s face reflected on his own features, of hate, of anger, of agony, of bitter regret. Both as lost as each other, both searching for you, and not quite finding you. The unspoken silent glaring elephant that was always in the room, taunting them both.

“No.” Zemo answered coolly. Bucky shook his head, matching Zemo’s words, feeling the same sorrow, anger, frustration, confusion. Bucky knew that once he told Zemo he couldn’t unsay it, he couldn’t take it back. Exhaling the anxiousness away, knowing he couldn’t keep this from him, he turned the laptop to face Zemo. A match for that fingerprint was found almost as soon as Zemo entered the room.

“Neither do I.”

–

You were in an undisclosed location in Washington with Victor and Sharon Carter who was feeding him intel. Turns out Sharon Carter was the Power Broker in your world too. Peggy Carter would roll in her grave. Then again she did employ Nazi scientists. You were feeling jittery, skittish. The very next day was your third year with Hydra. Another celebration of your life was looming. Zemo had obviously given up, for reasons that would never be disclosed to you. As long as Rebecca was safe, then you could withstand that this was your life now. Oh and Bucky had decided to kill you again for reasons that you would never know. Everything was just so shit, so unwarranted all of the time. Victor was on edge too, you refused to see any other universes, which meant more time sleeping while he was off fighting Kang who literally had endless variants and wouldn’t give up and all the rest of the horror that plagued earth. That and he hated your birthday as much as you did. As Victor took notice of whatever you said, he didn’t try to convince you, would just ask, you would refuse and then that was that. There was no more to see, nothing that needed to be seen, you were done. This life is quite enough, thank you.

“You look well considering.” Sharon offered as you left with Victor. What the fuck is she on about? You hid your face of bewilderment, not giving her an answer verbally or physically, you turned and walked with Victor down the hallway out of the building.

“Are you always so rude to your friends?” Victor asked astonished at your behaviour.

“Friend? I’ve never met Sharon, not in this world anyway.” You kept walking, head down, irritated by everything. You only looked back when you noticed Victor had stopped, his chest was heaving, his eyes were a deep dark flaming inferno. His cloak swooped as he barged back into the office that held a surprised Sharon Carter.

“Sharon, remind me, when did you meet my companion here?” Victor gestured to you, his fingers flexed as he crossed his hands in front of him, as if he were holding back, a perfect picture of the calm before the storm.

“A party, when I was still with shield.” She answered effortlessly. Only shield had fallen years before when you were rescued, “Shit no a few years after that, Christmas. You remember.” Sharon gave you a look that spoke to you, she was asking you to lie as she flipped through the files in front of her with a belligerent stance. Victor knew you were in a coma then and half the world had been blipped. You didn’t correct her, you let her dig herself into a hole. Turning her voice into something softer, into something that almost sounded as if she were concerned. “Your memory is fuzzy, it must be so hard.”

The fucking audacity.

Your temper didn’t need to boil over. Victor’s filled the room, quashing everything in its path. Victor didn’t really care whether people lied or not, you waited, there was something more going on here, something told you to stay, to watch this play out. “I’m sorry Sweetheart.” Victor sounded carnal. “I became impatient in my quest to find you. Sharon here, sought me out. Assured me that you could be found, with the help of Hydra.”

Sharon sold you out to Hydra.

Victor could have found you without that agreement, without your birthday, you were sure Hydra would have asked for more but it was all he gave them. Sharon gave you away. Knowing what Hydra would do. A betrayal that came from a woman no less. You suffered for what? The exchange of information? What the fuck did she get that was worth your torment? Then she had the fucking gall to belittle you, to mock sympathy for your fragmented memory. She goaded Victor unknowingly. Sharon spluttered with fear as Victor stalked towards her. “I, I-”

Victor laughed darkly, wrestling against her fruitless squirming to face you, to look into the eyes of the woman she had condemned. This was no longer a matter of saving humanity for Victor, it was intimate, special even, you could feel it in the air, see it in his dangerous smile, hear it in his condescending laughter, see it in his enticing green eyes. The anticipation, the joy of taking a life.

“HELP ME!” Sharon shouted at you pleading, but she couldn't hide the desperation forming in her watery eyes.

Why?

Why should you? The only effect of her words being the flutter of your eyelashes from her pathetic screaming. Why help someone who was shifting victims of Hydra right back into their path? Was Bucky next? Wanda? Who else? How many people could she torture by being free to carry on? How many would suffer? Sharon was responsible for you missing Rebecca’s life. How much more damage could this pitiful creature do? The woeful thing in front of you sobbing apologies, begging for her life. One word and you could save her, hell one clench of your fingers to stop Victor and she would live.

“See you in hell Miss Carter.” Victor sounded feral as he clamped his hands around her head. You didn’t feel a thing as her eyes popped out of her skull, not a single ounce of remorse as her gut-wrenching scream turned into a slow gurgle. Not a hair rose as her blood splattered across your face. No disgust as her jaw fell from her face hanging on by a single muscle. No nausea as she dropped to the floor with a sickening crunch. No grimace as you watched her take her last empty breath, with a blank expression on your face. Were you supposed to feel sorry for her? Grief at the loss of life?

Sharon deserved to die.

Next Part: https://www.tumblr.com/zemossunshine/698931589160337409/sunshine-chapter-40?source=share

[in-tua-deep]

Are you into my hero academia? What about an AU or crossover with tua?

UHHHH I am technically, like, peripherally? I watched some seasons of the show like two or three years ago and since then have simply absorbed all content through osmosis, reading fanfiction that has canon events, and my sister telling me about the arcs of her fav characters lmao

so a crossover hmmm

First of all you'd have to like, establish whether bnha is an alternate universe or just The Future If No Apocalypse with quirks being traced back to the descendants of the kids born without mothers

So let's say it's that - the glowing baby was the "first quirk" but the truth is people had powers before that. But - well, the Umbrella Academy was obviously a marketing gimmick to those in the future! There were even comics based on them

In the future, you might find some of those comics in museum exhibits dedicated to depictions of powers in the pre-quirk era, but they're just fun depictions and much less popular than, oh, DC or MCU comics which are also in the exhibits!

End of s2 doesn't happen I guess in this au?? No sparrow academy at least lmao. So, the Umbrella Academy stop the apocalypse (again) and the Commission threat is? Neutralized? Whatever. They decide to jump back to the future

Five warns them that time travel is a crapshoot, that he has no fucking idea when they'll land beyond some nebulous "future" because Five can at least control the direction if not exactly how long

Also, Five is like. Super tired. Incredibly tired. Homeboy still has a healing gut wound, time traveled twice, has been jumping all over the place, gotten even more injured, experienced paradox psychosis, and managed to undo time all in the space of like, two weeks. There actually more than that but we don't have time to get into how fucking tired Five is from his ~Month of Hell

Like genuinely this is like putting someone almost delirious from lack of sleep in the driver's seat of a car and expecting to get to your destination in one piece

But hey, the siblings are like "do it uwu" and Five has sacrificed everything for them already so why not get behind the wheel again

So Five jumps them, and of course something goes wrong because Five has pushed his powers like a great big rubber band and honestly it was only a matter of time before he lost his grip and it snapped back to hit him

So here be the umbrella academy: spilled out into the future like a cup of bad coffee.

Five probably isn't in too good of shape tbh, like they're hundreds of years in the future (but hey at least confirmation of no apocalypse am I right) in a world full of superpowers and Five is like. bleeding from his ears and nose probably idk

Let's handwave a little bit - Reginald made them all polyglots so the squad all speak varying levels of Japanese. Allison is the best at it, Five is second best but tends to use more archaic words bc he had missions in Japan back when he was with the commission, and Klaus is third best.

(Ben is the worst bc he decided when he was 16-and-dead that he didn't have to do anything regarding lessons and maintenance and hasn't given a shit since - but also he's dead so)

So you have a bunch of weird adults with a bleeding child in like, an alley who have appeared from nowhere

so of course heroes get involved

Anyway, the squad get taken in and Five is conscious but like, barely? And he's not going to let himself get separated from his siblings again fuck-you-officer and there is a lot of confusion

anyway detective tsukauchi ends up getting involved and ends up having to hear this batshit story and be like "...truth." which sends all kinds of people scrambling because fucking time travel? Like yeah, it's been theorized to be a possible quirk but there's no recorded cases of any sort of time travel that is for more than 24 hours let alone hundreds of years

"I'm an adult." Five says sourly, "I just happened to be returned to my 13 year old body when I time traveled one time."

"True." Tsukauchi says, feeling his soul leave his body, but like. absently. the way he does when he's called in at 2am after getting off of work at midnight.

"I'm 58." Five says.

"Lie." Tsukauchi says, because this is a headcanon hill I will die on.

"I'm probably 58, but it was hard to keep track. I'm at least 50." Five corrects.

"True." Tsukauchi sighs like these six (seven? they keep referring to another sibling and Klaus said 'ghost' like that was fine and it registered as true and Tsukauchi is not nearly paid enough for this) are not giving him a migraine by just existing

on the bright side there's like, probably protocols in place for individuals who are Legally Chronologically Adults but thanks to quirks are Not Physically Or Not Mentally Adults with tests to determine if the individual needs a guardian or not

though i'm gonna be honest idk if Five would pass the test bc he literally cannot take care of himself at all, has never paid taxes or understands how to exist legally, and also his emotional maturity is stunted as all hell. also like. we don't actually know how much being in his thirteen-year-old body affects his mental state but yeAH Five is vibing

anyway Tsukauchi probably phones a friend on this bullshit because Time Travel Child alone is probably enough for the Hero Commission to be like "find a way to control and use it or nuke it from orbit" and that's not even touching whatever the fuck Klaus is doing (shit gets real once 'dead men tell no tales' stops being true) let ALONE Allison's whole deal

on the bright side like, at least Vanya isn't getting side-eyed that much bc Big Destructive Quirks aren't exactly unknown? if vanya wanted to i guess quirk suppressors exist for that until extensive training on how to control a super powerful quirk happens

Tsukauchi in the group chat: Aizawa please I am literally begging you to take this bullshit on

Aizawa: in this economy? with my class?

RatGod: lol we'll take them ;3c

Aizawa: no

Anyway they probably end up having to live at UA while Five insists on trying to get them home still and everyone else is like "oh hey we used to be child soldiers as well! (:" and Aizawa is like "i hate everything about this and everything about all of you but also like nedzu is making me interact with you so :/"

nedzu is out here vibing like "lol i just don't want the hero commission to get their little paws on these time traveling fuckers, i think you should make then teaching assistants or something"

honestly the siblings are probably like. figuring out how to function in the bnha universe and getting like, legally registered and stuff while Five ferally refuses bc that's like saying he's giving up on getting them home and he can do this

Recovery girl tries to heal him a little when he arrives and he passes out for two weeks like, immediately bc homeboy is running on fumes and spite at this point

also i think on principle it would be REALLY FUNNY if the squad got to tag along with the class bc like. Five is thirteen and the class are all 15. this does not sound like a large age gap. anyone who has interacted with teenagers know that the class would squint at Five and be like "who is this sassy lost middle schooler."

I feel like when I was a sophomore we were still like "freshman... babie" even though we were literally only one year older.

i think the difference between the umbrella academy and school kids would be pretty funny like. objectively the bnha kids are lowkey child soldiers?? like they're 15 and fighting villains but like, there's all this red tape and laws and stuff but,,, deku still be breaking his limbs in a child fighting ring against equally superpowered children for like. entertainment and sponsorships sooo

but also like Five would be like "oh cool when is the experimentation class"

"the what"

"you know, when your powers are pushed real hard by putting you in different terrible situations while your dad and sibling stand by with clipboards writing down the exact voltage it takes before you can't use your powers anymore when being electrocuted"

"hound dog's office is right there. therapy is available to you at any time. i need you to know this."

all might calls Luther "my boy" like one (1) time and Luther just breaks down crying probably because he is starved for positive attention

klaus and midnight get along like a literal house on fire, aizawa tried his best to keep them apart for as long as possible but god damn

(klaus: your name is shimura nana??

all might: immediately dies choking on blood)

i feel it absolutely necessary to point out that aizawa, present mic, and midnight are all like, 30? and the umbrella academy are all between 29-early 30s? they are PEERS but like. the umbrella academy are more chaotic due to childhood trauma

the umbrella academy probably get offered to like. also train to be heroes. i mean,, there HAS to be some sort of track for people who change careers right?? you don't have to cement your future as a hero when you're 15 i'm sure there must be something and the squad already have experience if they want to go be legal heroes

diego probably does at least?? diego just vibes honestly. diego gets momo to make knives during a team exercise and they just go feral on everyone else and it ends with diego highfiving momo and someone getting way to close to being stabbed for comfort

Five might just be. legally enrolled as an Actual Student? But also i think it's funny to picture the entire squad just. all in the back of the classroom with luther trying to fit into a high school desk as they take notes on the laws of The Future surrounding heroics

every word out of the umbrella academy's mouths just make everyone more concerned on principal but like, five and klaus are probably the worst offenders. Klaus just says whatever comes to mind with no filter and Five doesn't get what people would consider to be abnormal anymore like

Five: yeah our dad bought us when we were babies and experimented on us throughout our childhood in order to make an elite team of child soldiers superheroes, it happens

Todoroki: ...have you heard of quirk marriages?

izuku probably has an aneurism bc he's is the only person who might recognize them from the comics because you know ya boy extensively researched the idea of heroics in pre-quirk eras (batman was an inspiration alright???) and might dredge up a memory of a less popular comic series

Five: I can time travel but it is very hard, which is why we are hundreds of years in the future. And why I look like a child.

Kaminari: so are you a kid or not?

Five, serenely: whatever is most convenient for me at any given moment

Mina: hell yeah game the system

they have a brief lesson on astronomy and Luther raises his hand like "ooh! i was isolated on the moon for four years and did SO MUCH research" and then just gets up and starts infodumping like way too much information on the moon

Izuku sitting there like "damn if quirks hadn't popped up we could have achieved so much in terms of space travel. please tell me more giant man who lived in pre-quirk era."

Vanya finds out about the quirkless and is like "oh mood that genuinely sounds like my childhood, being ordinary in a house full of extraordinary people, and then i found out that i did have powers but only much later in life after i had already been emotionally scarred by the experience"

deku: vanya we have so much in common

iida and uraraka: concerned noises

aizawa: hound dog. therapy with hound dog for all of you.

there's probably some conflict with like, the hero commission wanting to get their hands on the time travelers?? but probably especially five and klaus as a) time travel and b) ghosts (the hc def has bodies they would like to stay buried)

five has a pavlovian reaction to anything with 'commission' in the name and hates them on site, probably plays into his age in order to become a ward of UA or something to protect him from the commission a little bit.

(this makes nedzu Five's legal guardian. aizawa has his resignation papers all prepped in a drawer marked 'in case of emergency' but let's be real, if nedzu wants to take over the world aizawa should probably be on the rat-bear's side of things :/)

five: ah, i do recall the inhumane experimentation that we were subjected to

nedzu, who was experimented on: haha same hat! want me to dig up the location of reginald hargreeves's remains so you can spit on them?

klaus: nah no worries we dumped them out in the courtyard unceremoniously like, a while back. how long ago varies for each of us because of time travel!

luther: you said hound dog's office was down the hall and to the right?

on the bright side, Luther probably feels like. way less self conscious about his body, partially bc of his fighting and all that in the 60s but also bc !! now he genuinely doesn't feel like a freak. no one even gives him a second glance. one of the teachers looks like a slab of cement with a face. gang orca looks Like That. there is literally a student with an entire bird head and goth aesthetic. Luther does not stick out at all

allison and shinso bond over having "villainous" voice-based quirks

allison and shinso having worn muzzles at some point in their youth as punishment 🤝

aizawa probably helps train vanya as well with the whole, being able to erase a world ending quirk safely thing he's got going on which makes for a very nice safety net

i don't think vanya would want to be a hero at the end of things though. maybe the assistant teacher in the music class or something?? all vanya wants is to be able to not end the world

i feel like as time goes by, five brings up trying to get home less and less. part of that is because like,,, genuinely what do they have to go back to?? Allison has Claire, but like. I'm 100% sure the first thing she did in the future was try track down Claire's records and found out Claire was like. fine. became an adult, had a family, probably became the ancestor of the first "quirked" kids who officially popped up after light baby. had a good life, died at an old age etc. etc.

they start settling into the bnha world with like, "we can always hop aboard the five express into where the fuck ever" as a plan Z if things go completely pear shaped (again)

i'mma be real, five himself doesn't give a fuck as long as there is a) no apocalypse and b) his family is alive. Like that's it. His bar is so incredibly low and yet his life keeps fucking trying to limbo under it

i just think it would be funny to have like, Five trying to get along with his "peers" and make friends while the siblings do the same but like, in the staff room

also think it would be funny for five to just walk into the staff room and get coffee occasionally.

a teacher: why is a student in here -

Five, sipping coffee: i'm an adult

nedzu like "what kind of guardian would i be if i didn't teach my new son all the tunnels around ua so he can pop out wherever"

five like "hey new dad can i put stashes of supplies all around ua of weapons, money, food, and other assorted things that might be useful if one needed to fight or make a run for it" and nedzu is like "haha just put your list of what supplies you want in your go bags on my desk and i'll critique it later!"

anyway a bnha/tua crossover would be incredibly chaotic but probably very funny

[animefreak1145]

Church Bells(Adler x Bell!Reader x Woods)

Previous Intel | Next Intel

Fourth Intel | Break

Description:

The world ended for Bell after Cuba.

The whole world than followed soon after.

Zombies AU | Drabbles

Warnings/Tags: Mature Rating, Graphic Violence, Dark Themes, Trauma, Body Horror, Gore, Major Character Death, Brainwashing, Post!Cuba, Pre!Solovetsky, No Solovetsky, Female Bell, Older Man/Younger Woman

Words: 1.6k

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“Are you almost done on your end, Mason?!”

“Just about!” Mason called out to Sims, being hasty as he quickly put cans of food from the store within the bag as shots were filling the empty dark place, growls and snarls accompanying it along with bodies that would fall from Sims, you, or Mason if a stray grey rotting hand got too close to the Alaskan bred man. “You got it on your end, Bell?”

You were trying to distract the stray few zombies within the store, wishing to keep your distance and only wishing to use your trusty knife instead of bullets if you could. You’re wearing leather like Sims but you rather wish to not risk it on this run. You prided yourself in being cautious when you needed to be. Sims was by the doors of the store, guarding and trying to keep the stray zombies wishing to come inside as best he could. But corpses are attracted to noise despite how Sims was using a silencer. Their vehicle could only be so quiet.

You struck at a snapping corpse wishing to get your arm with your knife, digging into it’s eye with a squelching sound before quickly pulling back. Droplets of blood on your face and clothes from the motion as the body fell and with it, it’s dead scent. You didn’t care though, instead focusing on what else they may need.

Sims covered ammunition and medical. Mason food—whatever they can find. You also covered food, and anything that you believe could help in one way or another.

You checked the shelves once more and your bag with a quick scan, keeping mind of the three corpses stretching their arms towards you to get you as they stumbled on their legs clumsily. Unashamed. You imagine anyone would be if they were hungry.

You just happened to care that they’re hungry for your flesh, you thought darkly as you kept yourself moving and measuring the surroundings for anymore possible surprises.

They’ve already been gone enough. If anything, they can try to clean this store another time. The sun is starting to fall.

A dangerous thing.

“Might as well have,” you replied in a loud voice, from here you can see Mason nod as he moves around to your aisle, military bag that some might call a gym bag over his shoulder and zipped. You maneuvered around in a quick step to get rid of the corpses momentarily and began to move back to where Sims was. You seeing Mason doing the same, stray shots coming out of his own gun as they slowly made their exit from the well stocked but slowly dwindling store. You continuing from another stray stab to a zombie’s head, this time between the brows before you kicked it’s dead and heavy body back towards the zombies behind it—the corpses falling and making pathetic surprised snarls. “We can come back another time. They’ll just keep coming here if we stay here any longer.”

“Shit,” Sims drawled between shots, all dripping sarcasm and with sweat on his brow like you and Mason. “I’m all for that! I’m not here to become a fleshy buffet for them. Although I admit I always have been a leg man myself when it comes to food.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the dark joke and Mason didn’t either as he snorted as they slowly came closer to the front door where Sims stood guard, still dozens of feet away.

“You should know that breasts are always the best part, Sims.” Mason joked, a stray bullet getting into a corpses head as he passed a turned over shelf with open cans and ignoring the flies and ants around the turned over food. “In everything I imagine.”

“You guys are the worst,” you laughed along with their stray chuckles and apologies before being cut off when another handful of zombies seemed to appear, almost grabbing you by the bag which you promptly dodged. Doing a stray stab and shot to one before quickly moving as you put a hand to the bag you had over your shoulder protectively. Woods would kill you if he found out the tools he needed to fix his motorcycle were found by you only for you to lose it. Or rather curse at you. Firm yet warm hands on your shoulders as he would shake you and call you crazy with some sort of moniker. Before he would stop and take a real look at you, hands still on you and lingering. He’s been growing to do that a lot. And you don’t mind. Woods is different. You side stepped around a few more, Mason doing the same and trying to save his bullets as well, Sims making the doors slowly clear so you and a mason can pass through. “Alright, Sims! Get ready to start the—“

You paused when your eyes strayed towards the cashier counter to your right. A little off from the door and shadowed due to the growing lack of daylight. Behind the counter that you imagine the cashier could enter from the back without needing to jump over it, stood various forms of snacks and drinks. Little packs as well as some stray medicine but you didn’t focus on that. Just on the stray small box of carton that in the past young people would have to show their ID in order to get the craving.

You thought of shaky hands. Flexing often to hide it or using arms to cross to appear as if never shook. You thought of hands subtly crinkling your papers to hide it too as you carefully explained the still working plan. You thought of weeks of withdrawal.

You moved.

“Wha—Bell!” Mason called, seeing you dash past zombies to reach said shadowy counter and not going through the door. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?! We got what we need!”

You ran towards the counter, saying you missed something as Mason cursed(he curses a lot you realized when it comes to killing these things. You reminded yourself to never cross the man.) along with Sims but had your back of zombies decided to try to get you but were instead attracted to the noise Mason and Sims were making.

“I think she forgot the memo that she wrote about coming back another time!” Sims complained but they were doing good, a few stragglers of zombies were all that’s left.

Mason didn’t say anything, only strayed his eyes towards you as he held his gun to see you behind the counter after jumping over it. His eyes spotting what you grabbed with a narrow and his jaw clenching as you put it carefully into your bag. Only to seem to get distracted by something on the floor, your body jerking and Mason’s eyes widened as he ran towards you.

“Bell!”

You tried to pull away from the prone zombie that hid under the counter, it’s death grip tight on your ankle as you grunted to get it off. Before brandishing your knife with a whirl and killing it by putting it through it’s head twice. Sighing once only to be grabbed again from behind, pain radiating from your arm as two corpses pawed at you. Snarls and hot breath on your neck and face and drool coming on it before you elbowed them back harshly and shot them both. Your breath puffing, chest heaving and hair up everywhere.

You put a hand to your empty head, eyes on the ground before grabbing your beanie/ski mask and put it back. You looking at where the zombie grabbed at your arm momentarily before letting your leather jacket go over it protectively. Leather has it’s benefits.

You saw Mason growing near, but you nodded at him you were alright as you jumped over the counter. You and him quickly coming towards Sims, getting into the car and started the drive back to the safehouse. Until next time.

You felt Mason look back at you, you sitting in the back seat and looking past the decrepit scenery. You can feel Sims looking at you too by using his rear view mirror.

You moved a hand to your bag, putting a hand out with the cigarette carton in front of Mason as he slowly took it. You didn’t look away from the window.

“I didn’t grab that. You did. Or Sims. It happened to be near what we needed.”

“Bell,” Mason began in what you read to be his nagging as well as no nonsense tone. “You risked a lot for this. You didn’t see that meat bag—“

“I didn’t risk anything,” you cut in stubbornly. Looking at how they passed a graffiti building that said ‘No Way Out’ and the windows and doors were boarded up. You turned your gaze to meet Mason’s hard yet conflicted ones, seeming he wishes to say something but is holding back. “Promise me. Don’t tell Adler I got this. Sims, you got this for him. It was your idea.”

Mason slowly let out a breath, moving in his seat to face the front and rubbing a hand to his face as he leaned back. He seemed to be muttering about something but you couldn’t exactly hear it.

“I promise, Bell.”

He sounded tired but you’ll take it as you tried to find Sims eyes in the rear view mirror.

It was silent a beats passed and you didn’t waver. Sims stare on you as he seemed to try to read you and failing or just bewildered at what he’s seeing.

“. . . As long as I’m not the one who’s going to tell him who’s going to use the shower the longest today, sure. I gotchu.”

You relaxed your shoulders that you didn’t even know were tense, exhaling in relief before turning back towards the scenery. Even as Sims and Mason’s glanced at you often, you were oblivious.

You scratched at the places of bites in your nightmare.

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A/N: Took longer than planned but Happy Halloween! Guess I just don’t know how to write drabbles 🥲 It’s okay. I’ll do my best to finish this story.

Tell me if you wish to be tagged or not to be tagged.

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[joannasteez]

𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: EZ Reyes x Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: Mature Themes.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.7k

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𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @my-rosegold-soul @appropriate-writers-name @est1887 @xladymacbethx @blessedboo @brownsugarcoffy @elektriknachosss @queenbeered

Let me know if you’d like a tag!!!

✞

Your annoyance was simmering, daring to merge into the depths of some irreversible state of agitation. The engine of the classic Dodge Charger RT in your possession had, with incredibly poor timing, began to knock. The unsavory noise resonating into the thick air of the street, stilled heat of the day pushing back the regular ebb and flow of the Santo Padre streets to make way for the obnoxious sound of your engine. Your head was spinning, dazed by the bitter humidity and a steady brew of fear trembling in your fingers to dance just under the surface of your skin. The classic car was given by your father, who'd gotten it from his father, the mass of glistening matte black metal of significant value. If the engine failed, you'd be reduced to tears, wading in the dread of some existential crisis.

Your grandfather had had this car for twenty years, the imprint of his essence etched into the leather seats, and when he became grey and withered, he relinquished it to your father for another fifteen years, till finally, it was yours.

You pulled over just as the last knock sounded, the tremble in your fingers worsening. Your eyes welled, sure to leave a soft red glassiness. The need for air consumed you, the space to walk freely about, a puff of smoke or two maybe.

The pavement was hard under your feet, slam of the door accented by vexation. You picked behind your ear, that nicely rolled spliff safely kept and waiting to be lit. The lighter in your front pocket an easy grab, the flicker of orange a short friendly blaze as it singed the paper. The pull you took was slow, measured, as if to savor this minuscule moment of stillness that lived among others not so still. Not so peaceful. With release, you blew into the air, dried eyes taking in the vast blue of the sky. The never ending expansion blurring your vision as your mind sifted through slim courses of action. If you could just get the car to your garage, then you could figure the battery out on your own, saving time you didn’t have on a mechanics trips you couldn’t afford. All you needed was a—

"Need a boost?"

"Yes". The answer was so quick, it nearly gave you whiplash. The tension in your bones dissipating as you got rid of the sizzling flame around your spliff.

The stranger spun his car from its position just beside yours, the hood of it now facing yours head on before he turned it off and got out.

"Thanks so much for this".

"No problem. It's a nice ride you got, don't really see too many classics rolling around Santo Padre much", he said, eyeing the shine of the paint job. His fingers skimming the hood before he lifted it. "Where'd you get it?"

You step closer to him, a grin stretching your lips at his admiration. The RT was your pride and joy, the height of your ego bursting through to rise above some invisible ceiling whenever folks gave it compliments and stares of approval. "My dad had it for a while, gave it to me when he couldn't keep up with it anymore".

With a nod, he retrieved the cables from his trunk, the wide stretch of his back shifting just under the white fabric of his t-shirt to reveal the curve and ripple of muscles. They traveled down his arms, the bulge of them mixing with defined veins that ran across thick powerful looking fingers. He stretched one of those hands out toward you.

"Ezekiel Reyes".

You considered his hand for a moment, slipping it into your own as your eyes racked him with all the subtlety you could muster. It mustn't have been enough because that innocent friendly smile he gave you had turned into something more knowing. He knew you were checking him out but he didn't mind much. "Y/N".

His thumb skimmed the back of your hand just before letting go, turning his attention to attaching the cables to both cars properly. You minded his movements with the cables closely, triple checking the order in which he connected them with a hawks eye, a concentrated intensity that your dear old Charger RT deserved. Abruptly then, like the quickness of a blink or some single strike of lightning, a thought came to you. "Wait, not Reyes as in Carniceria Reyes?"

"Yeah it's my pops shop",

"Felipe's a real sweet guy. It's not everyday you can look through a deep book collection while the butcher cuts up your dinner". You paused, giving the beauty of his face another glance. "He should've warned me though, never told me both his sons were so handsome".

"You met Angel", he stated, a low dip in his tone. Was it disappointment?

"A couple of weeks ago. He was passing through when I stopped by to pick up somethings. He's a real charmer your brother, but I wouldn't worry. I don't think he's messed up your chances just yet", you flirted.

The assurance produced from him a toothy grin. "I'm not worried".

Silence took ahold of you then, anticipation of the moment charging the pressure in your chest to fall straight to your gut. ‘Please work' you whispered while swinging the door wide to slide into the warm leather of the drivers seat. With the key in the ignition, you twisted your wrist forward, a huff of relief puffing from your chest when the engine roars to life. You close the door quick, that relief bubbling under your skin, your head sticking out the window.

"Thanks again Reyes".

He stepped to the window, those warm endearing eyes taking in the summer glow of your face. His tongue slipped just over the plump flesh of his bottom lip. It was a rosy color, the curving dip of it enticing. He liked the way you said his last name.

"It's no problem".

You put your RT in reverse, backing away from his broad body. "See you around?"

"Maybe", he called.

You speed off, the rev of the engine blending into the ebb and flow of the town once again. Existence dipping into the horizon.

✞✞✞✞✞

You'd saw him again at some hole in the wall you frequented at. The smooth slow tempo of some classic 70s song strumming through the stereo to seep into your ears richly like fresh honey. The atmosphere was subdued, the short clinks of beer bottles and incomprehensible murmurs of frivolous conversations sating the air. It was the perfect place to think, to allow your mind to wander directionless through the never ending abyss of happenings and circumstances that had presented themselves down through the week. You made idle chitchat with the bartender about a laundry list of things of no particular significance, small smiles and light chuckles ringing from you both every now and then.

The night was going good, till you felt a creeping touch just at the low end of your back.

"Let me buy you a drink". The voice was rusted, withered by too much tobacco.

You held up the beer in your hand. "I've got already, I'm good".

This guy was tipsy, blood red creeping into his eyes, body swaying just the slightest bit. "Don't be like that, let me buy you another".

"I said I'm good", you asserted. The coolness of the bottle creating a tingling sensation in your hand. You'd crack it over his head if he touched you again.

"Sorry I'm late, everything alright?", another voice asked, but this one you knew. That deeply textured tone wrapping sweetly around your senses. You tore your irritated gaze set on the almost-drunk guy, softening it as you took Ezekiel in. He looked slightly different, refreshed it seemed, or maybe it was just his barbered hair. A Mayans kutte rested over him, comfortable like a second layer of skin, the black leather accentuating the swell of his muscles. You'd have to figure out later why your eyes diverted to them so often, they were becoming a hindrance to your thinking.

"Everything's good now", you played. Giving him a light peck to the cheek to sell the story. His arm wrapped around you in what appeared to be some reflexive reaction, all natural like he'd done it countless times before. When he realized Ezekiel wasn't leaving, the guy swayed away in true tipsy fashion. Mumbling incoherent things with a griped attitude. Ezekiel took his chair, the proximity of it in regards to yours making the point of his knee knock and slide the smooth plain of your jeans. You watched him take a glance over the bar before he called for a beer.

"Thanks for that".

"No problem", the corner of his lip turning up. "Seems like you've been needing my help a lot lately".

"Don't flatter yourself Reyes, this is just a coincidence".

"Any reason why you're at a bar alone?"

Your face screwed up in a show of confusion, but you could guess quickly the reason for the question. "Any reason why you're at a bar alone?"

He sipped at his beer. "Outside gets loud sometimes y'know, hectic. It's quiet in here. Good place to think".

"Exactly".

"A little unsafe for you though no?" And there it was.

"Everywhere's unsafe for me Ezekiel, I'm a woman. I mean I couldn't guarantee safety in my own home if I wanted to, but that's just how the world works". You paused, mischief rising in your face. "Don't worry though, I've got a little surprise for anyone who wants to test their luck".

"Oh really".

"Yeah, you men are dangerous out here. I gotta be prepared always".

His brows furrowed. "That's a bit of a big generalization to make".

"But if it's true it's true. Name one thing a man doesn't get dangerous about. Doesn't even have to be rejection", you say, turning to fully face him.

He considers the question for a moment, staring into the color of your eyes as if he'd find the answer in them. "Love".

"A man who loves, whose in love, would do any and everything, no matter how mad the shit is. He'd risk lives, his life even. If that's not dangerous then I don't know what is".

A speck of something lit in the hazel of his eyes. As if your words had brought to the present some memory buried deep within the grave of his soul. What you said hit rather close, closer than expected. "Who is she?"

"Doesn't matter, it's in the past".

"Humor me".

His jaw ticked before he spoke. "Her names Emily, but that shits all just history now. Doesn't matter". He turned the focus from himself. "What about you. Whose going all reckless about you".

"Who says he exist"

"You just did, I never specified who in particular".

So much for playing dumb. "His name is Jason".

"Sounds like an asshole".

You snort, the teasing of a headache coming as you thought on the insufferable man that was Jason. "He is. He's got that weird alpha male thing about him. Has to be in control of everything, doesn't know when to leave well enough alone".

The muted energy of the bar rose between the two of you, each taking quiet sips of your beer. You took notice of the way he surveyed the room from where he sat. That golden gaze sifting through the space and over bodies with quick ease. He was assessing, the gears in his head turning, calculating and considering every and all the possibilities of danger. It reminded you of someone.

"How long were you in for?", you ask.

"How'd you know?"

"You've been on the defensive since you sat down, lookin’ everywhere like someone's gonna up and shank you for no reason. My cousin was the same way when he got out, always looking over his shoulder". You shrugged. "Grew out of it eventually.

His eyes were a bit sullen, as if the truth would scare you. "Eight years".

"He was in for fifteen, and that prison shit is unbelievable, I mean the stories he's told me are crazy". You laugh suddenly at a memory, the resonance of it making him smile in admiration of the sound. "He did this thing for a while when he got home where he'd only have one knife, one fork and one spoon in his kitchen and I swear it was the funniest shit".

The smile falters, his body shifting awkwardly in the bar stool, embarrassed. 

"Oh my God Reyes don't tell me you've been doing the same thing".

"In my defense I live alone".

"But what if you have a special guest over, you'd be a sorry ass host", you tease.

"If you wanted to have dinner with me then just say that".

You force away the heat daring to rise in your cheeks. "We have to take a trip to home goods before I even consider a dinner with you”.

You both give hearty laughs, till the vibration in your pocket pulls your focus. With a quick slip of your phone, you realize how fast time had gone on. “Shit I gotta go, but it was real nice seeing you again Ezekiel".

"It was good seeing you too".

You press your hand against his patch, laying a sweet lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Make it home in one piece for me yeah".

"I have to. You might need me again".

"I'm counting on it".

✞✞✞✞✞

You were a joke it seemed, the universe and fate in a gaming mood, as they were using you as a source for their own amusement. Commissioning their faithful associate to do the heavy lifting of masking their scents. The two of you were at the right place, at the right time again, what a damn coincidence. Before the present week, you'd never even seen Ezekiel's face, just learning of his existence a week or so before that, and now you'd seen him twice in a matter of days. This night being the third.

He was surrounded by men who donned the same kutte as him, curious eyes swimming through the sea of bodies as they did in every other setting, till they met yours. He came to you without a second thought, eyeing the tight leather of your pants and how they clung to your thighs. The cropped cut of your vintage top revealing skin he longed to touch. Since the first time he saw you his mind raced with thoughts of your voice, visions of your lips touching his skin again, plaguing his body with the desire to have you.

You stepped away from your group of friends, meeting him half way. "You're just stalking me at this point. Not that I mind".

He clutched the openings of his kutte, that signature grin lighting his face, even with the casting over of the nights darkness. "Something told me I'd see you again. How's your RT?"

"Good, resting in my garage. I've been kinda scary about replacing the battery".

"Why?"

"I'm good with cars don't get me wrong, but something about fucking it up just makes me sick. It's a lot of history behind that car. I don't wanna destroy it".

"Understandable", he nodded. Noting the caution behind your words, the way you spoke with such passion and care about the thing you loved. It was endearing.

The heavy crunch of gravel and sand tore through the beginnings of some silent stare, an undeniable enticement brewing. It was Angel.

"I see you met this asshole already", the older Reyes said.

"I'm not an asshole Angel, just 'cause I turned you down".

He sent a smirk your way. "You didn't turn me down, we made a mutual decision that you couldn't handle me remember?"

"Right. That's exactly how it went".

A call sounded through the dewy air of the night, signifying the start of a race. You started toward a cherry red car.

"That's me", you said. In regards to the call.

Ezekiel was confused, intrigued. "You racing?"

"Yeah, the mustang", you called, strutting over to your 1970's Mustang, adding the slightest dip to your hips. Giving the brothers something to admire, before dropping low into the leather seats.

With a quick twist, the mustang roared to life, the rumble tearing through the air, growling like a fierce rolling thunder through hazy storm clouds. Another car pulled up on your right, the blue electric color of it dazzling, clashing against the fine cherry red of your own to deliver a sweet contrast for the eyes that watched on in excitement. A woman, with a dangled bandana in her hand, set herself between your car and the other, whistles of admiration thrown her way as she gave the summer evening crowd an alluring smile. At the point of her finger you revved your engine, adrenaline pumping through your veins, rushing from your chest to pulse under your skin. The leather feel of the steering wheel was smooth, the grip you held to it steady. With the downward pull of her hands she set both cars to race and you pulled your mustang swift into the night.

The road before you was a muddled darkness, the outward spreading glow of your headlights stabbing it and tearing it apart as your wheels took a glide against the smooth road. At the mark line, you shifted your car into reverse, whipping left, back into drive, soaring back down the road to where the crowd watched and waited. Their rigid bodies of anticipation lit by your headlights, bellowing screams waning under the busting sound of your revving engine. Your mustang tore through the finishing mark, the tingle of victory surging through you.

Pulling back up to the crowd, you rolled your window down, a slim roll of hundreds placed in your hand by the guy who’d set the race up. You showed up to win and now you were done.

Ezekiel and Angel were a little ways away from your car, your voice carrying over to them. "A little party at my place. You and your guys are cool to come".

They both nodded, heading to their bikes when Angel answered after you. "We'll follow you".

Ezekiel swung his leg, resting on the seat of his bike as he buckled the helmet over his head, his fingers gripping the ape hangers, feeling the vibration of the engine as he followed the sleek vibrant red of your car. The afternoon he met you, he'd been turmoiled, plagued with the natural uncertainties that came with being a member of the MC. That new patch stitched into the upper corner of his kutte had bought a sense of pride and belonging he hadn't felt in forever, it gave him drive, fueled his determination, but as the saying goes, all that glitters is not good. Expectation deceived him, the reality of all things made clear. And that reality was shoveling makeshift graves for men whose names he couldn't even remember, but he remembered yours. Committed himself to it like the loving kiss he gave to the jar that held the remnants of his mother every time he stepped a foot into his fathers house.

He found you flustered, out of yourself with anxiety in the dimming light of the afternoon, and then at the bar, body rigid, eyes wired and ready to do your worst to a guy who could barely keep his posture straight, and now he was following behind you, backing his bike toward the sidewalk that laid just in front your home.

Upon entry, the knock of the speakers bled a thumping bass that pulsated through the floors. Your home had seemed to expand with every new corner that came into view, the walls pushing back to make room for the swell and scatter of bodies. Sweet smells mixed with more pungent ones, the hazy aroma of weed slipping past him as he walked further into the house. A hand placed itself at his side. It was you.

"Can I get you a drink? A beer or something".

"Yeah a beer is cool".

You intertwined your fingers with his, leading him to the kitchen where the sound settled some. Beer bottles clinked, the air releasing as you opened them, handing one over to him.

He gave a quiet "thanks" before sipping, eyeing the way your lips wrapped around the top of the bottle to taste the liquid. They looked soft, full and alluring. He redirected his gaze before the temptation overtook him to do something impulsive that had the prospect of unnerving you. His eyes flitted to the side of your face, an illustration about two inches or so etched into your skin. He hadn't noticed it till now.

You could feel him staring as you tasted the beer, the heat of it tingling your skin. "It's a dagger".

He reached forward, thumb skimming over the finely crafted design, it was a professionals work. With the simple touch of his thumb, your nerves were riling, heat rushing to pulse under your skin, he could feel it. It drew him closer, lured him in. "Did it hurt?".

"Like hell, but when you've felt more painful shit, tattoos like this don't really compare". You lifted the hem of your top some, bringing his fingers to feel the raised skin there. Four inches or so worth of a healed gash rested under his considerate touch. "Got it when I spent a year and a half inside. Grand theft", you admitted.

The reasoning behind telling him wasn't sound in the slightest bit, but what was reasoning when Ezekiel had awakened such dormant feelings inside you. With those beautiful, sunny colored eyes and the warm hand caressing your side, you were liable to tell everything. Truths you hated and dark secrets that laid deep inside your past. You reached up to lay a kiss to those pouty lips, the feel of them mesmeric, dazing. Fulfillment burdened itself onto you, finally you'd got a taste of that rosy pink bottom lip, and now your body was calling for more. Begging for it with such longing that you licked your way through his mouth, his tongue acting in kind. It was slow and all consuming, his body pressing you into the counter to surround you.

"Come with me", your voice airy. Breathless. You lead him to the back of the house. Your room first on the right. A gasp left you when your feet left the floor, body in his arms as he laid you against the fresh feel of the sheets. You kicked your shoes off with ease but the discarding of other pieces left behind a sinking feeling, a pressure forming in your chest to push down straight into your gut. He was glorious, the plains of his skin bound by rich thick tanned muscles and long veins. The dilation of his pupils darkened the air around him, physique imposing. This is what you’d wanted, Why were you feeling so anxious all of a sudden?

"What's wrong?"

Your body had raced miles ahead of your mind and now you were trying to catch up. "I don't know, I just... I feel..."

"Nervous".

"It's sounds so stupid when you say it out loud".

"But it's not, It's natural, and I'll do whatever you want me to do. Whatever makes you feel comfortable baby".

He sounded so sure of it, it made you believe him. You laid against the pillows, beckoning him with the outstretch of your fingers. "C'mere".

He obeyed, body atop yours, your legs wrapping loosely around his waist as your head tilted up to give those lips another kiss. It was messy this time, fueled by desperation, your tongues slow to lick as they tasted each other's. The remnants of beer still there. He took hold of your lip, sharp teeth pulling before he kissed his way down to the heated flesh of your neck. There he sucked, bombarding your skin with pressure causing your hips to grind against the coarse fabric of his jeans. The thin cotton layer of your underwear leaving you to erupt with a fresh wave of need. He feathered kisses down your body, pushing your legs up and apart to open yourself for him. A shudder drove down your spine, that soft wide tongue of his licking so close to where you needed him. He peeled away your underwear leaving you bare before him.

"Talk to me baby. What do you need".

You could hear the pulse of your heart in your ears. "Take care of me Ezekiel, make me feel good".

He hummed, loving the airiness of your voice. So drenched with need for him you were. He was methodical despite the desire boiling in his blood threatening to burn through his skin, so he'd settled with toying with you for now. Giving that sweet glistening clit teasing licks. They were measured, the constraint of them existing solely to wreck you, to kill your resolve completely till you were reduced to in-apprehensible words filled with air. The wide-ness of his tongue felt so good, your nails running over the faded part of his head as your hips drew tight circles.

The teasing, the game of it all. He didn't know but you loved it so much. "That feels so good baby, so good", you praised.

Your words were disembodied, wandering in another plain of existence as they rolled off your lips. Your senses were bursting at the seems, and then reborn again to erupt on impact when he sucked against your sensitive nub, lapping your slick salaciously. As if he'd been starved for years, only just finding you now. The line of your spine arched, waist swiveling, grinding to meet his wet tongue. A low "fuck" fell in the air as your felt the rise of your impending release. With taut, rough fingers he hooked at the back of your knees, pushing them into the sheets. The action opened you completely to him, no choice but to surrender to his will and the feel of his lips as he drew you closer to the edge.

"Please, I'm so close", you whimpered. Vision splotchy, thump in your ears intensifying.

He sucked at you again, holding his lips still as your body shook. Quivering against the sheets. He reverted back to soft licks, tasting as you rode the high.

He rose when you settled, eyeing the heavy rise and fall of your chest as he did away with his jeans. "You Ok?"

It took you time to register the question but when you did, you threw a pillow at him. "You just sucked the soul out of me, don't ask me that damn question".

He laughed, watching your eyes dim in bliss. You hadn't noticed, but he'd done away with his underwear as well, the weight of him causing the bed to dip as he came up to where you laid. His thick fingers rolled you over, setting your face to rest against the pillows as your hips raised in the air to rest against the hot flesh of his length, the veined skin laying along your slit. You moaned in anticipation, pushing back against him.

He gripped your cheeks, spreading them to see the quivering flesh of your opening, the flushed pink shinning in the dim light of the room. His tongue slipped against his bottom lip again, reveling in the taste of you as he pushed in. He groaned, and you gave a single fleeting "yes" , the thickness of him giving a delicious stretch, rigid length hot as he pushed and pulled in and out of your depths in a slow manner. Wanting to test the waters same as he did moments ago before building you back up again. The squeeze of you made his chest tight, head swimming with delirium.

"You feel so good mama, so tight around me", he groaned.

His thrust were dizzying as they picked up to set a steady pace, your hips rolling and pushing to take him deeper. To reach that place in you that would force your vision to blur and be replaced by disfigured stars. You reach to lay a finger at your overstimulated bundle of nerves, rubbing the soft slick flesh with lazy pleasuring circles that spurred the knot in your gut to grow. A single tear fell to dampen the pillow, your depths tightening at how full you felt, at how unrelenting the stimulation of his strokes were.

The sharp drive of his hips made you go rigid, the vice like grip you formed around him causing him to fall into his own high. Pace going all slow sloppy to ride out the blissful feeling.

He pulled from you, both your body and his collapsing against the bed. His face formed with satisfaction, a beautiful buzz running through him. "You know what this means right?"

"What", you asked.

"We’ll have to see each other around more often now".

[broqkenhearted]

𝕸𝖞 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊

𝕸𝖞 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊: Chapter 3

𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

𝕹𝖊𝖝𝖙: Chapter 4

𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖘: Chapter 2

𝕿𝖆𝖌 𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: Look at Bottom of Chapter (you can comment or message if you want to be in my tag list) 

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: An innocent school girl is new to SOPA. She becomes friends with the President of the school and his group. Y/N sees this one group of boys and one of them intrigues her. These boys are the “badasses” of the school and act all cold. But there is more to this boy than what is seen on the outside. This boy is no other than a vampire who is in the gang named Ateez, and finds his mate, who is none other than the innocent school girl. What love will blossom between these two?

𝕲𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: bits of fluff, smut, angst, highschool au, vampire au

𝕻𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: vampire!san x reader

𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝕮𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 4,515

𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: blood, swearing, mature content (warnings beforehand)

Yunho POV

I could feel Y/N relax behind me as she snuggled herself into my back. I couldn't help but smile. She really was something else.

"Cute," I mumbled.

I hope she'll except us for who we are...

Y/N POV

The motorcycle ride ended a lot faster than I had expected. It was quite relaxing actually. I could ride all day if I could.

I hopped off the bike and took the helmet off. When I took it off, I swung my hair around in an effort to get it less tangled. I could see San staring at me as I did so. I looked over to him and it looked like his eyes just flashed purple??? I'm prolly losing my mind, so I just brushed it off. The boys invited inside their house, and may I tell you, they own a mansion. A big ass mansion to be in fact.

I was gawking at it, until I heard some of the boys chuckle.

"Holy shit, how rich are y'all?" I asked.

"A lot richer than you think," Seonghwa said cockily.

"Oh well no shit Sherlock," I responded rolling my eyes.

When we all entered the front door, the rain began to pour buckets over the city.

The house gave me an awfully sketchy vibe,  it was really dark and gloomy. "They have all this money, and they choose to live in this dark ass mansion," I thought.

"I guess I should thank y'all for making sure I don't drown in the rain," I said giggling.

"It's not a problem! In all honesty, we're surprised you walked away from Twice like that," Hongjoong responded.

"Why? They're the average obsessed bitches. Always trying to grab the popular boys' attention," I said rolling my eyes.

"Well yeah, but they won't hesitate to make your life total hell," Wooyoung sighed.

"If they seriously think I'm going to let them walk over me, they're wrong. If someone ends up dead, don't be surprised," I growled.

The guys looked at me surprised.

I sighed. "Yeah I know, I don't seem to be the person who would act like that, right? Well I'm super stiff around new people. That's why I act shy. But when people get on my nerves, shit goes down. So I'm telling y'all this now.....don't fuck with me."

"And what if we do?" Seonghwa said, smirking.

"Is that a challenge, Seonghwa?"

"Maybe...."

Immediately, I shot a serious stare at him. At first, I decided to play a stare off with him at first. I slowly walked towards him, then pounced. I tackled him to the ground and and put him in a headlock. I was in a position where I could pin his arms and legs down so he couldn't fight back.

"I told you, don't fuck with me."

At that moment, Seonghwa's eyes turned red like how San's changed earlier. I pushed him off of me and got up. I looked from Seonghwa to San in confusion.

My confused face made everyone else just as confused.

"What's wrong?" Mingi asked.

"Your eyes," I responded blandly.

At that moment all the guys except San showed faces of panic.

"Why did they turn red?"

"I think you're seeing things, Y/N."

"How could I be seeing things when it happened to San and Seonghwa?"

Yunho glared at San. San shrugged.

"Explain. I'm not stupid. You know your eyes did that. And, why the hell are you wearing clothes like that?"

"Before we say anything, please don't be scared and run off," Wooyoung sighed.

"Talk," was all I said.

The guys looked at each other as if they were trying to decide who would speak.

"Fine, I'll say it because y'all are being to big of pussies to talk," San growled. "We're vampires."

I began to laugh my ass off.

"V-Vampires?" I said between laughs. "Great joke guys."

I was suddenly pinned against a wall.

"This isn't a damn joke," San said.

His eyes were turning a dark crimson this time. I could see his fangs start to come out.

I was trying to process what was happening when San let me go.

"And before you ask, no, we aren't going to drink your blood and kill you," Jongho said.

"I should go home," I mumbled.

"You aren't going anywhere," San retorted.

"And why the hell do YOU care?" I spat.

"Are you ok?" Yunho asked.

"No, I'm not ok!" I yelled. "I fucking knew you guys were familiar. I should've known better than this."

"What do you mean?" Wooyoung replied sadly.

"What do I mean? WHAT DO I MEAN!? YOU ASSHOLES KILLED HER!" I was crying at this point.

I looked back at the guys to see their eyes change to blue. I walked over to San and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.

"You fucking murdered my best friend," I said as I threw San to the ground.

The guys were shocked. No one has ever treated San like that. San's eyes turned black. I was a bit startled to see his eyes change to that color, but I shook the feeling off.

"You asked for it bitch!" San screamed.

The guys rushed to hold him back but I stopped them.

"Don't. I'm not scared of him or what he can do. If he's going to kill me, let him. At least she won't be alone up there anymore."

Third Person POV

Y/N collapsed on the ground in tears. The boys were heartbroken. San even felt his heart hurt a little bit. The guys looked at the poor girl unsure of what to do.

"Where's the bathroom?" Y/N asked quietly.

"Down the hallway, first door to the right," Hongjoong responded.

WARNING: ATTEMPTED SUICIDE AFTER THIS POINT YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Y/N got up and followed his directions to be lead to a large bathroom. Y/N locked the door and slid down against it sobbing. Little did Y/N know, the guys could hear and see her thoughts. Soon they could smell her blood.

"Guys, is that her blood!?" Yeosang asked frantically.

Yeosang decided that he wouldn't wait for their answer and just booked it to the bathroom.

"Y/N, please open the door!"

There was no response. Not even the sound of her crying could be heard. Yeosang teleported into the bathroom to see a horrific sight. Yeosang called for the guys to come, and they all teleported in to see an unconscious Y/N in Yeosangs's arms with blood pooling out of her wrists and neck. Seonghwa, being the healer of the group dashed towards a crying Yeosang. He lifted Y/N into his arms and booked it into his room to help her. The guys turned back towards Yeosang. They have rarely seen him cry before, and the fact that he was crying over a girl he met in one day was shocking.

"I-I can't believe I'm s-saying t-this, but W-Wooyoung's right. She's d-different," Yeosang barely spoke. "She c-can't die!"

The rest of Ateez felt the same way. She was different, special even. All they knew was that they were going to protect her.

Meanwhile, Seonghwa was frantically working to stop the bleeding and stitch her up. He managed to successfully do so, and he soon found himself looking at the poor girl. He walked out of his room to meet with the very worried guys.

"I think she'll be ok," Seonghwa said.

"I can't believe she actually tried to kill herself," Wooyoung said. "How are we even going to talk to her? She said we killed her best friend, she hates us!"

The guys groaned and sighed in agreement with Wooyoung.

2 Hours Later

"Urrggh," Y/N said as she woke up.

She looked around to realize that her wrists and neck are bandaged up and that she's in an unfamiliar room. Y/N arose from the bed she was laying in and proceeded to walk out. The room was attached to the hallway, so Y/N easily found her way to the living room. She could hear the sound of male voices, so Y/N assumed it was the guys. Y/N had to use the assistance of the walls to walk, so when Y/N got to the end of the hallway, she stood there leaning against the cool wall. The boys could hear movement behind them, and when they turned around they saw you there leaning against the door frame with glossy eyes. Y/N resumed her efforts of walking but San was the first person to teleport to her. He could see the pure emptiness and sadness in her eyes and it broke him apart. Before she could reject, San picked Y/N up and carried her over to the couch. She was placed between San and Seonghwa.

"How are you feeling?" Seonghwa asked.

"I've been a lot better," Y/N said with a small smile.

The guys realized that no matter what the situation is, Y/N manages to make the situation a lot lighter and brighter.

"Y/N, we are so sorry," Hongjoong started.

Y/N sighed, "I appreciate your apology, but you should know that I probably won't forgive you for it. She was the only person who made my life have light, so not having her here is really difficult."

"You look really tired, Y/N," Yeosang said.

"I just have to move around to get my blood flow back up that's all," She said.

Y/N looked back at Yeosang to his the fear in his eyes.

"You were the person who walked in, weren't you?" Y/N asked Yeosang.

Yeosang couldn't answer her. He could only let out a quiet tear.

"Come here," she said.

Yeosang hesitantly went in her direction, and stood before her. Y/N signaled for San to get up, and San followed. She patted the now open seat next to her, and Yeosang took the spot. What Y/N did next shocked everyone in the room. She hugged Yeosang and snuggled into him.

"I'm so sorry you had to walk in to find me like that," was all she said.

Yeosang couldn't help but hug her back and cuddle with her. San was looking at the two people feeling anger and jealousy boil through his veins.

"Just because I'm not a vampire doesn't mean I can't sense your guys's jealousy. So if you want a hug you gotta fight for a spot next to me," Y/N smiled.

Y/N let go of Yeosang and sat up. Seonghwa engulfed her into a large hug. She returned the hug and rubbed his back. Soon, the rest of the boys hugged her and inhaled her addictive scent. San was the only member left. This time, Seonghwa got up and let San fill his spot. He looked at her with grey eyes and then gently hugged the girl. To San, Y/N felt so small and fragile. She fit into his arms perfectly. He never wanted to let her go. She snuggled into him closer and San looked up to the guys. He gave them a look that showed how much he cared for her. There was a peaceful silence until Yunho broke it.

"Has anyone ever told you how good you smell?"

"No, what do I smell like?"

"You smell like vanilla and roses!" Yunho exclaimed happily.

"I don't use anything that has that smell though?" Y/N announced.

"Wait that means that's your natural scent! I have never met a human that smells as good as you do," Wooyoung stated.

Y/N giggled at the compliment and her laugh made the guys' hearts melt.

"I take it you wore those outfits to hide from the sun?" Y/N asked referring to the dark outfits the guys were wearing.

"Sorta. They also hide our identities from other people. There are some people who know us for what we are we hide ourselves using these clothes," San responded.

Y/N looked at her phone to check the time, and she saw that it was about 7:30 at night. The rain has stopped awhile ago, so Y/N could go home now.

"I guess I should head out so I'm not a bigger burden than I already am," Y/N said looking at the guys.

"In the condition you're in, you're not going anywhere. If you run into other vampires, they will not hesitate to drain you," Jongho said.

Y/N nodded her head in understanding what Jongho said.

"You can sleep in my room tonight, I'll sleep on the couch," San told Y/N.

"I'm not about to let you sleep on the couch in your own home," Y/N fought back.

"Y/N you need to sleep on a bed. Especially with your injuries," Seonghwa said.

"But I feel bad!"

"It's either you sleep in his bed, or he sleeps in it with you," Mingi said.

Y/N displayed a light blush on her face and looked down.

"Where is the bedroom?" Y/N asked nervously.

"It's down the hallway, last door on the left," San chuckled.

"Oh! Before you go, here are some clothes!" Wooyoung said handing her a hoodie and boxers. "If you want to take a shower, you may."

"Thanks Wooyoung!" Y/N said giving him a hug. "I'm going to take a shower then go to bed. Night guys!"

"Night Y/N!" all the guys said together.

Y/N headed towards the bathroom she was in earlier to see a light red stain on the tile floor.

"Yikes! How could I be stupid enough to think that BLOOD wouldn't stain the tile?" Y/N said to herself aloud.

Y/N undressed herself and took the bandages Seonghwa wrapped around her off. She examined the wounds on her body then felt warm liquid run down her neck. In a split second, Y/N could hear a fist banging on the door and San's voice.

"Y/N?!? ARE YOU OK?!? WHY CAN I SMELL YOUR BLOOD-"

"Hey! It's ok! I just took my bandages off, and my stitches started to bleed a little bit. I'm fine!"

"Can I see them?" San asked.

"Hold on! I don't have any clothes on at the moment!"

When San heard those words leave Y/N's mouth, his heart rate involuntarily increased. He shook off the images running through his mind when Y/N opened the bathroom door. San walked in and shut the door behind him so the smell of her blood doesn't radiate through the house. San hurried into the bathroom so he couldn't see what Y/N was wearing. When he turned around he saw Y/N only wearing her undergarments. Without realizing, San was staring at the girl in front of him admiring her figure.

"I'm sorry about what I'm wearing. It was the only thing I could wear for you to be able to see them clearly," Y/N said with a blush.

"It's ok! I was just surprised you let me see you like this," San said.

"For some reason, my heart trusts you. Even though my head doesn't because of what happened. But I trust my heart more than my mind. The only reason why I did what I did was because my head got the best of me," Y/N confessed.

A genuine smile crept up to San's face, and his eyes turned yellow.

"Do they hurt?" San asked referring to the stitches.

"It just feels like a bruised sort of pain, but it's nothing too bad," Y/N said looking at her sliced wrists.

Blood began to run down her right wrist after she touched it.

"Ouch! That hurt a bit!" Y/N said looking at her bleeding wrist laughing.

Y/N could hear small grunts and growls coming from San and that's when she remembered he's a vampire. "Well shit. How could I possibly forget that he drinks blood?" Y/N thought to herself, giving a herself a mental facepalm as well. She headed towards the sink to wash it off, but San stopped her.

"Please don't wash it off yet," he grunted.

"Why? You can barely contain yourself at the moment."

"It smells really good and I want it to last longer," San said as he stared at the burgundy liquid.

"You want some of it, don't you?" Y/N sighed.

"Of course I do, but I couldn't do that to you."

"I appreciate that, but what would happen if I let you?"

San glanced up at Y/N's face, slightly taken aback with what she just said.

"Are you trying to hint something, Y/N?"

"I mean, it's not like you're going to bite me. It came out naturally! Besides, you look the same way as you did when you did you know what. That can only lead me to believe you haven't had any in quite awhile."

"How are you so damn smart?"

"You might be good at lying San, but you can't hide everything," Y/N said with a giggle.

"I swear to god, you're too cute. But would you actually let me have some?" San looked at Y/N seriously.

"I told you, I trust my heart more than my head."

Y/N raised her wrist once she saw the blood was about to drop onto the tile again.

"There is no way in hell I'm about to stain the tile AGAIN. So, the only way to clean it is to wash it off or you have it," Y/N said looking at her bloody wrist then to the blood thirsty vampire in front of her. "No biting, ok?"

San looked at Y/N with excitement.

"I bet you taste better than you smell!"

Y/N laughed at his statement and headed over to the sink where she could sit and make sure none of her blood can stain the dAMN TILE-

Once she was situated, Y/N signaled San to get closer to her and he followed her commands. He was now standing between her thighs looking at her eyes with his golden ones.

"Ok, your eyes keep changing color, and I have no idea what it means. Could you explain the colors to me before you start?" Y/N questioned.

"Well, my eyes should be gold at the moment which means I'm seriously holding back from getting your blood. Typically when I get a serious blood lust they turn gold. Red is anger, blue is sadness, grey is regret, purple is sexual lust, green is ecstasy, and orange is possessiveness or the feeling of wanting to protect something," San explained.

"I don't think I'll remember all of that, but I'll try my best!"

The two people laughed until Y/N realized her hand was starting to pool with blood.

"Bruh, why the hell am I bleeding so much? You stitches are seriously doing a shitty job."

Y/N raised the hand filled with blood and moved it in front of San. San looked at Y/N one last time searching for a final look of assurance, and Y/N responded with a nod.

San began by drinking what was in Y/N's hand. Her hand became a cup to encapsulate it all. The first taste for San sent him into space. The fact that he hasn't fed in awhile adds to the pleasure, but her taste was the best he's ever had. As he finished what was in her hand, he looked up at her. Y/N could see his fangs and her blood all over his chin. His eyes were a vibrant gold.

"Looks like I was right. You're the best I've ever had."

"Yeah ok," Y/N said.

"Y/N if you were to leave in this state you would be dead by now. Or you would be kidnapped and used as a living blood bag. You're blood is unique. It is so much sweeter than what most humans have."

"Well lucky for you, San, my hand, neck, and wrist is covered in it. Now you can't complain from withdraws."

"I'm not complaining about it either!" San exclaimed.

"Remember San, I need to take a shower. We have classes tomorrow."

San growled.

"Can't we just skip tomorrow?" San whined.

"And do what?"

"Let you heal, Ateez aren't the only vampires at school, and I sure as hell ain't letting anyone else have you if you bleed."

San's eyes flashed orange in a sign of possessiveness.

"Fine, I'll skip. You are acting like a over protective human boyfriend," Y/N chuckled.

"Well the fact that I am drinking your blood connects me to you. I can sense your change in emotions now. The guys can because of what we are, but me doing that makes me the closest out of all of them."

San returned to cleaning you up, and now he moved onto her neck.

She tilted her head to give him more access. He leaned towards her and could see her vein protrude slightly.

"Tell me if this hurts ok? I'm going to go over the stitches."

Y/N nodded her head and he began to lick the blood running down her throat. She couldn't help but let out a soft moan.

"San," she whispered.

San stopped what he was doing and looked at the girl in front of him. His eyes changed to a beautiful shade of purple.

"What are you doing to me, Y/N?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know how I am. I'm really cold to people. But when you came along both me and the guys couldn't help but feel attracted to you. And now here I am. Drinking the best blood I've ever had, from the girl I'm interested in."

Y/N jumped off of the counter and looked in the mirror to see no blood left.

"Damn could you enjoy it any more?" Y/N said with sarcasm.

"I definitely could, babe."

Y/N blushed at the nickname. She's never been called that before. She could easily get used to it though.

"I need to take a shower now, San."

"Can I take it with you?"

"W-What?"

"You heard me. I want to take a shower with you."

"Why?"

"I don't know. This whole blood drinking thing just makes me want to be around you 24/7."

"Ok."

"Wait really?"

"Yeah sure. But...if this leads to you wanting to get closer to me just to use me for sex I will not hesitate to beat the living shit out of you."

"Oh believe me, if I wanted to play you you'd be out of my house right now."

The two chuckled and Y/N walked to turn the shower on. Once it was warm enough for her liking, she looked back at San.

"Is this too hot, San?"

San walked over to feel the water.

"Nope. It's almost as perfect as you."

"I did not expect you to be such a flirt."

"People aren't always who they seem they are Y/N."

"Yeah, I'm quite aware of that."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I mean, it's not like I'm going to be able to hide it from you forever, so I might as well get it over with."

San looked at her with a hint of worry in his eyes.

"It's my birth parents."

San looked at Y/N with interest.

"How about I tell you once we're in the shower, ok?"

San agreed and Y/N took her undergarments off. San couldn't take his eyes off of her. She was absolutely stunning to him.

"Hey! I can't be the only person naked! That's not fair!"

In the blink of an eye, San was undressed and standing in front of Y/N. He took her hand and pulled her into the shower with him. San watched as the water droplets ran down her delicate body. The way her long hair covered her exposed breasts.

"Ok, we're in the shower. Continue please," San said impatiently.

"Oh right. THEM." Y/N said with disgust in her voice. "I was not planed to be here. I'm only alive because my birth parents were retarded enough to not use protection. So when I was born, they decided they weren't ready to raise a child so they gave me to my aunt. I was a much different person back then than I am now. I used to be so caring of others and so welcoming. Now I've become more broken off and closed off. One day, they decided to show up to my house in America. They had the audacity to ask me to go back to them. They even thought that I would be willing to go with them. Ever since then, I have hated people. The fact that my best friend was murdered made it worse," San looked at Y/N with his grey eyes, "I know, vampires depend on blood to stay alive, but I was just so upset that it had to be her. I was pissed at myself for not stopping you guys. But as I thought about it, I realized neither of us would of made it out alive if I was to try and stop you. I lost trust in all people after that. I haven't made any friends for I live with the fear that they will leave me just as she did. I was still new here when she died so I had to take a lot of time to get used to my surroundings here. So here I am, a girl who lives alone and in a country that she still isn't that familiar to her yet."

Y/N was crying at this point from remembering the trauma she suffered. Without a second thought, San pinned Y/N against the shower wall and lifting her chin up with his index finger. Without a second thought he leaned in and kissed her. It was a kiss that expressed how bad he felt for doing what he did to her best friend. Y/N kissed back, enjoying the sensation of his lips against hers.

They both parted from the kiss to regain their breath when San spoke...

"I'm so sorry, Y/N. If I knew my actions would lead to me hurting you like this, I would have never done that. I was just so desperate that if I didn't feed, I would go on a murder spree. But now I promise to never hurt you like that. I promise to protect you from everything you fear the most. I understand if you don't feel the same way, but I love you so much. I never want to let you go.

𝕿𝖆𝖌 𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @soyeonrai 

[wannabemobwife]

Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas - Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Revenge Never Felt So Good

Dad!Mob!Tom x Mom!Mob!Reader

-Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader, Rosie Holland x Henry Osterfield

-Warnings: Guns, bombing, language, murder, blood, hints to smut (none actual smut), typos, shitty writing, torture I guess

-Words: 4.9K

A/n: Can we get back to mob stuff? Please. I want to apologize for this chapter, it is absolute shit and I could tell by writing it. Kind of a filler chapter. Sorry it is long.

Chapter 13: Revenge Never Felt So Good

Words: 4.9K

It had been a week, since you got your memories back and you declared your love for Tom once more. Right after that, you and Tom were on the first train to Paris, refusing to fly for awhile.

You and Tom returned last night, just in time to see Parker and Rosie off to school the next morning. While you and Tom had been enjoying a second honeymoon in the city of love, Nikki and Dom so graciously offered to watch the kids. Everything was falling back into full swing. Parker and Rosie were going to school regularly. Rosie spending all her time with Henry and Parker still living his secret double life.

Things going back to normal. Somewhat.

It was a typical morning, but anytime everyone every thinks that, something gets massively screwed up. You woke up early to make pancakes and bacon.

“So what is plan for everyone today?” You asked, sipping at your steaming cup of coffee.

“Well, Rosie and I have school,” Parker explained.

“I have plans with Henry,” Rosie chimed in.

“I have meetings all day, love.” Tom said, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek.

“Ok, so I’m all alone today,” you muttered, a little disappointed.

“I’m sorry darling, you could join me. You know much I love it when you sit in my lap during meetings. Really show them who’s boss,” Tom said, wrapping you in his embrace.

“No, it’s ok. I have some errands to run anyway.”

“Alright, angel. I love you. I’ll see you for dinner.”

“I love you too. Come on, kids. In the car we go.” You said, pushing everyone out the door.

“Why is Jared not driving?” Parker asked.

“Cause, I have errands to run and besides he’s driving your dad today.”

“Now let’s go.” You said as Parker and Rosie hopped into the car.

Tom was having a hard time returning to his mob personality. Some business was conducted in Paris, you tagged along and enjoyed every minute of it. Tom sometimes overcompensated for not being as dangerous and intimidating. He had grown soft taking care of you after the helicopter crash. Helping you get your memory took most of his time, he had to step away from the mob for awhile. But you were his top priority.

Tom couldn’t remember the last time he sat in his office doing business. He missed it. He missed the thrill of torturing someone, having them beg for their life in front of him. He missed the feeling of firing his gun.

“Tom, you’re late,” Haz said as Tom got out of the car.

“Sorry not sorry Haz, I enjoyed breakfast with Y/N and the kids this morning,” Tom responded.

“I have to tell you something.”

“What? It’s never good news if it’s right when I get here.”

“We’re down two more.” Harrison mumbled referring to then decreasing number of soldiers part of the Holland Empire.

“Are you fucking serious? Haz, I’m so fucking tired of this bullshit. My men are getting fucking killed. Everything has gone to shit,” Tom screamed, enraged.

“Tom, we’ll figure it out. Just need to keep your cool.” Haz said, trying to avoid Tom’s wrath.

“Easier said than done. Alright, who’s here,” Tom asked, trying to forget about everything else.

“William.” Haz said with a straight face.

“What? Why? He’s always been loyal,” Tom questioned. One of his most valuable men, working against him, the rat?

“I got word from the soldiers he has been taking bribes from Parker,” Harrison explained.

“What the fuck for? Well, I guess we’ll find out.” Tom said, walking into the main room of the warehouse.

“William, I’d never thought it would be you in this chair.” Tom said, walking up to one of his most trusted employees.

“Tom, you gotta believe me. I didn’t do anything. I’m not the rat,” William pleaded. He knew what had been happening to the mob.

“Did you or did you not take money from Parker?” Tom asked.

“Yes, he just wanted to get out of the manor at night. So, he paid me to turn a blind eye.”

“Where was he going?”

“I don’t know, I assumed to some girl’s house.” “William, I trust you. So I’m going to let you off with a warning, but you can’t let him sneak out anymore. I’m afraid we are being targeted. If he tries to leave, you have to tell me.”

“Yes, boss. I’m sorry.” William apologized.

“It’s ok, but you understand what needs to happen right? I can’t be looking like I’ve gone soft,” Tom asserted.

“Yeah, I can take it. It’s ok,” William said, gritting his teeth as he waited for the collision of Tom’s fist to his cheek. Tom winded up to deliver one swift punch to William’s left eye. Not breaking the skin but creating a dark purple blotch.

All of Tom’s frustrations have been channeled into his mob duties. Each punch riddled with anger and frustration. A release of catharsis combined with blood. Tom wears the smell of blood and death like a perfume.

The rest of the day was full of uneventful meetings. Meetings with business associates, actual business associates for the company.

When Tom came home, he planned to confront Parker about his whereabouts if he tried to sneak out again. Everyone retired, you went to sleep first and Rosie went to her room. Parker said, he was going to bed but Tom could see right through him.

Tom was sitting in the den, sipping a glass of watered down whiskey. Waiting for his son to disobey him. At 11:55 PM, Parker made his way downstairs ever so slightly. Only to be met with the dagger eyes of Tom.

“Where the fuck do you think you are going?” Tom asked as Parker tried to sneakily leave.

“I… I thought I heard noise outside and I’m going to go check on it,” Parker stammered. Getting caught by Tom was not part of the plan.

“Oh, ok. Parker the guards can do that. Go back to bed.” Tom said, turning back to the TV in the den, broadcasting Raiders of the Lost Ark.

“Ok. Night, dad,” Parker said, trudging himself back up the steps.

“Night…. I know, you’re lying,” Tom whispered loud enough for Parker to hear.

“What? I’m not lying.”

“Parker, I know you’ve sneaking out for weeks and bribing William.”

“Dad, I’m sorry,” Parker immediately started apologizing, no bother in trying to lie himself out of this one.

“Why have you been sneaking out?” Tom questioned, seething with anger but refusing to show it. Trying to have a mature adult conversation.

“I’ve been going to a girl’s house, her name is Jamie.”

“Oh, glad you find someone. You know after everything with Charlotte,” Tom replied.

“Well since I told you the truth, can I go? We made the plan a couple days ago and don’t want to cancel,” Parker lied.

“Alright, just be back before sunrise or your mother will have may head,” Tom informed him.

“Thanks dad, you should get some sleep,” Parker said, making his way out of the heavily guarded house.

Parker left as quickly as possible. He knew Wilson would be pissed for him being late. The talk with Tom was not how this was supposed to happen.

He couldn’t betray his family and himself anymore.

Parker hoped this was the last time he would have to talk to him. He planned to quit, after the conversation with Dom. Parker had become everything he hated, someone who kills for sport.

“Wilson, this is the last thing I’m doing then, I’m out,” Parker said, walking towards Wilson.

“We’ll talk about it later, my boy,” Wilson said, patting Parker’s shoulder.

“Alright who am I killing? You never gave me a target.” Parker shouted at Wilson walking.

“Oh, this isn’t a hit, it’s a robbery. Here’s your new firearm,” One of Wilson’s men explained, tossing a MP5K at him.

“You okay kid? You know if you’re too much of pussy the boss might understand,” jeered one of the men as Parker gulped at the size of the weapon.

“Fuck you, I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with,” Parker barked, trying to put his mind aside. He has never done anything like this. It wasn’t just one person he was killing, it was the possibility of having many causalities. Altering his persona from a hitman to a mass murderer.

A million thoughts flooded Parker’s mind. He wouldn’t be killing people who deserved it like before, contract killers or drug dealers, these were innocent people. Stupid people for gambling all their hard earned money away but nonetheless innocent.

Parker’s heart nearly stopped when he saw where the van pulled up to. A place he knew all too well, it was one of Tom’s casinos.

The company that Dom had built, but all the Holland boys sent thriving in the new century, was more than it seemed. Holland Exportation and Luxuries was much more than exporting goods.

It was casinos that ran all along the French Riviera, more specifically Monaco. It was hotels across the entire globe. It was a business but not the family one. More of a front for the mob but it paid the bills. Harry and Sam had been in charge of running and establishing the hotels and casinos across Europe.

“Y’know your way around, right? That’s why the boss put you on this.” One of men asked Parker as he fiddled with his new machine gun.

“I guess so.” Parker replied.

“Here’s a map. Where are the guards? Which posts?” Asked a soldier, pointing to the main entrance hallways, where security was sure to be.

“I don’t know.”

“So we’re going in there fucking blind? Fuck, thought you’d be good for something. Just stay out of our way,” yelled one of the capos.

“No. I’m taking point. If you have a problem, you can fucking talk to me about it along with my Glock,” Parker threatened.

“Alright. Don’t screw this up. The boss wants big bucks from this. Says “it’s step two in the fall of the empire.” Whatever the fuck that means.”

“On my count, 1, 2… 3,” Parker screamed.

They came storming in, barricading all the entrances and exits. Parker and Wilson’s men clad in all black and payday masks. All various colors and designs. They looked as they were trick or treating.

This was the last thing Parker wanted to be doing. He came today to quit and now he was robbing a casino.

Parker kept repeating a mantra in his head “Last one, then I’m done” as held his gun high. Pointing it directly at innocents, he could see them shaking in fear.

“EVERYONE ON THE GROUND NOW!” He shouted, aiming his machine gun high.

“Don’t you fucking touch that button. I know what it fucking does.” Parker barks at the person behind the token counter. “Open the vault.” Parker said, pointing the gun at him.

“Why should I?” remarked the worker.

“Cause I fucking said so and I’m threatening your life,” Parker explained

“Enough of this shit!” He screamed, firing a few rounds close to the worker but not hitting him.

“You don’t have to do this. You could walk out of here, all of you. And we could go on with our lives. No need for money or the cops.”

“I think we both know that’s not gonna happen. I’ll ask nicely, please open the vault,” Parker mocked. “Boss said “start killing hostages in 10 minutes.” One of the other men whispered in Parker’s ear.

“Did you fucking hear that? We’re gonna fucking kill you if you don’t cooperate. So I suggest you open… the fucking… vault.”

“Sir, we can’t.”

“See this gun. LOOK AT IT! It has the power to put a bullet through your skull. Open the fucking vault. I won’t ask a fifth time.”

“That’s it. Now, type in the code.” Parker directed towards them.

The vault door creaked open, revealing trappings of pure wealth. Money stacked on tables, almost reaching the ceiling. And gold bars, glistened as the light reflected off of them.

“Now was that so fucking hard. Take all of it. Everything, even the gold.” Parker said, directly towards his men.

“Thank you, you’ve served you purpose,” Parker said to the worker, shooting him dead not even 3 seconds later. The screams of the other hostages echoed through the vacated room.

“Now to everyone here, there’s already one dead. I don’t mind making it more,” Parker barked.

“What’s your name?” Parker asked the nice looking girl kneeling on the ground.

“It’s not nice to not answer when someone asks you question, especially someone with a 9 caliber MP5K in your face. I ask again. What’s your name?” Parker spoke.

“Jane,” she whispered, shaking with fear.

“Well Jane, I want to thank you for your cooperation. You are in charge of talking to the cops, ok? And let your boss know, that Wilson is always watching,” Parker said, as he turned to leave.

“I will but you won’t get as far as you hoped,” Jane asserted, trying not to irritate Parker.

“And why’s that?”

“I know you. I remember you. You’d come in here with your dad.”

“You don’t know fucking shit!” Parker screamed.

“I know your name and that puts me at a high position of power,” Jane expressed, growing less afraid by the second. Realizing he is just some scared boy. Maybe not afraid of his own shadow but broken down by the fear of the world.

“I’m the one pressing fucking gun to your head. I HAVE ALL THE POWER!” Parker vociferated loud enough to shake the chandelier hanging above.

“You wish. Men like you always wish.”

“Seems like you’re doing some wishing yourself sweetheart. Wishing to be escorted out of here in a body bag. Now shut your fucking trap.”

“Hey. Let’s go. Leave her.” One of the Wilson’s men said, pulling Parker towards the exit.

“He still loves you and he’ll forgive you for this,” Jane shouted as Parker left.

Refusing to turn back, he had taken enough lives from this ill attempt at revenge. Parker didn’t know who he was fighting against anymore. Who was the hero and who was the villain?

All the wrongdoings as vast as the sea. All his attempts to make someone pay were misconstrued. Who actually deserved it?

The words of the woman replayed in Parker’s head. She was like a broken record, forcing him to listen to a truth he hoped to forget. How could Tom forgive him? Parker knew what he done was unforgivable. It was a mistake, all of it.

Parker marched into Wilson’s office and said, “Ever since I started working for you, my family has been in danger. I thought my dad was the reason for my girlfriends death, but I was wrong. I guess I’ll never know. Here Wilson, my gun. I quit.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I own you. I could end you, boy. Just like I almost did your parents,” Wilson barked.

“What?” Parker questioned, a look of confusion are on his face.

“Oh, please. You really think it was just a malfunction,” Wilson scoffed.

“What are you talking about?” Parker asked.

“Their helicopter. Pretty brilliant work, if I do say so myself,” Wilson gloated.

“They almost died.”

“Yeah and so? Your dad is my enemy. That is the whole reason you came to me in the first place.”

“You promised you wouldn’t hurt them,” Parker screamed. “Promises are meant to be broken. They don’t call me the Merchant of Death for nothing.”

Wilson was ready for the fight and been the one pulling the strings the entire time. Tom warranted no quarrel. Never being the instigator in a fight with Wilson.

They had been divided for years to come, focusing on their separate mobs. Only acknowledging each other if they accidentally crossed paths. There was Wilson’s mob, then a few others scattered round London such as Graham’s which was almost non-existent and Shaw’s which was mostly the drug scene. But Wilson was Tom’s biggest competitor. Being a part of then game for years before didn’t matter, Tom eclipsed Wilson just like the sun does the moon.

Or the moon to the sun, that was exactly Wilson’s play from the start. Taking out the pillars of Tom’s life. First a reason to have his son turn on him, the death of a loved one. Next, removing you from Tom’s grasp. Eventually a play had to be made on Rosie. Leaving Tom utterly alone.

Only thoughts that would cross his mind be suicidal ones, having lost everything he ever cared about. It was a long play, one Wilson vowed to see through. Wilson saw all his work as justice and merciful. Almost biblical, they way everything was playing out.

“It was you. All along. The fucking puppet master,” Parker mumbled under his breath.

“If you are talking about your little girlfriend, that was strictly business, nothing personal. But yes, I have been the one behind the scenes driving your father mad. Remember the note?” Wilson exclaimed.

“She didn’t deserve to die,” Parker shouted.

“What? Are you really upset? That was ages ago. Plus, I had to get you on my side somehow,” Wilson teased.

“Wait, you knew I’d come here?”

“Parker, how stupid are you? When will you grow up and learn this rivalry is just the beginning of a war. What side are you going to be on? You have a choice. I’ve warmed to you and I want you on my side as I take your daddy down.”

“That’s your first fucking mistake don’t have any weaknesses,” Parker admitted, taking a lesson from Tom. He drew is gun, point blank at Wilson.

“Parker, what are you doing? Put the gun down,” Wilson pleaded for his life.

“No, you made me into a cold blooded killer. Not my dad. I quit.”

BANG

After a loud thud sounded, the room was silent. Only a faint smell of smoke from the gun was there as Parker fled as quickly as possible.

Parker made his way home that night a changed man. All his kills in the pass were strictly business. Never driven by emotion but this one was personal.

It wasn’t a job or a hit. He was no longer a contract killer. Killing for the sake of money or an obligation. He was cold blooded killer.

In some twisted way, Parker enjoyed Wilson and his company. Looking up to him. He was then one who saved him from the horrible life he thought he was leaving behind. The one full of deceit and betrayal. The one with Tom, you and Rosie.

The one that led him to be next leader of the Holland mob. The one that resulted in the death of his beloved girlfriend. The one that had almost taken you and Tom away from him. The one that almost took his life. The one that forced him to kill for sport.

But no, he was wrong Parker brought that on himself. Parker’s naivety was his greatest enemy. He was just a child not too long ago. Once afraid of his own shadow, then afraid of failing at life and school, especially the SATs. Now, he was an adult burdened by problems a 16 year old should ever face. He could sit there and blame Tom, but it would do him no good when all he had to do was look in the mirror.

Parker was his own worst enemy. Searching for justice, when none could be found in a world wear mobsters roamed. Causing shootouts, robbing banks, and killing innocent people. People deserved to be avenged and Parker sure as hell wasn’t doing anything to aide.

Parker drove home, took four showers and threw his clothes away. Anything to wash off this abhorrent day. The next morning, Parker went on like nothing had changed. As if he didn’t shoot his boss and Tom’s rival in cold blood. As if didn’t only see himself as a cold blooded killer. Everything that he is and everything he owns soiled with the scent of murder.

He played it as though it was any other morning. Eating his pancakes and bacon before starting the day. Telling you about his plans for the day. Trying to keep his cool. The lovely morning breakfast conversation was interrupted once Tom’s phone rang.

RING, RING, RING

“Haz, why are you calling me? I’m having breakfast with my family,” Tom asked, annoyed his precious breakfast was interrupted. “Charlie is here, you need to get here. I have to tell you something,” Haz informed Tom. “Ok, I’m on my way,” Tom said, brushing off the request. Why would the

company’s electrical engineer for aeronautical transportation be there?

“Love, I’m so sorry but I’m needed at the warehouse. Thank you for this wonderful breakfast, wish I could enjoy it. Bye, kids. Have a good day at school,” Tom said, making his way out the door. Bidding you all goodbye.

“Haz, what’s was so urgent that I couldn’t finish my breakfast.” Tom barked, annoyed he was pulled away from you and the kids even on a Saturday.

“We were robbed last night. The casino.” Haz explained, his head hanging low.

“How the fuck? Did they catch them?” Tom seethed with anger.

“No, we do have eye witnesses though.”

“How much is missing?”

“About 11 million dollars, from cash to gold bars.” Haz said, waiting for Tom to explode.

“FUCK. We need to make them pay. I’m done playing fucking games.” Tom shouted, calming himself down for his meeting with Charlie.

“Now, you said Charlie was here, right?”

“Yeah, in your office.”

“Charlie? What are you doing here?” Tom asked, a little annoyed he was taken away from his morning with his family.

“Tom, I ran my report and did diagnostics tests and it’s not good,” Charlie started.

“What the fuck does that mean, Charlie?” Tom yelled.

“I think the helicopter was sabotaged.”

“What? You mean is that someone tried to take out my wife and I while we were on a helicopter,” Tom repeated, making all the connections necessary .

“Yes, it wasn’t just a normal malfunction. Did they ever find the pilot?” Charlie asked.

“No… Jesus fucking christ, if it’s true then…Fuck, I’m sorry I have to go,” Tom yelled, running out to the car.

“Jared, home now.”

“Mr. Holland is everything alright?” Jared asked, concerned by Tom’s frantic manner.

“No. I just found out the helicopter was sabotaged. I think someone might being trying to take out Y/N and I.”

“Come on baby, pick up,” Tom whispered, frantically dialing your number over and over.

“Y/N answer the god damm phone!” Tom shouted, when heard the same voice message over and over again, “Hi, this Y/N Holland please leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

“God fucking dammit. Fuck, voicemail. Jared do you know where my wife is?” Tom yelled, afraid what your silence meant.

“Last I heard she was at the store getting groceries,” Jared explained.

“Fuck, I have here location on my phone. Change course,” Tom barked, praying you were okay. With the information he just learned he didn’t want to leave you alone, not even for a second.

“Y/N! You’re okay.” Tom said, inhaling a breath of relief. You were coming out of the store pushing a cart of groceries.

“Tom! Of course, I’m okay. What are you doing here?” You asked.

“I’ll explain later. Get Parker and Rosie we need to go home now.”

“They’re already home. Henry’s there also. You’re scaring me.” You said, Tom never acts like this.

Being a part of a mob there is a constant fear of someone behind you. All throughout Tom’s life he only had to worry about himself until he met you.

Tom’s worst fear is him being the reason you no longer walk the earth. The last week he had glimpse of life without you and didn’t care for it one bit. You weren’t a weakness but at the same time, you were. For anyone with a dangerous job there’s always a target on your back.

“Come on, love. In the car,” Tom motioned towards the car.

“Tommy, my car is here. I’ll meet you there,” you said, kissing his cheek goodbye.

“Ok just be careful please.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Ok, Jared. Home now plea—“ Tom directed but was cut off by a loud BOOM.

“Jared, what the fuck was that?” Tom asked.

“Sir, it was Mrs. Holland’s car.”

“Y/N! Y/N?” Tom jumped out of the car. Nothing else mattered in that moment, only finding you.

Time stood still as thick black smoke bled through the air. Coating everything in its path with a faint ash. Screams echoed from the bystanders as the car went up in flames.

“Tom, I’m okay. It wasn’t mine.” You exasperated, coughing from the smoke. It wasn’t your car but it was close in proximity.

“Thank god. I can’t keep almost losing you,” Tom whispered, kissing you hairline.

“I’m here now.” The second you were in his arms you knew you were safe.

“Yes you are. It sure does look hell a lot like yours, though. Come on, I’m taking you home,” Tom said, wrapping his right arm around your shoulder.

Pulling up to the manor, everything looked different. There were more guards posted at every corner with heavier weaponry. Tom had the gate barricaded with another car in case some where to ram into the gate.

“Jesus, what took you so long?” Haz said

“They tried to bomb Y/N’s car. Thankfully the dumb fucks who planted it, picked the wrong car.”

“Tom you need to tell me what’s going on.”

“I will. Family meeting in the living room. Now.”

“Some of us have some secrets to share. I want to know everything that happened here while your mother and I were in Paris. Someone start talking,” Tom said, pacing in front of Parker and Rosie sitting on the couch.

Rosie and Parker were both hiding something. Rosie’s however was a rather monumental milestone. Rosie reminisced of her wonderful night with Henry while you and Tom were away. She loved Henry so much and was overjoyed to share that experience with him.

Rosie had told Henry at the wedding that she was ready to take that next step with him. Seeing you and Tom re-commit yourselves to one another affirmed that for Rosie. That she loved him more than anything.

“I’m sorry, dad. You don’t have to worry, we were safe,” Rosie blurted out.

“What?” Tom barked growing more anger by the second.

“Henry and I used a condom,” Rosie responded.

“Rosie?” You questioned, knowing what she was talking about.

“WHAT?” Tom screamed.

“That’s not what you were hinting at?” Rosie stammered.

“No, this is about Parker,” Tom reckoned.

“Fuck,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Where the fuck is he?” Tom yelled, bolting out of the living room. Looking for the boy who had stolen Rosie’s innocence. You and Rosie soon followed hoping Tom wouldn’t do anything rash.

“Dad!”

“Tom!”

“Henry, you bastard! You fucked my daughter!” Tom shouted charging at Henry.

“Oh shit,” Henry muttered, he knew Tom could kill him in an instant.

“You went in my daughter! What’s stopping me from killing you right now.” Tom asked with gritted teeth, hoping this dumbass wouldn’t answer.

“Tom, put him down,” you said, as Tom was gripping his collar and dangling him in the air.

“Daaaadddd.”

“Tom, please,” you pleaded as Tom held a gun square to Henry’s head.

“The safety is on, I was never gonna shoot him. Just make him shit his pants a little. From now on, you two can’t be here alone. And if you are in your room the door needs to stay open,” Tom said, pointing fingers at Rosie and Henry.

“I believe we have more important business to get to. Now come on,” you said, pulling Tom away.

“Y/N, you know I was never going to actually hurt the boy right?”

“Yes, Tommy. Now please resume the family meeting.”

“Parker. Do you have something to tell us?” Tom asked, knowing his son will lie.

“I’ve been sneaking out at night and I’m sorry,” Parker started, you could hear the disappointment behind his voice.

“Why? I know it’s not because of a girl. I want to know everything,” Tom explained, fucking tired of all the lies.

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

Parker began by explaining how he felt by the loss of Charlotte and how he turned to Wilson. In Parker’s mind he was doing the right thing. Serving justice to those who wronged others. But in reality he was the one committing the wrongdoings.

Parker came clean that he was the one killing all of Tom’s men and that he killed Jazz. That he went Wilson before coming to Tom. Becoming Wilson’s secret hitman was never supposed to go this far. He only intended for it to be a big fuck you to Tom. Not destroy his livelihood and his family in the process.

Including all the details of Wilson’s secret agenda of taking you and Tom out. But Parker left out the fact that Wilson was no longer a threat. Having taken care of him the day before.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve never been this naive and stupid. I’m the one you’ve been searching for. I’m the rat,” Parker exclaimed. “Dad, say something,” he pleaded.

“Get out,” Tom said with an unchanging expression.

“What?”

“I said get the fuck out!”

“Tom,” you tried to reason.

“You are no longer my son. Betraying me, betraying your family. Get out.” Tom screamed.

A/n: I’m sorry. I like the content in this chapter but not the writing.

Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas Masterlist

taglist: @thenoddingbunny-blog @dummiesshort @adriannauni @bi-lmg @allthisfortommy

[girlmaster132]

(Yan)Childe x Reader: Remember Me?

This is like my first in this app please bare with me lmao.

Rated: Mature Words: 3.1k Warning: Kidnapping, Name Calling, Bullying.

Second-Person POV:

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

You wince as you pick up the burnt food on the ground. You accidentally poured in too much oil and you threw the fish away. This was a simple Grilled-Tiger Fish yet you can't even do it. How clumsy are you? You picked up the failed meal and threw it in the trash. You sigh as you shook your head and went to the table to eat one of the fruits on the table.

    You moved to the window and opened it. The sun shined bright, the sounds of people enticing customers to their stalls can be heard up to your house. Liyue Harbor is such a calm and relaxing place. Well, as long as you don't evade tax that is.

    It's been years since you've lived in Liyue, in contrast to most people here who have a specialty in cooking. You only ever bought food here. You took a bite into the apple and got ready for the day.

    You leave your house and walk down the stairs. Opening the door you're met with the friendly people of Liyue.

    "Goodmorning Y/N off to work?" You turn around and see Ganyu walking towards you.

    "Yes Ms. Ganyu, it's the last day before a week's break. I decided to get there earlier so I can get all my work done. I hate going on the weekends. Also, it's rare to see you out of your workplace, what brings you here?" You say. Ganyu giggles and pats you on the back.

    "Well, I have some important business to do. Don't waste time and off to work you go! Can't miss any seconds, time is gold!"

    You smile at Ganyu and continue your stroll to the outskirts of Liyue. You pass children playing with their kites, tag, and some even roleplayed as the Millelith. The vendors yell as they advertise their product in any way they can. You reached the bridge and continued your way to the statue of the seven.

    You bow down to the statue of Rex Lapis. He was such a different god from the previous one you had. Reaching the building of your office, you fixed your clothing and walked proudly. Opening the door and walking, Something felt off. There would usually be people welcoming you inside. The room should have open lights and a warm temperature. Instead, the building was dark, and it's eerily quiet. You sharply inhale.

    "Guys? Where are you?" You shouted as you searched each room you pass through. Was it a holiday and you accidentally went to work? But Ganyu would've told you earlier.

    The moment you arrived at the secluded area, you felt a hand with a handkerchief pressed over your mouth. You look back and attempt to punch them. Your heart beats rapidly and you squirm. More men appear and one of them punches you hard in the stomach. You fall to your knees as they hold you down and suffocate you. Black spots forming in your eyes as the world around you is rapidly fading quickly.

    "Is this one of the people on the list?"

    "Yeah, he's the last one." The man says.

    You try to struggle one last time as you close your eyes and drift to sleep. You squirm, punch, do anything. You struggle.

    And struggle, and struggle.

    And for the last time, you—

...

Struggle.

    You were being held down by Alek. He has always done this to you for as long as you can remember. Your face smeared across the snowy floor. It was cold and freezing, why is your life like this?

    "Y/N! I thought you wanted to be in the military!" He laughed, "Is it because your father is so poor he'd sacrifice you anytime to get money!"

    You sob and try to push yourself up, but Alek steps at your back. Leo, your other tormentor kicks you in the face, "How about your mom? Is she selling herself again to earn money? What a whore!"

    "My... Mom's not a whore..." You whimpered as the two boys made fun of you more. Blood trickles down your nose, you have a black eye and a broken self-esteem.

    "Hey!" A familiar voice shouted. He aimed his arrow and shot it right beside you threatening the two other kids. Your eyes light up and you see your best friend Ajax. He slides down the snow hill and directs the bow at the two boys. "Let him go! Or I will shoot."

    The two boys stare at Ajax. "And who might you be? We haven't met you before."

    "Someone that will kick your ass and make you fear my name." The two looked at each other and laughed. They glance back at you and Leo picks you up. Ajax glare would be enough to kill these two. Without warning rushes at them. He raises his fist and punches Alek right in the nose. Leo drops you roughly into the ground and before he could do anything, Ajax swings his bow at him and uppercuts him in the jaw.

    Your eyes light up as you watch Ajax beating them up a bit too hard. He strikes them with his bow without mercy. "Don't you fucking dare, return to this village. You got me!"

    "Ajax..." You call out, he stops and faces you. "I think they had enough." He shoves Leo into a tree and approaches you. The two boys ran away with fear. He crouches and touches your face.

    "Ajax, thanks for saving me again." You breathe out. He hugs you and lifts you. "Hey! This is embarrassing!" You hide your face and he bursts out laughing.

    "You can barely even stand, don't get shy of a friend helping you out." He carries you and runs you back to his place. The wind was a gentle breeze you blush slightly as he passes through the village. He sits you on the porch and opens the door.

    "Wait, is anyone home? I might disturb them,"

    "Nonsense!" He pulls you into a room and opens the lights. "Stay here, I'll get something for that black eye and a broken nose." He rushes into a room. You hum and wait, he returns with an entire medkit.

    "You don't have to, that's a waste of supplies. I thought you were just going to give me a cold compress—"

    "Here have some of this, your nose is bleeding," He ignores your complaints and brings you a cloth. "Now for that eye," He takes out a cold compress and gives it to your other hand. You apply it to your eye as you wipe your face off the blood. He happily sits beside you.

    "I wish I can be like you, strong, powerful, and brave. Do you ever wish to be part of the military?"

    "Nah, I don't think I'll ever join the military soon. I like to fight but you're more fit for that."

    "You're just wasting your time, thanks for being my sparring partner and the person that always saves me but..." You trail off.

    "But what?"

    "I'm someone you can leave behind. I'm the one getting prepared to become a soldier but I can't even fight those two. You don't even get training yet you're better than me. I bet you're just doing this because you don't want to hurt my feelings."

    "Y/N don't think about that!" Ajax smiles, "I enjoy your company! Even if you win or lose as long as you learn with me I am fine with that!" your face heats up and you look down at the floor.

    "That's sweet of you to say..." You whisper.

    Silence.

    His demeanor changes, "Y/N I've always wanted to tell you something, I've—"

    The door opens, "Y/N I knew you'd be here. Your father is calling you, he orders you to go home now," He walks towards you, "Yeesh, what happened to you kid?"

    "Oh just Alek and Leo doing their thing again... Your son saved me again sir! He's such a nice friend," You compliment. "I'm sorry I used some of your medical supplies."

    "It's okay boy, I don't mind. No hurry, your father needs you."

    "See you Ajax and thank you so much for helping me!" You bow down and run outside, waving goodbye.

...

You walk through the snow and trees. You arrive home and see a carriage and a ton of boxes everywhere. "What's this all about?"

    "We're leaving, pack your things before afternoon." You stand there in shock. Leaving? To where?

    "W-what! Father, why do we have to leave again? Where are we even going? Aren't we fine? You say if I trained and got in the military we'd be safe. W-why?" You stuttered. Looking at your father who's hastily fixing the bags. He grabs your shoulders.

    "Liyue, we have the biggest chance of surviving there. We can't pay off our debt anymore, they'd kill us!" He yells at your face, making you shake in fear.

    "B-but where's mom? And Ajax— I still haven't said my goodbyes to him." He grabs your hand and pulls you roughly.

    "Your mom won't be returning any time soon, we have to hurry. And as for Ajax, I told him about the two of us leaving for Liyue. You're not good enough, look at you. Whenever you get back here you get beaten up by such a useless piece of shit. There's no time so get your goddamn stuff and let's leave this hell hole!" He pushes you and his words echoed through your mind. You wipe a tear threatening to fall down your face.

    You pack all your clothes and whatever you can hoard in a box. You throw it in the carriage and your father commands you to get in. You are sad, at the sudden change.

    "Hey! Wait up!" Ajax shouts. You see him out of breath, his eyes full of worry.

    "It's best if you don't follow us..." You say. Your eyelids get heavy and hide your face. You look back once more to see Ajax chasing you with full speed. Your father grunts and whips the horse to go faster. You watch as he fails to match the speed.

    "Wait, Y/N! Don't leave me please!"

    And that was the last you've heard of your best friend.

...

The room is silent and uncanny. You squirm around and freedom has no avail. Your eyes are covered and your hands are tied. You start to panic and hyperventilate.

    "Looks like the last one woke up," you hear a voice.

    "Are these the hostages?"

    "Yes, we're just waiting for the boss to return," says the other. Footsteps were circling the room. You feel like you're about to vomit. Your insides churn at the fact that you're kidnapped by other people in the room.

    "This one seems to be eager for a beating!" The agent jokes. The blindfold tightly wrapped around your face stops you from absorbing info about the matter. Your hair gets roughly pulled and you gasp. They laugh at your attempt to escape from them. You hear the door creak open.

    "Well hello there, you did a great job you two, now would you mind if you avoid touching the hostages?"

    "Yes sir!" And with that, the two men drop you down. The newcomer arrives and clears his throat.

    "All of you calm down. We're waiting for your greedy scum of a boss to pick you up from here in about an hour. There are 6 people in here, If he arrives early and pays, we'll set you free. If he doesn't," You hear him chuckle. "Every 10 minutes wasted I will pick one of you and make sure none of you get out of here without a broken bone or two. So hopefully he responds and gives the money he owes us. Just hope this boss of yours is kind."

    Time ticks the sounds of your co-workers begging for freedom gets hushed by threats and punches.

    10 minutes had passed.

    "Looks like one of you is lucky," You hear a loud slap and a person groan. You witness your co-worker get beaten up. You flinch every time he begs for mercy. You hid in the corner of the room, hoping to dear god your boss would arrive now. You didn't even know nor want to do anything about this debt they were talking about. With one last punch, you hear a thud, ending one's suffering.

    You try to calm yourself down but you can't stop it. You huff and puff loudly, sweating bullets, stomach-churning, dying from the anticipation. All of these give all the attention to you.

    Another 10 minutes passed, it didn't even feel like it. Time was ticking too fast you've lost all hope of getting out of here.

    "Sheesh, that old geezer really does not care about you folks does he? Now, who should the lucky winner be?" His steps got louder and you know he's going to hurt you. He grabs your hair and pulls your blindfold and throws it. He raises his fist ready to strike. "Now you little-"

    "Ajax? Is that you?" You asked, blinking to clear the light. He's taller and has a Fatui mask on his face. He still looks as handsome as you remember. He halts and stammers.

    "H-how do you know about that? Are you one of Liyue's spies? Or are you an eavesdropper that knows too much?" He studies you before saying, "Keep an eye on the other 5, I have to deal with this one." You gulp as he harshly tugs your arm. He drags you into the room beside and throws you into the wall. Your heart sinks, whatever happened to your best friend? You feel the tears swell up in your eyes as sadness overtakes you.

    "A-ajax don't you remember me?"

    "As far as I can remember, I don't know anyone that's part of an organization that borrowed money from us. I only know your boss, and his subordinates are going to get a good beating if he doesn't arrive with the money."

    You stare at his eyes, it's devoid of the sparkling light of hope and kindness. It's empty and dark, soulless and heartless. You gulp and a tear escapes out of your eye.

    "I'm a coward..."

    "Save the tears and sad story for later. I'll get back to you after your boss returns." He rolls his eyes and scoffs. He stands up and he quickly walks to the door.

    "I'M A COWARD THAT LEFT THE MILITARY AND YOU ALONE!" You shout as you reach your hand up to him. "I was never fit to become a soldier! And I made you suffer!" You sat down and tears streamed down your face.

    Childe stops walking and looks back at you. His eyes widened and his mouth agape.

    "Y/N? How're you— alive? My father told me you were taken away and you... died...."

    "W-what? My father said that he informed you about the two of us leaving Snezhnaya to hide in Liyue. We couldn't pay off our debt, and mom never returned the same day you rescued me from those two asshats."

    His eyes softened like every memory of you two together came crashing to him. A small smile appeared on his face as he approached you slowly. Each step he takes, you take one back.

    "I'm sorry I- just hurt me..." His hand reaches for your face and he looks directly into your eyes. He leans in and you feel his soft lips touch with yours. The moment was bliss, you close your eyes and hold onto him. You breathe in sharply as he pulls out. He wipes away your tears and lets out a laugh.

    "I can't believe you're alive Y/N. I missed you, and you aren't a coward," he says. Your stomach somersaults and you hug him. "Now, let's get to it." You look up to him and then A sudden sharp pain surges and paralyzes you. A knife digs into your abdomen. You widen your eyes and more tears stream down your face.

    "A-Ajax?" You whimper and your body numbs. Your legs weaken and Childe catches you. He chuckles as he runs his hand through your hair. You cough out blood and he whispers into your ear.

     "Shh... it will be okay. Y/N just relax, you'll be fine with me. Just sleep, we'll talk in a bit."

...

You flutter your eyes. Everything was so blurry, your body is ready to fall apart from exhaustion. The pain of your best friend betraying you loomed and haunted your thoughts. You sluggishly move and the pain shoots through your stomach. You wince and attempt to cover it. You realize something is attached to your wrists. You move your hand and hear the clanks of chains. You dart in that direction and see that both of them were chained in the wall. The room is pitch black.

    Your heart races and you panic. You struggle but your efforts are futile. Something heavy was weighing you down. You look down to your feet to see chains shackled on your ankles.

    Your breathing gets erratic, and adrenaline rushes through you. The sounds of footsteps came near and you waited for the danger. The door loudly opens and you see Childe enter.

    "You're finally awake! Took you long enough, I know you don't like to keep friends waiting," He exclaims while crouching down to your level.

    "Where am I? Ajax why the fuck am I chained?"

    "You'll never be able to leave me anymore. We're going to be together just like before! Aren't you excited! We have so much to catch up to, after you left I thought you died! So I chased after you and fell to the abyss—"

    "Abyss?! Is that why you've cracked your head and went mad!" His grin widens and he giggles.

    "You've always been funny Y/N I've loved your jokes. The abyss was such a fun place. I always thought that if you weren't in this world anymore, you'd be there! But foolish little ol' me remembered you are an angel, they don't fall into the abyss. They fly up into the sky," He rambles with a twisted smile on his face. You raise your brow, scared for dear life.

    "This isn't right Ajax! Y-you fell into the abyss?! What happened to you! Why are you doing this to me? Let me go!" You yell. His face drops and he laughs maniacally. He comes closer and rubs your shoulders. His hand runs down to your chest. He licks his lips and stares at your eyes, piercing through your soul.

    "We're going to have some fun."

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Author's Note: I swear to God idk what I just wrote ;-;

If you enjoy whatever the hell I wrote you can follow me on WP too! 

https://www.wattpad.com/story/264619512-genshin-impact-oneshots-x-readers-x-characters

[mymostimaginaryfriend]

one inch from the edge of this bed

♛ 5x01: James dreams about Teresa. (1.6k words; rating Mature: language, violence, sexual situations) tags: james can have some magical realism as a treat, morphine is a helluva drug

 ➢ read on ao3 or below the cut:  

(note: I originally wrote this as part of a longer story about James’ journey to reunite with Teresa, so for the purpose of this drabble, morphine is making him forget he’s already seen her...cool? cool. thanks for reading!)

♛

James rarely sleeps deeply enough to dream. What starts as a coping mechanism in his childhood only gets cemented further by the military. Now no matter how tired he becomes, he can never quite turn off that last light in the back of his head. It’s for the best, probably. The things he’s seen—the shit he’s done. Who knows what nightmare would crawl out of the well of his subconscious if given half the chance.

The rare times he does dream, he’s usually able to wake himself up within a matter of seconds. It’s automatic now, like he’s rewired a shortcut in his brain. By the time he opens his eyes the dream is nothing more than a faint memory skipping across the surface of his mind without ever dropping an anchor.

The big, bad assassin and his built-in night light. He’d laugh if he didn’t count it as yet another valuable weapon in his arsenal.  It’s not like he doesn’t know this concession by his personal demons is only a layaway plan. Whatever he doesn’t pay for now will come due at least ten times over later.

Still, when he opens his eyes to see morning light filtered through breeze-stirred curtains, he doesn’t catch on right away. It’s not the sunshine that tips him off or the softness of the bed. It’s not the light breeze wafting through the open window, or even the dip of the mattress behind him.

It’s a sense of peace he hasn’t known in nearly a year. It’s the sound of her hushed voice, whispering his name.

“Don’t hide from me,” she says. “I know you’re awake.”

His heart leaps then plummets at the smile he hears in her words, sweet joy chased by sick panic. It’s not just the nightmares he’s been avoiding in his sleep. 

Dreaming of Teresa is an indulgence he can no longer afford.

When he left with Devon, he knew he’d need more than just physical distance between her and his new life, from what he’d have to do there and who he might have to become to do it. He couldn’t risk it warping his feelings for her.  He couldn’t let it twist his memories or cloud his purpose.

So in the last moments of his freedom, as Devon drove him away into the night, he allowed himself to hold close all that she meant to him: her innate goodness, her fierce bravery, how her eyes warmed whenever she smiled.

And then he built a room around those memories—built the wall brick by brick in his mind until they were shut away. He didn’t need a key. He didn’t even build a door. It was the only way of protecting both those memories and himself.

Leaving her meant leaving her behind.

One look at her now will undo all of his careful compartmentalization. One look at her, no matter if she’s real or imagined, will destroy those walls to dust.  He can’t get off mission, he has to stay on task, he has to—he can’t remember what exactly.  But it feels important, deathly so.

He closes his eyes and waits for the awareness of the dream to catapult him to consciousness but something is wrong. His mind refuses to obey the command.

Error: shortcut not found.

And with every passing second it’s harder to remember why it’s so important for him to resist, his urgency to awaken quickly replaced by an urgency of a different kind.  He can’t stop the hum in the back of his throat at the touch of her fingers brushing across his abdomen or how his body automatically angles itself toward the warmth of hers, inexorable like the tide.

She laughs and the sound of her joy hooks beneath his ribcage, turning him toward her.  They never had enough time.  Little things like lying in bed together, easing into the day with lazy touches and hushed sighs turned into something valuable, something to hold on to, something that’s supposed to be in a lockbox behind a fucking brick wall.

“Hmm, it’s like that is it?” she asks, voice like warm honey sending an anticipatory flare of heat up his spine. “Let’s see if I can’t wake you up.”

The drag of her hair across his chest is all the warning he needs before her lips find his and what’s left of his resistance falls away like tumblers in a lock.  There are no more walls left between them now. No air. Just heat, hands and skin so soft he can barely manage not to bruise it in his desperate need to get her even closer.

An alarm bell rings in some distant corner of his mind, but one hand has already buried itself in her hair, angling her head for better access to her mouth.  The other has slipped beneath her sleep worn shirt, fingers brushing up her ribs to the soft, warm weight of her breast.

This isn’t real.

He doesn’t fucking care.

The past year has been a brutally cold one, filled with blood-soaked ops and people he couldn’t trust.  He’s spent the last twelve months always on guard, either enacting violence, experiencing it or expecting it. To have Teresa here, tangibly safe in his arms, and so, so warm is almost more than he can take, let alone resist.

Her breath stutters against his lips and it feels like a hit of pure oxygen, like she’s reviving him from the dead.

He opens his eyes, pushing her hair back up and out of her face to take her in. She always smiled more freely in their quiet moments together, something that made him feel more powerful than any firearm ever had. Her lips curve now, soft and sweet, her eyes half lidded by pleasure and the knife that’s lodged in his heart tears a downward path, spilling all of his carefully contained emotions from the wound. His grip on her waist tightens too much to go unnoticed.

“What’s wrong?” Her eyes flicker quickly over his face, the ever present worry never too far from the surface of their lives.

He wants to reassure her, to hold onto the playfulness between them, but the ache of it makes him honest. “I miss you.”

“I’m right here,” she replies, voice barely a whisper, perhaps sensing the deadly seriousness of his words. He’s never missed anything half as much as her.  It used to scare him to think of what he’d be willing to do to have this once again. What lines he’d cross to get back to her, to this.

He no longer wonders anymore.  He knows.  The knowledge that he’d do it all over again if it kept her safe didn’t absolve his crimes.  It sure as hell didn’t silence the echo of screams in his head.

“Are you?” His voice is rough but he gentles his hand, smoothing it down her hip to lightly grip her thigh, relishing the strength he can feel beneath his fingertips. He forces a smirk, an attempt to salvage the lightheartedness, and though the slight narrowing of her eyes suggests she sees right through his façade, she concedes to his wishes with a soft smile, tossing her hair over one shoulder to lean down and nip his jawline.

“What do you miss?” she teases, biting gently at the tendon of his neck, sucking lightly at first then sharper.  “This?”

His breath catches in his throat and she hums her approval into his skin.  “Or maybe this?” she murmurs, shifting to run a flat palm down his belly, lower and lower until she’s cupping him through his boxer briefs.

He groans as she strokes him, and she smiles in delight as his hips reflexively rock up into her hand. Her eyes lock onto his, like she knows exactly what power she has over him, like she wants to see the exact moment he surrenders.  It won’t take long. It feels so fucking good that it’s only his pride that keeps him from panting.

Her eyes dance wickedly.  “Or maybe this?”

As quick as lightning, she releases him to grab at his waist, tickling in just the right spot to make him nearly levitate off the bed.

“Fuck,” he laughs, grabbing for her wrists to roll her underneath him, pinning her arms above her head. She’s breathless and beaming and so goddamned pleased with herself that he can’t take his eyes off of her.  She’s beautiful.

“This,” he murmurs, slotting himself between her legs, rolling his hips hard and slow, repeating the movement when her face goes slack with pleasure.

“This,” he breathes, as her heels dig into the back of his thighs, pressing him closer as he leans down to catch her moan with his mouth.

This, he thinks, losing himself in the hazy heat of her. This, this, this.

He senses it a split-second before it happens, like a sudden change in air pressure.  The distant urgency of his mission slamming into focus with the echo of a high powered rifle shot and the shattering glass of the window.

Fiery pain rips through his abdomen, but it's the soft cry beneath him that has him in agony.

He remembers now what was so important.  He remembers now what he was supposed to do.

“Teresa,” he chokes, slumping to the side to get himself fully between her and the window.  He's losing strength fast, barely able to prop himself up enough to assess the damage.  At first he thinks the blood covering her chest is his own, but then he sees it: the entry wound where the bullet passed through him into her.

Her eyes stare up at him in disbelief, words gurgling around the blood pooling in her throat. “James?”

He has to —

“James,” she repeats, blood trickling out the corner of her mouth, her voice growing faint.  

He has to —

“Save me.”

♛

ao3

[commander-diomika]

Pspsps come get your angst and inevitable betrayals. (Part One) (Part Two) Part 3 - Fandom: Rusty Quill Gaming Pairing: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde Rating: Upped to Mature for graphic depiction of blood/injuries Word Count: ~2200 Additional Tags: Slow Burn, 18-Month Time Gap (Rusty Quill Gaming), Rating Will Change to Explicit in Later Parts, Opposites Attract, Blood and Injury, Angst

Summary: "The longer they stayed, the more it delayed real progress on the mission. Hope had borne them this long, but Zolf knew by the heaviness in his heart, it was time to consider saying goodbye. In more ways than one.

He didn’t want to have this conversation. He didn’t want to be the one to tell Wilde that it was time to stop gambling on the chance that they might see the party again. There was a tragedy in the shape of an executioner’s axe hanging over them both, and Zolf was about to give the nod to drop it."

It's all fun and games until someone loses their smile.

Six days after Bosie’s arrival.

Zolf was walking back to the safe house from the temple of Hephaestus. It had been locked up tight, and there was no response to his hammering on the door.

I think it might be time to move on from this city, he thought. The ringing of his unanswered knocks at the temple had rung with a kind of finality. Both he and Wilde had held on here longer than they should, making any excuse they could to stay put in their current safehouse. Hoping to hear from Hamid and Sasha. Zolf and Wilde clung to Damascus, praying that any day word would come through. If they just stayed in the last place the other party members had been seen, it might make them easier to find. Hoping, hoping, hoping.

But the longer they stayed, the more it delayed real progress on the mission. Hope had borne them this long, but Zolf knew by the heaviness in his heart, it was time to consider saying goodbye. In more ways than one.

He didn’t want to have this conversation. He didn’t want to be the one to tell Wilde that it was time to stop gambling on the chance that they might see the party again. There was a tragedy in the shape of an executioner’s axe hanging over them both, and Zolf was about to give the nod to drop it.

“Ho, Wilde!” Zolf called, coming through the door. He sighed as he unslung his pack from his shoulders, thinking about how best to broach it.

When a few silent moments passed, Zolf surfaced from the depths of his thoughts, noticing that there was no response from within the townhouse. “Douglas?” he added uncertainly.

There was every chance the two of them were cozied up in Wilde’s room again. Zolf had seen a lot less of Wilde this week than usual, and he wasn’t looking forward to prying Wilde out of his torrid nest to have a hard conversation. Whilst it wasn’t any of Zolf’s business who Wilde took to bed, it was Zolf’s business that Wilde was... distracted. And if Wilde was planning on keeping Bosie around...

Depressed about the notion of so many hard conversations threatening, Zolf clanged his glaive into the weapons rack in the entry hall and threw down his bag, heading to the sitting room.

Shock has a way of warping perception, of making a mind skitter when it should seize. For instance, as he reached the door, the first thing that Zolf noticed was that the settee was the wrong colour, instead of Wilde’s bloodied body atop it.

Zolf swore, feeling like his legs wouldn’t respond, like everything moved slowly as the view properly hit him.

It felt like an age before he could move. Wilde’s upper half was drenched in blood, the couch dark and dripping with it.

“Wilde?” Zolf asked, almost inanely, as if expecting a response. Wilde had fallen back as if pushed, limbs splayed. The blood was leaking from multiple messy slices across his torso, darkening the soft turquoise shirt to a purple-black. That was shocking enough, but the real horror was Wilde’s cheek, sliced from temple to lips in a vicious, loose flap. Already Zolf was pulsating with healing light as he ran over, years of combat experience overriding the dumb shock. He nearly slipped in the growing pool of blood.

The wave of power emanating from Zolf slid like oil around Wilde’s body, none of it sinking it.

The cuffs! Zolf could have screamed. He yanked up the hems of Wilde’s pants. He snapped the cuffs off with strangely steady hands and blasted the man with magic.

“Don’t move!” Zolf cried. Can he move? Will he move? Zolf’s hands were slick within moments of touching Wilde’s face, the blood still oozing from the wound. Zolf’s stomach lurched, but he remained focused. He drew the two loose parts of Wilde’s cheek together before slamming more magic through it, his mind a horrified buzz. The point of a safehouse was that it was safe!

Wilde was trying to speak.

“Don’t! Just let me- don’t talk, Wilde, just wait.” There was so much blood- this kind of precision surgical work was better done by, well, surgeons, not hackneyed ex clerics who weren’t even sure why their magic still worked.

Zolf felt the loose pieces of skin begin to knit themselves back together beneath his hands, and no more blood flowed from the chest wounds. Zolf had a brief and horrifying flashback to Sasha, in pieces, her organs floating like a halo around her lifeless body. He didn’t want to keep getting his friends' blood on his hands, even if it was in the service of saving them.

Wilde weakly tried to push Zolf’s hands away and went to speak again through the ruin of his face.

“Don’t worry about me,” he managed this time. “Go after Bosie!”

“Stop! Talking!” Zolf replied, besides himself with anger, incredibly relieved that Wilde was conscious. “Wait- Bosie did this?”

Wilde was awake enough to hold a hand over his cheek and sit up. His face was painted stark red from the bridge of the nose down. His head had slumped to one side, wound facing up, blood flowing down; the effect was like he was wearing a shiny maroon bandana over nose and mouth. But his eyes were remarkably clear and angry.

“Yes. I don’t know- he turned, it wasn’t him anymore, or something took over him. He tried to take me with him and I- I fought back and-” Wilde went to stand, hand still clasped over his face. “I think he heard you- shit, Zolf.” Wilde’s eyes flicked around frantically, looking for the man who attacked him.

“Easy, easy.” Zolf stopped Wilde from rising and as he did, Wilde’s fire seemed to go out. Zolf kept talking. “It’s alright. It’s not important right now.” Zolf’s gut swooped with guilt as he looked at the wound. He’d gotten here just in time, but Wilde wasn’t walking away from this without scarring. “Just let me take care of it, ok?”

Zolf reached and cupped Wilde’s bloody cheek in one hand. Wilde half-closed his eyes and leant into the touch, breathing shakily. Zolf had been about to push more healing magic through the cheek, but he froze at the sensation of Wilde’s lips and breath against his blood-slick hand. Alive. Zolf had gotten here in time and his droll, irritating, shallow co-conspirator was alive.

Suddenly Wilde’s eyes flew open. “No!” he shouted and leapt to his feet, knocking Zolf’s hand aside. He looked completely deranged. “Get away!” Zolf backed up a few steps, hands outstretched as if he were taming a wild animal.

“I- Argh! He was infected!” Wilde clenched the tattered shirt to his chest, as though trying to hold his whole self together. “We spent this whole week together, in bed, fucking, kissing! You need to stay away!”

The wind went completely out of Zolf’s sails, his breath leaving him in an instant. Wilde was only semi-conscious and still reeling. Zolf would be impressed at Wilde’s acumen whilst distressed, if the point he had made wasn’t completely terrifying. Zolf took a few steps backward without realising.

“Wait, Wilde, just wait.” Zolf was still catching up. “You said, he tried to take you away. If you were already infected all he had to do was wait, righ’? A week, Curie said, all of her double agents lasted less than a week before they turned on people.”

“We can’t know that! Maybe he was just getting a head start! Fuck!” Wilde’s cheek started to bleed again with the strength of his swear.

Zolf had backed all the way to the other side of the room, only noticing when his arse gently bumped the wall. “The cuffs, Wilde.” He was grasping, but he desperately needed to find the right words to say to take that hellish look off Wilde’s face. “If it’s at all magical in nature, maybe the cuffs protected you.”

Wilde’s head snapped around frantically. In the carnage, he hadn’t realised they’d been taken off. He spotted them, discarded by the low table and moved to them.

“Wait, at least let me-” Unwilling to come closer, Zolf simply radiated as much healing as he could muster. Wilde, eyes unfathomably dark, nodded his thanks as he snapped the cuffs back on. He’d been on the brink for a moment there, terror threatening to snap him, but Zolf’s words, and the Stockholm-syndrome familiarity of the weight around his ankles had brought him back from whatever edge he’d been teetering on.

Wilde’s mouth twisted. He’d taken as much healing as Zolf could jam into him, but the scar was there to stay. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Zolf, you’re going to go up to my room and bar the window. I don’t care how you do it, move a wardrobe over it, stone shape it, whatever, but make it tight. Then I am going to go into that room, shut the door-” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “-and wait for seven days.”

Zolf gulped. “Righ-…. Right. That’s a good idea. I can bring you food and-”

“No. No food.” Wilde snapped. “No opening the door. Not if I beg, not if I scream. Not for anything.”

Zolf’s mouth was agape, trying desperately to catch up to Wilde, to meet him wherever he had gone. “No food? Don’t be daft, you’ll die.”

Wilde’s head snapped to the side, then to the other. It was unclear if he was shaking his head or simply processing with his whole skull. “No, I won’t. I’ll need water but I can live without food, or whatever we’ve got in the house. What are you waiting for? Do it now!” His demeanor had snapped from terror to fury. “Every second we waste dithering about it makes it more likely that this could take you too!”

Zolf obeyed. His hands had started to shake as the crest of the crisis passed, and he stilled them by taking action. He washed the blood off himself and dutifully collected all the vases from about the place to fill with water, grabbing any food in the kitchen that wasn’t raw ingredients. It amounted to some bread and dried fruit, but Zolf was still obscenely grateful there was any ready-to-eat food in there at all. The horror inherent to spending seven days alone in a single room was starting to spread like a dark inkblot in his mind. He kept moving, as if he could outrun a stain.

It was trivial to stone shape the window closed; the townhouse wasn’t particularly big or lavish. When he stepped out of the room, Zolf was met with the ghoulish sight that was Wilde waiting for him down the corridor. He had put a jacket over his slashed shirt but hadn’t even tried to clean the blood off his face.

Zolf paused in the door, looking Wilde over. “Curie said something about- about blue veins?” he said softly. He didn’t want to ask. The last thing he wanted to say was I told you so.

“What? Everyone’s veins are blue.” Wilde’s voice was flat, emotionless. Shock was setting in properly, Zolf diagnosed.

“I dunno. It weren’t clear, but… did you notice anything? On Bosie.” It felt horrible pushing Wilde right now, but knowledge was power. Wilde in his right mind would understand.

Wilde’s eyes shifted in either shock or deception. “No. I didn’t. But we spent a lot of time with the lights off.” Wilde gave his head a little shake, as if to dislodge a memory... or stop one from surfacing.

More than the blood, it was the blankness on Wilde’s face that was most unsettling. Zolf couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Wilde without a smirk or an arched brow or, more frequently these days, a soft little smile, usually when he thought Zolf wasn’t paying attention.

“What’s done is done. Worry about the “how” if I come out the other side of this.” Wilde took a step forward, waiting for Zolf to back off. “Go to the end of the corridor. Once I’m inside, I’ll shut the door. Bar it from the outside.” Metres between them, they performed a grotesque mockery of a tango step, Zolf stepping back, Wilde stepping forward. When Wilde reached the door, he stared into his room.

“And Zolf?” Wilde didn't look over at him, considering the darkness inside as though it held a secret. Perhaps pondering the poetic implications that his love den of the last week was to be his prison for the next.

“Yeh?” Zolf knew this had to happen. Knew it was a good idea. But gods, he wouldn’t wish this on his worst enemy. Wilde had just been betrayed in the most vile way, and now he had to sit in the dark with that for a week. Zolf hadn’t wanted Douglas around, but he certainly hadn’t wanted this.

“At the end of these seven days... if it’s not me in there-” Wilde finally tore his eyes away from the room and turned his gaze to Zolf’s. “-if I’m, monstrous or sick, if I try to hurt you...” He didn’t finish the thought.

“I won’t let you.” Zolf whispered through dry lips. Wilde didn’t have spell it out; they understood each other well enough by now.

Wilde nodded once, satisfied, and stepped into the dark.

[bunny-hoodlum]

Asynchronous With You: Ch 6

ship: naruhina

rating: teen (quite possibly mature or explicit later)

tags: Modern Day AU, Foster Siblings, Family, Angst, Unrequited Love, Poor Communication, Missed Opportunities

summary: An awkward journey full of self-denial and missed moments between two foster siblings. Perhaps their love will find the right timing someday.

"I think everyone should know," she said.

They were walking the usual route to their high school, the train station coming up ahead. Naruto kept a protective though furtive gaze on Hinata as he walked behind her on the steps.

He swore she's never modified her skirt. It would be against the dress code she's forced to protect. So he has no idea why it feels like he's seeing more of her than usual.

"Know what?"

Usually he's already doing this, because he's worried about perverts. Even in grade school, he was worried. If it weren't for their teachers educating them on Stranger Danger, he probably would have had to do it himself.

He had to learn it the hard way before Kurenai-obasan took him in, but so did Neji apparently. That's why he's gotten good at being less obvious with his suspicion, and also why he can better tell apart intent based on their body language.

He used to perceive everything around him to be potentially malicious. He never realized the toll that had been taking on him until Neji taught him how to really see.

He stood close behind her on the platform as they waited.

"That we're fosters."

A burst of wind shot through the platform, ruffling overcoats and business suits and whipping pleated skirts and loose hair in a sudden frenzy.

The PA announced the train's arrival, and it wheezed to a stop soon after.

He observed Hinata as she flattened her skirt down and smoothed her bangs, but none of it registered in his brain.

It was simply auto-pilot for him to follow her onto the train, then using his larger frame to block the other passengers from nearing his little sister.

Right. His foster sister.

In all of their nine years together, they've never told anyone. It wasn't that it seemed weird, it just… never occurred to them?

But now it did seem pretty weird.

"Why, though? In a couple years, it's not going to matter anymore."

She turned her face against her shoulder to look at him, but he didn't know what she was thinking. It was the same schooled features she put on last night when visiting Neji, like there was a one-way mirror and only she could see through him.

Then she looked away.

"You're not going to introduce a girlfriend to Kurenai one of these days?"

"Hmm?" The suggestion bloomed in his mind and quickly withered. The idea wasn't… very appealing. Something about inviting judgment onto his life and stuff. He defends himself in every aspect but at home, and he'd rather keep coasting on the good thing he's got. "Dunno. Hadn't ever thought about it."

He certainly wasn't going to introduce any of the one's he's taken to bed when the apartment was empty. He's rarely done it with the same girl twice, mainly because he can't help but lose interest.

He blames it on sexual incompatibility.

"Well, I know I will."

He misses the melancholy hedging around her words, and latches onto the opportunity for an easy ribbing.

"You're gonna bring a girlfriend over?" he's happy she shoots him a look so that she can see his corny grin, otherwise he worried she might've mistaken him for serious.

He's nonplussed by the severity of her glare, but then she says "Maybe when you're not around," and he no longer knows what to think.

"Wait, what? Hinata?" He's craning left and right in hopes of catching a smirk or a giggle from her, but she's evasive. Has she? "Hinata, are you--?" And since third grade she said? "Also, what's that supposed to mean 'when I'm not around'? Huh? Hey, what's that supposed to mean 'when I'm not around'?? Hinata???"

"We're getting off topic--"

"Bullshit! I have questions!"

She ignored him.

"I vote to tell our friends that we're fosters. And I'd like to have it taken care of during Lunch. What's your vote?"

Is this what she sounds like during her Public Morals Committee meetings? Because it was doing something to him.

Oh, right. She wanted an honest answer.

But… "What do you get out of announcing this? I mean, aside from knowing how to introduce me in the future or whatever. Have you thought this through at all?"

What's the rest of the school going to say?

The guys who share their skin mags with him might get wary and reject him. The girls he's dumped might try to get to him through her. Teachers might give up on disciplining him, essentially offloading their responsibilities onto her as both Public Morals Committee and his sister. And he wasn't having any of that shit again.

All kinds of things could bite them in the ass one way or another.

She hasn't replied to him at all, and he thinks she's upset again, but he has to make his point.

"Hinata, the way things are now isn't broken, so what are you trying to fix?"

"It would help me."

"Huh? How? With what?" He waited, and she was silent. A drop of dread sank in his chest for her. "So something is wrong," He leaned in closer, causing her to shrink. He sighed. "Hinata, for someone who wants the world to know we're fosters, you sure don't seem willing to rely on me like a sibling."

"I don't favor Neji-niisan over you."

"Yeah, well, you don't have to," Tension clutched at their throats. "People always have more history with their blood. I can't really compete, y'know?"

He can't compete at all, actually.

Sometimes he thinks his only true brother is Sasuke, but he still wants to work at this. She just has to let him.

"I'm sorry. I just thought it would be less lonely if we could talk to each other normally again. And we only see each other at school these days, so…"

He envisioned her waving to him in the halls between periods, or her having a reason to cheer him on during a deadlift tournament. It would prevent people from making the wrong idea about them.

Damn, he felt stupid now.

"Fine!" He intoned with mock-annoyance. "If it'll make you happy."

She looked over her shoulder again, and what she found was his warm, supportive smile.

________________________

Hinata gathered her friends, Kiba, Shino, Ino and Sakura.

And he gathered his friends, Sasuke, Shikamaru, and Chouji.

Ino had tsked in distaste when she saw Sasuke, had gone as far as to drag Sakura away so that the others sat in-between them. He caught some sort of nickname from her lips, but wasn't sure what she had really said.

As Naruto stood before them alongside Hinata, his gaze fell on the skinny lad scribbling away at his sketchbook, and immediately his fight instinct was switched on.

"What's your monochromatic ass doing here??! Did anyone invite him?!" He jabbed a finger in Sai's direction.

The monotone, softboy, little creep didn't even look up.

"I'm making a record of these proceedings for posterity," he lifted the sketchpad and flipped it around.

Inkified Naruto was pointing right back at him with an agape snarl. Sai then proceeded to show everyone else individually, and they all cracked up, one by one.

Ino was absolutely dying. Stomach-clutching and tears rolling, the whole nine yards. She snatched the sketchpad from Sai and begged if she could keep it.

"Whaddya want that for??" Naruto interrogated. He was so about to punch Sai and throw his art supplies in the pool. This was Hinata's announcement and the softboy was ruining it.

Ino mockingly tilted the sketchbook side to side. "Something to keep your ego in check, Charato."

Hinata faintly snorted. He wasn't sure until he saw how she had her face turned around and her shoulders were lightly trembling.

He frowned at her, feeling betrayed.

"Ahhhh, alright, enough! Me and Hinata have gathered you all here for a reason! So shut up and listen! Hinata, tell them!"

Hinata jolted out of her humor, her face flushing as though this were the first time she's done public speaking.

"Uh, Uhm… Naruto-kun and I… we're foster siblings. We, uh… we live together," Hinata froze up under their collective stares. With a stiff smile, she half-heartedly sang "Ta-da," and punctuated it with rather embarrassed jazz hands.

"And as our friends, you're the first to know," Naruto added. "Also we don't care if the whole school finds out. So don't worry, we're not sharing this out of confidentiality."

Their collective shock evaporated rather quickly.

Sakura was the first to speak. "Well, that answers a lot of questions. And raises plenty more." She ended it with a growl and a glare. That accusatory look irked him.

"Feel free to ask away! I've got nothin' to hide!"

Sakura flattened the back of her skirt as she rose up like a dignitary representing The House of Hyuuga. And then like a certain video game attorney, she pointed at him.

"I always wondered why you obsessively protected Hinata in the past, but never showed any romantic initiative towards her. Now I have to ask, knowing the sex maniac that you are: Do you ever sneak into her bedroom?"

"No," He answered unconvincingly. He looked at the jury one by one, unsure how much of their scrutiny was sincere or misperceived. Sasuke was leaning forward, arms circling around his knees. He looked a little too interested in the idea of him and Hinata… doing things… "I-I've never done that! I would never do that! Hinata's special to me, okay?! You've got a filthy fuckin' mind, Haruno!"

"Me?! You've tried to sneak into the female locker rooms!" Sakura took off her shoe and slugged it at him. "Multiple times!"

Naruto hunched up and twisted away as the shoe smacked his shoulder and bounced away.

Hinata moved in between him and the one-woman mob. "Okay, this is getting out of hand--"

"I will never fucking do that to Hinata. I was in an orphanage for six years. And they're not all run by saints."

Dammit.

This was way more than he ever wanted to share.

He took a few steps back before turning tail. He jogged downhill as fast as he could.

What was he doing?

Uzumaki Naruto doesn't run away.

But it was either that, or… have them watch him cry.

________________________

AN: So this is missing a scene cuz I cut it. I might not use it anymore, and instead I'll see if the backstory I had expanded upon will be worked in later on in the plot. Because before I started writing this, I had anticipated that things would actually get cuter from here on out. (Also anticipating that I may work in at least one smutty chapter in the future. Yeah, it's totally diverging from this fic's original concept when I posted it for Secret Santa, but that's okay!) And the total Ego Death I unexpectedly wrote just feels kind of Deus Ex Machina in a way to Naruto's vices. I just can't have him maturing right now. That's a plot route I don't have any material for, and I don't quite see it as not defeating the other stuff I had planned to write. (I'm also happy to state that I'm starting to get a better picture of how to condense this content on AO3, because I honestly feel like this could be Ch. 2 now. :B I mean, it's too short on its own if I do, but it kinda has that hook for the rest of the story.)

I hope you enjoyed this update! 😘💕💕💕