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blindingdutchy · 3 years

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lamentation | FIVE

{peter parker x fem!reader AU}

based on All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven

SERIES MASTERLIST

word count: 4,111

warnings: mostly fluff, some angst toward the end, mentions of injury

18+!!! minors stay away!

You didn't get much work done with Peter during the weekend. Following your emotional outburst over the argument between the pair of you, Peter stayed at your house surprisingly late into the night. You both seemed to agree the project could wait for a different day, and instead of working you spent the evening talking. While you didn't have much to talk about, Peter had a seemingly endless supply of subject matter to keep you both entertained.

Already you could tell that you were growing attached to him, probably far too much and far too soon, but there was no stopping it any longer. He made you feel good things and gave you a sense of normalcy you'd been craving for so long; there was no way you were giving that up any time soon. If he hurt you in the end, you'd deal with the pain because at least you got a bit of relief in the present.

That Friday evening had been one of the best nights of your life, regardless of how mundane or even boring it probably would have seemed to your younger self. You learned a lot about Peter, more than he'd already forced you to know in the weeks leading up to that night, and you answered all his random and silly questions about yourself. You learned that his favorite colors were red and blue, totally un-ironically, and that he'd gotten his abilities the summer between the eighth and ninth grades.

You also learned that Peter was just as stubborn and competitive as you used to be, and something about that knowledge sparked some of the old flame back into you. So, chasing after the fire that used to warm you, you made a deal with him. If he could prove to you that the Avengers were not as bad as you thought they were, then you would willingly do your speech in favor of the superheroes.

"You--you what?" Peter sputtered, laughing so hard he had to clutch his stomach with both hands and gasp for air, "You really cut the hair off of all of your sister's dolls because she beat you at checkers?"

You snorted, a harsh sound that made your nose ache as you laughed along with him, "Yes! She knew how competitive I was, and she took that risk by challenging me. I never lost a game of checkers again after that."

He slipped into another torrent of giggles much to your amusement, his eyes crinkling at the corners with a beautiful smile that made your own chuckling soften as you found yourself mesmerized by the sight of it. Peter Parker was certainly a very breathtaking spectacle to behold, and you had to wonder why he wasn't so much more popular in school. You knew why, everyone could see the relentless torment that Flash Thompson unleashed on him, but it still made no sense to you.

What was there to dislike about Peter? Just days ago you'd been beyond annoyed by him, and weeks before that you'd been entirely uncaring of his existence, but already that all seemed completely nonsensical to you. Now that you'd let him in, given him a chance, it seemed impossible to ever not like him again.

Wheezing breathlessly, Peter chortled, "I can't even judge you. One time, when Ned and I were thirteen, he bet that he could finish a LEGO set before me. He was going to beat me, and I may have accidentally knocked it off the table so he had to start over."

"So," you finally gasped as you stopped laughing, "so, what you're saying is, you're just as stubborn as I am and we're definitely never going to agree on this project?"

His chuckles slowly died out as he nodded, "I guess so."

You knew what he meant to say, and that was the fact that he didn't feel he was being needlessly stubborn in this situation. This wasn't about competition to him. No, this was about him not seeing himself or his colleagues in a negative light; he couldn't fathom the distaste you had for them.

As much as you disagreed, you could understand that. You could understand how he would see the people he worked alongside as good people. It made sense that he would have a different perspective when he was the one out saving civilians from big and small horrors alike, rather than being the one to suffer the consequences of the destruction that happened as a result.

Along with your understanding, you also didn't think that Peter was a bad person. You couldn't possibly imagine him causing harm, intentionally or not, and maybe that was why you said what you did next. Maybe that was why you proposed, "I'll make you a deal. If you can prove to me that the Avengers are not who I think they are, then I'll take your stance for the speech. Give me a reason to speak positively of them, and I will."

Even now, as you made your way toward your locker at school on Monday, you weren't entirely sure what had made you decide to propose such a thing. You were pretty certain that you were setting Peter up for failure. In your eyes, there wasn't much of anything that Peter could say, do, or show you that would change your mind. Nothing would make what had happened to your sister okay or forgivable.

Yet, he clearly did not feel the same way. Peter looked as if he was walking on sunshine that morning as he pranced along beside you, a triumphant grin on his face as he whispered, "I have a plan."

"A plan?"

He grinned wider as you looked at him curiously, "Yes, a plan. To change your mind."

Quirking an eyebrow expectantly, you waited for him to elaborate as you gathered your things from your locker for class. He never did, only continuing to practically vibrate with excitement beside you in silence. "Are you going to tell me what this plan of yours is?" you prodded.

"No." When you looked at him in confusion he continued, "If I tell you what it is, you're not going to have an open mind. You're going to think of all the reasons it won't change your mind, and then it won't."

Suddenly, you were the one chasing after Peter instead of the other way around. All day you found yourself glancing to him suspiciously and following him around much like he had you in all the weeks leading up to your budding friendship, and it was a big change of pace for you. You felt a little pathetic following him like a lost puppy, but you were nosy and wanted to know what his plan was.

No matter how much you pried, though, he didn't budge. In Calculus he ignored your staring and whispers with a far too smug smirk on his face, though you secretly liked the way it looked on him. Who would have guessed that Peter Parker could be arrogant?

In Gym class he teasingly ran faster than you could keep up the moment you asked again, only slowing down once you begrudgingly promised to leave the subject alone. Though he did tell you he wouldn't run faster than you anyways because people would probably get suspicious if he suddenly turned into a track star. He had to play the roll of the un-athletic nerd regardless.

At lunch he didn't sit with you for the first time since he'd started joining you. He'd waved at you from where he sat with his friends, Ned and MJ, but you found yourself leaving the cafeteria rather than joining him. You weren't ready to take that next step yet; being open with Peter was hard enough, and you weren't ready to have to talk to two more people. Still, you tried to pretend it didn't bother you despite the little sinking feeling you felt in your stomach.

He still sat with you in Speech class, which you were relieved by. Ms. Lovell left everyone to work with their partners on their project, warning the class sternly, "You may have until the end of the semester, but don't slack off now. I'm only giving you two other class periods after now to work on this."

Peter quietly joked, "I bet she just forgot to grade our homework from last week."

When the woman sat down at her desk and pulled over a stack of papers, uncapping her favorite red-glitter pen that she always graded with, you both fell into a fit of giggles that you had to work very hard to keep quiet. It only took one glare from the teacher to have you ducking behind your book to hide how red your face turned, both from embarrassment and repressed laughter. You did, however, notice to fleeting expression of shock on her face to see it was you giggling in her class.

Not much work was done during that class, though for you and Peter the work couldn't be started yet. You still hadn't decided on a stance, and until Peter either succeeded with his plan or failed as you expected, a decision wouldn't be made. Instead, you both whispered to each other about whatever random thoughts seemed to pop into your heads in the moment.

"People are staring at me," you acknowledged, glancing around the class timidly at the sight of many students giving you curious stares, "is there something on my face?"

Peter laughed, though he quickly disguised it as a cough, and responded, "No, they're just confused."

Confused, you furrowed your eyebrows and looked at the boy with the warm brown eyes who was grinning at you proudly. "Why?" you asked, shifting uncomfortably. You were used to people giving you strange looks, but these were different. They weren't looking at you as if they were pitying you, or as if they were waiting for you to finally break down and go crazy. No, now they were looking to you with wonder and interest.

He bit the inside of his cheek, a pensive expression blossoming over his face as he thought of how to say whatever he planned to tell you. For a moment you admired the way his ruffled eyebrows furrowed, his lips pouting slightly as he pursed them in concentration. Only when the strange, old fluttering in your heart and your stomach started to erupt did you look away and wrinkle your nose.

You didn't want to admit it, but you knew exactly what that feeling was. It was a feeling you hadn't encountered since before the incident, and it was a feeling you didn't want to experience now. So, you told yourself it was just nerves over having a friend again, and squashed the stupid butterflies down as hard and as fast as you could.

"Well," Peter finally started, eyes wide and a little nervous as if he expected you to potentially be offended by his words, "you haven't exactly... talked to anyone in awhile."

Suddenly, it clicked. People were staring because you weren't the reclusive, closed-off, depressed girl you had been for the past thirteen months. They were staring because you seemed... happy. "Oh." you nodded, the sound feeble and slightly broken, "I guess that makes sense."

People were staring at you because you were the girl with the dead sister who they'd been waiting to witness implode, and suddenly you were talking, and laughing, and smiling. You were talking, laughing, and smiling with Peter Parker, no less. They were looking at you because you seemed fine.

Were you fine? Peter shot you a few concerned glances as you seemed to slip back into the repression you'd been living in for so long, but you gave him a small smile as if to say, "I'm okay." You were okay.

For the first time since she died, now that you really thought about it, you truly felt okay. You felt good. You felt happy. Sure, you were terrified of the little flutters you felt whenever you stared a little too long at Peter's face, and you still felt all the bad things you'd been feeling, but now you had good things to balance them out.

It would have been so easy to slip back into that cycle of beating yourself up again. That little voice in the back of your head was still there, the one that sounded like your sister but so different at the same time, that told you that you didn't deserve to have friends. You didn't deserve to make new friends, or feel those butterflies that meant something more, not when she couldn't do those things ever again.

It would have been easy, but you didn't want that for yourself anymore. If you did that, if you pushed Peter away because of her, then you would be left with all the bad feelings and more of them. You didn't deserve that. So, you took a deep breath, and gave a more genuine smile, and met the stares head on. She would have wanted you to be happy, and you deserved to be happy.

After school, Peter left you with a swimming mind and a million thoughts of what his plan could be. He didn't mention anything, and you wondered how long you would have to wait for whatever it was to come to fruition. What could it be?

You spent the afternoon in the family room, an action that seemed to startle and befuddle your parents who watched you like hawks. Though they didn't say anything, only greeting you casually as if everything were totally normal, you could practically hear the gears turning in their heads. You could imagine their thoughts of, "Who is this alien that looks like our child?"

As confused as they were, eventually the decided to just go with it. Your mom curled up on the sofa with you, and your father fell into his recliner just like old times, and the three of you watched a movie in a comfortable silence. Well, mostly comfortable. Nobody dared to look at or acknowledge the empty middle cushion on the sofa where she'd always sat, or your mother's empty lap that she mindlessly kept brushing her hands over as if waiting for your sister's head to be laying there waiting for her hair to be played with.

Nobody dared, until you did. You weren't entirely sure what compelled you to do it. It seemed as if you were urged to do lots of things you thought you never would these days. But, after half an hour of watching your mother's twitching hands, you laid your head on her lap and closed your eyes to avoid seeing her face.

After a moment, her fingers brushed through your wind-tangled hair and you felt peace. She had always been the one to do this. She had always been the one to burrow her way into your mother's lap, begging to have her scalp massaged or her back traced delicately, and now you understood why. It was comforting for more than one reason.

On one hand, it was just physically relaxing. But, on a more complex level, it gave you a sense of closeness you hadn't realized you'd been longing for. You felt closer with your mother who worked through the tangles in your hair with her fingers, gently scratching your scalp with her manicured fingernails. You felt closer with your sister, too. It felt as if you had a small piece of her to hold onto in that moment, and it was comforting.

By the time the movie ended, you were nearly asleep and the sun had set some time ago. Your mother was the first to break the silence, softly rousing you, "(Y/N), honey, do you want dinner?"

You did, but before you could answer, your phone rang loudly. Glancing at the screen and seeing it was Peter, you nibbled your lip to hide a smile and stated, "Yeah, I'll be down in a minute." They didn't protest as you raced up to your bedroom to answer the call.

"Hello?"

"(Y/N)! Hey!" Peter practically shouted, though his voice cut out with what sounded like a windstorm. "Can you hear me?"

For a moment the audio cut out and you wondered if the call dropped, but then the crackling wind returned and you questioned, "What are you doing?"

Abruptly the sound ended, and he was breathing a little heavily as he responded, "Sorry, I was swinging--"

"Peter! Are you really on your phone while doing that?"

He laughed, "Calm down! My suit, well, Karen, the AI in my suit, is connected to my phone. Completely hands free--I promise."

Your mind flashed back to that night on the roof, the night he'd stopped you, and you remembered how he'd asked a woman named Karen what he was supposed to do. Now it all made sense. You'd been a little curious about who Karen was ever since that night, and now that you knew it was some sort of artificial intelligence that Peter had given such a human name to, you had to laugh.

"Why are you calling me, Spiderman?" you joked.

There was some quiet rustling, as if he were moving around, and he spoke quieter, "I'm on patrol. I just--maybe this is stupid, but I just thought if maybe I could show you the good things I do you'd see that we don't just destroy stuff."

It went silent for a moment before he continued, "I can't exactly take you with me, because that would be stupid, but you could listen."

You hesitated in responding. A part of you wanted to tell him that it was a stupid idea, for multiple reasons, but you decided against it. How would he ever prove anything to you if you didn't give him the chance?

So, you swallowed your protests, and said, "Okay."

"I'll warn you now it's usually pretty boring. A lot of nights I just swing around for awhile and go home without seeing anyone or anything."

That was strangely relieving. You hoped that tonight would be one of those nights; not because you didn't want him to have the chance to really enact his plan, but because you worried for him. What if having you metaphorically there with him distracted him? What if you distracted him and caused him to get hurt?

For awhile, it was a boring night. You and Peter went back and forth, taking turns telling stupid jokes to see who would crack and laugh first, and inevitably he won. He had an endless supply of disgustingly cheesy science puns that left you in stitches every time, even if you'd already seen the joke before on one of his many t-shirts.

You got him to laugh too, though, with all of the dead-pan anti-jokes you may have been secretly googling as you told them. Sometimes the wind would return, alerting you that he was swinging around the city, and every now and then he'd almost forget you were listening as he gave little exclamations of exhilaration in the moment. It was cute, even if the shouts nearly blew out your ear drum every time.

It was a boring night, until it wasn't. One moment the wind was making your phone speaker cut out, and the next it was eerily quiet and you had to pull your phone away to see if the call had dropped. Putting the device on speaker phone, you questioned quietly, "Peter?"

"I'm still here," he whispered, "I see something. Be quiet for a minute."

You listened and waited with baited breathe, probably panicking more than enough for the both of you, as Peter started speaking to Karen. He asked her to start something he called enhanced reconnaissance mode, and you were bursting with suspense and curiosity. What did he see? What was happening?

It felt like an eternity before he acknowledged you again, "Okay, I see a woman cornered by some guys. I think they're trying to... to attack her."

He didn't have to say the word for you to know what he meant, and you felt your stomach explode with anxiety and fear for a woman you couldn't even see. "What are you going to do?" you asked.

"I'm gonna web 'em up, and wait for the police with her." he stated, "I won't be able to talk for a bit, okay?"

And then, everything changed. One moment the wind was back as he swung down to the scene, and suddenly Peter was in full Spiderman mode and almost unrecognizable to you. He was sassier, playful even, despite how serious you knew he really was as he antagonized the bad guys.

The banter didn't last long. You heard the woman scream in terror as a loud ruckus rang through your phone, and Peter groaned. Was he hurt? Did he get hit? There were more thuds and dull smacking sounds, Peter and the men alike grunting and shouting out loudly as she continued to break the atmosphere with her screaming.

You wanted to call out for him, to make sure he was okay, but you were paralyzed in fear. What if you called his name and it distracted him, causing him to really get hurt? But, what if he already was hurt and forgot you were there to potentially call for help?

The fight lasted awhile, before finally the woman's screaming ceased as Peter told her, "Hey, hey! I got them, I got you. It's okay. Everything's okay."

"Peter?" you whispered.

"Everything's okay. It's going to be alright."

He was speaking to you, though he had to phrase it in a way that it sounded as if he were just speaking to her. You didn't believe him that everything was fine, though. It was easy to hear just how winded he was in the way his voice was strained, weaker than before.

Peter was hurt, and you were terrified. His plan was just as stupid as you'd thought it to be. Not because he didn't prove anything to you, because you were happy he'd saved the woman and he had shown you a good thing he did, but because he'd forced you to witness his pain and suffering yet again. You'd had to witness him actually get hurt this time, and the woman's screams still echoed in your ears.

It brought you back to that day. Her screams reminded you of the chaos following the building's collapse, reminded you of how hoarse and sore your throat had been from screaming just like that. Screams of pure horror and panic.

Only after the police finally left, thanking Spiderman for his help, did Peter drop the faux strength and softly whimper, "Shit, that really hurt."

"My window is open."

With that, you hung up and left him to decide what to do by himself.

Your mother quietly knocked at your door, opening it slowly as she poked her head into your room, "Dinner is done if you still want to eat."

Forcing the best smile you could manage, you muttered, "I'm actually not feeling very good. I think I'll just go to bed." You wished you could say you hadn't seen the disappointment written all over her face, clearly let down by you pulling away again, but she nodded nonetheless and shut the door as she trudged away again.

You laid in bed for hours unable to fall asleep, listening to every noise outside with hitched breathe. Was that little knock Peter? Was he at your window? By the time your phone told you it was nearing sunrise, you gave up. He wasn't coming, and you tried to ignore all the horrible thoughts that consumed you.

What if he was so injured he couldn't make it to you? What if he was out on the street somewhere, hurt badly and in need of help? You cursed yourself for hanging up, but you couldn't bring yourself to call him back. It was a strange battle of worry and anger, with anger winning out in the end and stopping you from reaching out.

You were angry at Peter for his stupid plan, causing you to think of all the awful things he seemed to keep at bay during the daytime. You were angry at those men for hurting him. Mostly, you were angry at yourself for being so stubborn. Why were you being prideful and letting the anger stop you from making sure he was alright?

You: are you alive

Peter Parker: yes

Peter Parker: go to sleep

Peter Parker: see you tomorrow?

You: yes. good night.

SERIES TAGLIST {ask to be added}:

@msmimimerton @zendayasfwb @sweet-symphony

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escapethewonderland · 4 years

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It could have been you

Pairing: JakexFem!MC (Nadia)

Word counts: 1.8k

A/N: Hi darlings, I got the itch for a bit of Jake angst over the last few days so here it is this little OS. Kindly inspired by a song that stuck in my head while writing, Muddy Waters by LP. Hope you like it! SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 7 ENDING, BE AWARE!

TW: swearing, angst, mention of blood

Nadia was sitting on the edge of her bed, watching her closet intently like she was trying to find an answer to the incredible mess that her life had become over the last month. The doors were hanging open, patiently waiting for the girl to start gathering the clothes she needed for the trip to Duskwood.

She felt like her head was on the verge of exploding. Rabid thoughts were chasing each others around unbounded, hammering against her temples and begging to set them free.

She squeezed her hands together, quivering nervously while trying to release that ugly tension off her body. Seeing Richy bloody, slowing fading away on that hellish forest’s ground was the last straw for Nadia: someone got severely hurt and, all of a sudden, the game her and Jake were playing got extremely real.

Nadia couldn’t afford anymore to wait on the sidelines, protected by the distance and her hacker because sooner or later, they would come knocking on her doors. Although the strong gut feeling of running far away in the opposite direction, Nadia couldn’t deny the inescapable bond that was calling her to Duskwood. Even more now that both the girl and Jake may had the blood of an innocent guy dripping from their hands.

The young woman closed her eyes against that cruel image, breathing slowly from her nose, flexing her fingers.

Richy was going to make it; he had to.

He might survive. Those were the feeble words of hope that the doctors had said and the whole group hold on to them with ferocity: the idea of losing Richy was unacceptable.

A notification from the phone distracted the young woman, making her wince: she couldn’t recall how long she had been standing still in front of the wardrobe.

Nadia…I just read your texts. Is it true? Is Richy…?

The girl let an unsteady breath slip out between her lips, fighting back the tears.

Yes Jake, he’s fighting for his life on an operating table.

She got up from her bed, walking aimlessly around the small apartment in an agitated frenzy. Jake’s answer came right away.

I’m so, so sorry. I…I wasn’t expecting that. I…I’m at loss for words.

“No shit” Nadia snorted viciously under her breath, wiping away a traitorous tear that slowly crept down her cheek. Her breath was now ragged, but she still tried to keep her cool and not hyperventilate. Panic wouldn’t get her nowhere, she needed to be sharp right now.

Holding her phone in a tight grip, Nadia walked back to her bedroom; mind settled.

I don’t know what to say too, Jake, but I know what I have to do.

She threw the mobile on her bed with more vehemence than what was necessary. With few, swift strides, she found herself back in her room, standing in front of her closet to retrieve an old backpack from the tallest shelf. She scrutinized the clothes with a clinic eyes, opting for something practical, taking only the bare minimum she needed for a week or so.

Nadia didn’t bother to check her phone when Jake’s first reply came. Nor the next one or the other after that.

She was on autopilot, a ghost wandering around and haunting her own house.

Nadia spared a look at her reflection in the mirror while collecting the stuff she needed from the bathroom: her face was strained with harsh lines, eyes wide with messy makeup and even messier hair.

She brought her things to the other room, dumping them merciless inside the backpack and only then looked at her phone.

There were several messages from Jake but it was the last one that caught the girl’s attention.

Are you packing, Nadia? Please, answer me.

The phone slipped from her fingers after reading that words. A hint of paranoia emerged in her chest and she scanned her bedroom with meticulous care, calming down again only when she had checked twice every possible hiding place. No one seemed to be lurking in her room and the curtains were closed shut, a few sun shines peeking through them. She was still safe, it was still her home, no danger lurking in the shadows.

With trembling hands, Nadia retrieved the phone from the carpet.

She frowned, slightly afraid to look at the camera, before a wave of scolding hot anger filled her bones. Mouth set in a straight, harsh line, she started typing to Jake.

Are you fucking spying on me through my phone, Jake?

No answer. The girl felt like boiling with everything she’d been trying to repress since the first time Thomas texted her.

Are you fucking serious, Jake? Are you fucking with me or have you lost your mind along the way? Do you think that you can just go around spying people through their phone whenever it sooths you, whenever it’s convenient for your agenda?

Jake. I fucking trusted you! YOU…

The girl stopped there, unable to type anymore given the trembling that took control of her hands.

Nadia brought the back of her hand against her lips, suppressing a sob that would inevitably destroy the already fragile dam that was barely holding back all of her destructive emotions.

She fought it with all of her might, eventually falling on her knees because even standing felt crushing in that moment.

Nadia felt like she was going crazy, slowly loosing herself in something that was so much bigger than her.

Her phone started vibrating in her hand, signalling an incoming call from an unknown number.

Nadia stood there for a moment, debating if accepting the call or not. Could it be…?

“Hello?” she answered with a shaky voice.

Nadia heard a sight and a male voice greeted her, no distortion this time.

“Please, don’t go” pleaded who she assumed was Jake on the other side of the line.

Nadia let out a wet sob, almost chocking on the longing and sadness that built up in her chest at hearing Jake’s voice for the first time. His voice sounded so warm and comforting like a soothing balm, but it was all ruined by the ill-timing of the call.

“How much have I longed for this moment… you have no idea, Jake, you have no idea. I can’t believe it, it’s actually you” she mumbled under her breath, almost too quiet to be heard.

Another sight greeted her words, but Jake didn’t say anything.

“I would have loved to hear your voice for the first time under different circumstances” she continued, tears rolling freely down her grieving face.

“But the situation is pretty fucked up, Jake. I can’t afford to wait on the side-lines any longer”

“You can’t go, Nadia, please. You can’t really be thinking of going to Duskwood” replied Jake fast, almost eating up the words like he was in a hurry to get them out, to keep her safely where she was.

“But I am going, Jake. It was all my fault: Jessy’s attack, Cleo’s letters and now Richy… if I didn’t get involved, if I stayed out of it, nothing would have happened to them. It’s only fair I stand by their side to help them, actually help them” Nadia said with deep-rooted sadness in her voice, slowly getting up from the carpet. Her knees felt weak but her mind was strong.

There was a loud thud on the other side of the line, like a fist being slammed against a wooden table.

“No, no, no! Nadia, please! Duskwood is even more dangerous than before right now and you could put yourself into bigger troubles!”

She snorted without humour in her voice, now fully standing, sliding a hand through her hair.

“Well Jake, it’s not like you can stop me, can you? Because you’re not here… You’re not fucking here with me. What would you have me rather do, uh? Don’t you think I’m scared!? I’M TERRIFIED BUT WHY DON’T YOU…”

“IT COULD HAVE BEEN YOU, DAMMIT!” Jake almost screamed into her ear, panting like he had just ran a marathon.

Nadia closed her eyes while more tears carved their path through her reddened cheeks, biting hard on her lower lip. Her heart clenched painfully at his words cause only now she realized how much she’d been craving to feel his barriers coming down.

“It could have been you, bleeding out in that nightmarish forest, for fuck’s sake. And only the thought of you being hurt or worse, of losing you…it’s enough to drive me insane” he confessed softly, his silky voice like sweet honey in the Nadia’s ear, a tempting offer of haven.

“But it wasn’t me” she replied hesitantly, not trusting her voice not to break “it still could have been Lilly. It could have been Hannah”

That was a low blow, Nadia knew that but his sisters were the only family he had left and if he couldn’t be on the front line to save them, she would step up to be in his place and protect them.

“I don’t wanna lose you, not you too” Jake whispered, voice heavy with despair, so close to the mic that for a moment she had the faint illusion of having him right by her side.

“And you won’t, Jake, I promise you. You won’t lose any of us, we will see each other at the end of this. We’ll all be together and make up for all the time we spent apart.”

She almost smiled at that idyllic picture taking shape into her mind.

“But I have to go” Nadia simply stated, softly as to not hurt him, even though she was already doing that.

She closed the call before she lost all of the courage she had mustered up, Jake’s no’s haunting her while she turned off her phone. She exhaled deeply, before hitting her wardrobe’s door with her open palm, muffling a scream against her folded t-shirts.

It took Nadia five whole minutes to regain her composure and fight back fat tears of sorrow, but when she finally looked back up, there were flames in her eyes.

She set her body into motion, retrieving an object from the drawer under her desk: the older phone used to be her main phone, but Nadia was sure she was going to need a backup since everyone in Duskwood already had her info. No one knew her new number though, so she hoped it could turn out to be a secret advantage. Only Lilly was aware of it, she was the one to help her out to settle everything and she was the only soul that knew she was coming to Duskwood and they both preferred that way.

She braced herself, backpack on her shoulder and keys in her hands: even though she was filled with much uncertainty, Nadia knew she was on the right path.

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sweetestlamb · 4 years

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Jealous, My Ass

Genre- Is raunchy gutter filth a genre? Because that’s what this is.

Pairing- Ko-Mun Yeong/ Moon Gang-Tae

Warnings- See the genre. If you are an innocent lamb this is not for you. Also I am 100% a feminist (pussy power af) but I will be using some tropes and such I am only human y’all. Jealous hottie is hot. I also haven’t written anything in years so you know, be kind. I just couldn’t get them out of my head.

Summary: Gang-Tae is definitely not jealous. At all. Not even a little bit.

Bring home food. I’m hungry!

Mun-Yeong delicately presses send on her phone and flips it shut, falling back onto the vibrant red couch with a sigh. She sees the small seen on her phone screen notifying that Gang-Tae has received her message and impatiently waits for his reply. Seconds, turn to minutes and no reply comes and she feels her stomach twist in annoyance. Why isn’t he answering her? How dare he? Could he be busy? Why read her message only to ignore it?

She picks up her phone intending to ask him all those questions, when the little voice inside her head that always tells her the worst possible answers whispers “He doesn’t want you. You bother him and he only helps you because he feels bad for you. You’re a BURDEN!” She stands up and tries to physically shake off the those gut-wrenching thoughts- mind flashing back to all the times that the prince in question has saved her.

Riding in on his metal stead in torrential rain. Only to try to dump her back home.

Twisting the fingers of that politician’s son has he tried to slap her. Then walking away and leaving her on the sidewalk after ripping her to shreds.

Calling her an empty can. He had apologized for that but just like she told him bad memories had a way of wedging themselves in your heart and not easily coming out.

Taking that two-faced bitch’s side and telling her that she didn’t own him. Her feelings have changed since she made that claim to Joo-Ri that he was always hers. He was still just a pretty thing then. Now he’s..... more. And his dismissal now hurts more than before. He knows things about her that she has never uttered to anyone. He has seen her in situations that no one else ever has. Not even Sang-In. But she knows that he is also an expert at turning this feelings off. Unlike him, she wears her heart on the tip of her knife. It’s a bloody, messy thing. Locked up for so long that now it just leaks all over him.

Her phones finally vibrates with his answer and she tries not jump but her stupid body has been betraying her ever since he crashed into her life.

She picks up her phone and flips it only, eyes scanning when she sees his reply- No. She stares at the phone in disbelief and anger and- “He doesn’t want you. Nobody could love a monster like you!” This time she can’t ignore her mother’s screeching voice in her mind, sledge hammering into her confidence until it shatters under the pressure. That is the entirety of his response and she sits quietly on the couch feeling like an empty husk. Only years of rejections- him being one of the first- stops her tears from falling. Being around him has made her weak, she desperately forces herself to will her armor back up. She knows she has failed when her phone vibrates and her first thought is please be him.

It isn’t.

A number she doesn’t know pops up on her screen with a message- It was such a pleasure to see you today. I would love to take you out for dinner tonight. Are you free?

Coffee shop guy.

She doesn’t think about her answer before replying that’s another thing she started doing since meeting him and look just where that has gotten her. After replying she swipes up the stairs, dressing down bellowing behind her. She will not be weak. Plus, she’s fucking hungry.

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

Gang- Tae stares down at his phone in shock, genuinely surprised that she hasn’t said anything to retort to his short answer. She hates when he replies with only one word and usually follows those messages up with messages demanding more. She always demands everything he has. And then some.

He lov--- No. Stop. His heart burns in not jealousy remembering how she sized up that not handsome punk at the coffee shop. Gazing at him like he was something to be conquered and then shoving his hand on her perfect little waist. He scoffs recalling her admission that she was like Sang-Tae and only he could touch her only to then place a stranger’s hand on hi-her waist.

It’s not until Cha-Young walks in carefree as if he works in an ice cream parlor and not a psychiatric ward that he realizes that he is standing shirtless, gripping his shirt tightly between his fingers. He had become distracted after receiving her message demanding that he bring food. He wanted to give her the food, give her anything she wanted really. It scared him to hell. It wasn’t until he saw the smug smile and hungry stare in someone else’s eyes looking at her that he realized that maybe he wasn’t what she wanted anymore.

The way she had whispered “CEO” reminded him that despite what he had screamed at her idiot manager in the parking lot she was a celebrity. People wanted her. Men who had way more to offer and were’t terrified of taking what she was offering. She was so beautiful it made his jaw clench in frustration and her haircut only made her more beautiful, it was obscene and unfair. Her hair brushed against her define features and made her already long neck- look like it was never-ending.

“Gang-Tae. Hey, Gang-Tae! Are you listening? What the hell?”

Cha-Young’s voice broke him free from his internal suffering. He quickly put on his uniform shirt and turned his head, repressing all this emotions until his face was a blank slate.

“They need your help carrying a new patient. So stop checking yourself out, you narcissist!” He grabbed what looked like a candy bar before leaving to do whatever he thought constituted as doing work.

With a sigh he slammed his locker shut and left the room. Emotions warring in his mind but he knew from years of practice that none of them showed on his face. Today was going to be a long day.

It was a long day. Stubborn patients, lazy coworkers and he could feel Joo-Ri’s gaze on him whenever she thought he wasn’t looking. It all made him eager to leave, he only spared a smile imagining Mun-Yeong’s anger if she were here to see it happen. He was always mine. She was so possessive of him and he didn’t know yet how he felt about it.

He drove home, not knowing which Mun-Yeong he would get after refusing her and not getting anymore messages from her prior to that. He sighed in relief knowing that her violent tendencies were spared when it came to him. Unless she was violently teasing him until he felt like his skin might combust from the embarrassment and.....lust. He didn’t know how to react around her she made him feel things that he had told himself years ago, he wasn’t allowed to feel.

While others were sharing secret kisses and going on dates, he was learning how to care for his brother. He couldn't abandon him for such trivial things. Eventually girls realized that he wasn’t playing hard to get, there was no getting. Then they stopped. No more coy looks from under lashes, no more pink cheeks and school girl giggles. They moved onto boys that could give them what they wanted.

His plan had worked.

Until Mun-Yeong. She was persistent and his desire for her too made it hard to keep pushing her way. Her full lips called out to him, they both had a habit for grabbing the others wrist and her wrist felt so small and delicate in his hand. One good pull and she would come tumbling into this arms and he could see if her bubble-gum pink lips were as sweet as they looked.

The sound of the front door opening snapped him out of his reprieve- that seemed to be happening to him a lot today. And like a manifestation of his own thoughts there she was, and fuck she looked hot. Unbelievably hot.

He had never seen her in jeans before and the denim stretched down her long legs, hugging her petite curves in all the right wrong ways. A black crop top wrapped around her flat stomach and made her breasts look full, small but a perfect handful. Her shoes were the flashiest part of her outfit, red stiletto heels with a heel that looked like it could kill a man. Her hair was wet and tousled for a perfect messy bedhead look.

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Her heels clicked as she started moving down the stairs, why was she moving in slow motion?

His tongue felt heavy in his mouth has she walked up to him. She stopped a few paces from him, not coming into his personal space like she normally would. When their eyes met the same lighting that always sparked between them, lit up but unlike the other times when she would move into his space like the big bad wolf. Her face was passive and she looked down at the keys in his hands.

“Give me the car keys” she said in that ridiculously sexy deep voice. He willed himself not to get hard, thinking about the patient that threw up on him to stop the blood from rushing down below. Up close he realized that her makeup was heavier than usual too. Dark smoky eyes with a winged liner as sharp as the knives she loved to collect and blood-red lips. He couldn’t stop thinking about kissing and smearing that lipstick everywhere.

As he stood there fantasizing about her as she stood there, he took a deep inhale of breath as she finally moved into his bubble but she was gone as quickly as she came. Snatching the keys from his slack hands.

She stepped around him and made to open the car door he had only just closed and he realized she did not intend to say anything more to him.

“Where are you going?” he asked his voice coarse with desire, she smelled amazing up close. Like cinnamon and something spicy that was irrefutably her.

She ignored him and opened the car door. His arm shot out and slammed it shut before his brain registered it planned to do that. It was minute but her small body jolted from the force that he used. He felt guilt for a second, he didn’t mean to scare her. He reached out to soothe her but before his hand could make contact, she backed up moving away from his touch for the first time ever.

“What’s wrong? Tell me where you’re going dressed like that.” He mentally celebrated when he saw her passive mask drop and righteous anger take its place.

“Move out of my way, I don’t need to answer your questions.”

“Mun-Yeong stop acting up.”

“Don’t give me orders!” He wasn’t ready for the bite behind her words. She was puffing with anger, chest rising quickly and he knew it wasn’t right but his eyes descended down to her chest. His mind provided a quick flash of how perfect her breasts would look bare, her nipples would be so pink and delicious.

It was so fast he almost missed it but he saw an answering flash of lust run across her face. She squirmed under this heavy gaze.

Her phone ringing cut through the tension like a knife. She answered it.

“Hello? Yes, I am on my way now. No. I can drive myself. I will see you soon. Goodbye, Daniel”

Daniel. DANIEL. Who the fuck was Daniel and why was he going to see his Mun-Yeong? He reached out and in a move that was completely out of character he grabbed her phone. She raged immediately reaching around him to get it back. Climbing his back in her quest to get it back. She was hot against his back.

“Don’t call this number again. She’s not coming” he said with finality before ending the call, before that not handsome punk could answer. She slumped on his back before sliding back onto her heeled feet. He turned around with fire in his eyes.

“You are going to meet THAT guy? Ko Mun-Yeong, he is a stranger. Are you crazy?!”

Her only response was to growl at him and wow that would sound amazing in bed as he entered her.

He didn’t know how to stop these thoughts now that they were out.

“Stay out of this. You don’t own me” she threw his words back at him. She was always doing that. It made him realize how stupid he was sometimes. The shock of hearing those words made him freeze and she used that time to enter the car and lock the door before he could stop her.

He spun around putting his hand on the glass and trying to make eye contact with her but she refused to meet his eyes. She pulled out of the make shift driveway like a bat out of hell.

He stood there feeling like the ground was crumbling beneath his feet.

“Don’t go.”

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

She drove down the road before pulling over to breath. What was it about him that got under her skin? She didn’t think he would care about her going out after refusing to bring her food and basically shutting her down every time she claimed they were more. She knew it was because of his brother but she couldn’t carry this on her own.

He was great at coming to her rescue but once that was over, she was pushed away again and she would never admit this out loud but it hurt.

It hurts.

Her phone began to ring and she started the car and drove off. She was still hungry. She wanted beef. Rare. The blood would sate her anger.

She didn’t make any attempts to enter the house quietly. Gang-Tae sat on the stairs eyes piercing into her own. She looked back emotionlessly not sure why he was still up. He never sought her out after fights instead waiting for the next disaster he could save her from. He seemed different today and she wondered why.

“You’re home late”

“So? she retorted defiantly, smelling the fight brewing in the air and hungry for it.

“I asked you not to go. Why can’t you ever listen to me?”

Flashbacks of her mother scolding her forced there way into her mind. You must always listen to me. Be a good girl and always obey Mother. Her heartbeat was loud in her own ears. Her eyes were burning with her effort not to cry. His eyes softened as if her thoughts were visible. He made her feel naked.

His arms flexed as he used them to propel himself off the stairs and for another first he gently wrapped his arms around her waist.

“I was jealous. I am jealous” he grumbled putting his chin on her hair. And for once she was speechless. Why would he tell her that? Wasn’t he scared that she would use that as a weapon against him? He shouldn’t trust her she was a monster.

“You’re not a monster. “

“Then what am I?”

With hesitation he replied, “I wish you were mine.” Her head snapped up so hard that if he hadn’t moved back she would have headbutt him.

“Kiss me” She didn’t know what she would do if he denied her now. This moment seemed important, defining.

He surged forward and kissed her, closed mouth but hard as if he was trying to fuse into her. “Did he kiss you? Did you let him kiss you?” he whispered into her mouth seemingly terrified of the answer but needing to know.

“No.” He pushed her into the wall and she hadn’t realized that he had been cornering her in for a while. She pressed her tongue into his mouth and felt him melt into her, his body a hard line. His muscles pressing her against the wall. He seemed inexperienced with kissing this way but he made up for it with enthusiasm. He chased her tongue and played with her as she teased him. Licking into her like she was dessert and he was ravenous.

Should I just play with you?

“Mun-Yeong tell me to stop. Please. I can’t stop.”

She ignored his pleas instead wrapping her arms around his neck and he instinctively scooped her up. Big hands gripping her ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh. Moaning his approval into her mouth. She had never been this turned on. Nothing had ever been this good. They grinded against each other, she could feel his excitement pressing into her. She felt the hunger consume her again and she pushed him back.

He started to apologize even as his dick pointed out, begging for her attention. She fluidly slid to her knees. He gasped and froze in place. His eyes honed into her lips, watching her like she was both the predator and his prey. She licked her lips, never looking away from his eyes more expressive than she had ever seen them.

Beautiful.

The sound of his zipper descending was loud in the room. The only other sound was their pants for air.

“Do you want this?” She finally spoke and he shivered at the sound of her voice. She didn’t make anymore movements, for once patiently waiting for his answer.

She watched the war play across his face and wondered who would win? She busied herself biting at her own lips. His thumb pulled her lip from the grip of her teeth, tilting her face up towards him. “I want this, I know I shouldn’t but....”

She didn’t care about whatever self repressing reason he had. He wanted her. He had showed her before but now he was saying it.

She tugged his worn jeans down, too-soft from years of being worn and washed. His boxers did little to hide his erection. “Wow”

His blushed tinted his face and chest in a pretty red and she smirked up at him.

“You do it” She calmly commanded him and he looked confused, like she had just spoken to him him in English. “You have been holding back for all these years, I want you to do it. Show me what you want”

At his perplexed face she boldly took his penis out through the slit in his boxers and aimed it at her mouth but that was it, he hissed in pleasure. Breath speeding up at just her touch on his heated skin. She stopped and simply opened her mouth, eyes gleaming mischievously. The moment he understood what she meant was a beautiful epiphany.

He made no movement, besides the involuntary one his dick made that caused him to close his eyes in embarrassment. “Stop thinking with your head for once and think with this” She grabbed his dick for emphasis. He thrusted into her hand one, two times but seemed to lose his resolve again.

“He tried to kiss me. He grabbed me by my waist and told me he wanted to give me the world. He said I’m the sexiest woman he has ever seen.”

She watched every muscle in Gang-Tae’s body coil. His eyes which were always the window to his soul, said what the fuck did you say? and then he grabbed her hair.

“He can’t have you. You’re mine. I’m yours. You said it we go hand in hand!

“Then show me I’m yours. Make me forget about everyone but you. Do it!”

She was barely able to finish her sentence before her mouth was full. His taste exploded on her tongue and he was better than all the goods Sang-In had brought her. Once his dick was in her mouth, he was a man on a mission. She opened her mouth wider and let him have fun. He thrusted fast, then slow, then deep, then leaving only the tip.

He’s never done this before. He doesn’t know what he likes.

She let him use her mouth, happy to be the first person to do this with him.

Mine.

He found a rhythm that he seemed to like, deep and slow. She could feel every vein under the thin, hot skin and his precum leaked onto her tongue before she greedily swallowed it. That made his hips hitch forward suddenly and he momentarily slid down her throat. She pulled off slowly. Knowing the picture she made, on her knees with her red stained dick-plump lips. He picked her up as if she weighed nothing, she loved how strong he was.

He devoured her lips. dipping and licking his own taste out of her mouth. She felt them ascending and realized they were going up the stairs. He easily held her weight with one arm and used the other one to push open her bedroom door.

With four large steps, he dropped her on her bed watching her body bounce. His eyes zigzagged all over, seeming unsure of where he wanted to look. She pulled her shirt over her head and heard his gasp and threw her shirt to the side. His eyes settled on her chest, “You’re beautiful” he whispered with revere tinging every words.

She felt herself blushing, shocked that he was able to have that affect on her. He climbed onto the bed with her, using just his fingertips to caress her skin. He touched the top of her breast before moving down to her stomach, but eventually making his way back to her breast. She sat up and leaned forward silently giving him permission and he didn’t need anymore encouragement this time. He unhooked her bra, eyes wide as her breast came into view.

Under his intense gaze, she felt a fleeting desire to cover herself. Before doing the opposite and laying her hands to the side, fully displaying herself to his hungry eyes. He leaned down and kissed her breast, too gently. So she whispered “Harder” and his mouth consumed her nipple and she threw her head back from the blinding pleasure. Behind the buzzing that filled her ears, she could hear him as if he were miles away “so pink, you’re so pink” and she had no idea what he was talking about but she needed him to keep going.

He palmed her breast that wasn’t in his mouth and she reached down to grab his erection, it felt harder than before it that was possible. She twisted at the top gathering the fluid there and using it to ease her way, up and down his length. He bite down on her nipple as she made a corkscrew motion at the top. He ripped her jeans off her body and she hadn’t noticed when exactly he had even unbuttoned her pants.

He slid down her body and she groaned in annoyance at losing her grip on his dick, it was her new favorite toy. So perfect and hard, she couldn’t wait to have it inside her.

“What are you doing?” She panted looking down and seeing him just looking , his jaw was slack and his pupil was wide and she just watched him as he stared at her covered pussy. What seemed like a lifetime later, he pulled her panties down. They were white and lace. She shivered at the puff of hot air that hit her and she felt herself get wetter. He curiously tasted her with a kitten-like lick that made her mind short circuit. He must have liked what he tasted because after the first lick, he spread her open and took a greedy lick the second time.

His strong arms splayed her open to his mercy and he was a quick learner, he quickly dissected that she liked broad licks and extra attention on her clit. This was the best thing that had ever been done to her body. She almost didn’t hear his quiet question, “Can I...Mun- Yeong can I...fuck you?”

She couldn’t believe that he had been able to say the words. She almost wanted to stop and applaud. But she saved her teasing because when she finally opened her eyes he was hovering above her, his penis so hard it was flat on his stomach and it had leaked an idecent amount of precum. Glossy in the pale moonlight. If only she had been a painter instead of an author.

“How do you want me?” She continued to press his comfort level, but she was also genuinely curious. She knew he was a virgin before all this, she wanted anything he wanted. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, before laying down and dragging her on top of him. He blushed up at her but there was a glint of determination in his strong jaw.

“I want to see you. I want to see your eyes when we do it.”

She didn’t answer verbally, choosing instead to grind herself down on him. Slipping across his groin, dragging her wetness over him. Feeling him slip into her folds and shuddering at the heat. She lifted her hips up before finding his hard erection and holding it, ready.

“Wait don’t we need a .....condom?”

She shook her head no. She had been on birth control as soon as it was allowed.

“I want to feel you”

That answer rendered him without words and he gripped her hips in his huge hands, helping her lift up before the world momentarily went white. She knew she should take it slow but as soon as she felt him inside, the beast burst out of the cage. She placed her hands on his broad chest and slammed down onto him, riding him hard. Snapping her body back to bring him deeper in.

He was an absolute mess beneath her, shaking his head no, begging her to slow down while he contrarily met her thrust for thrust and fucked her like the world was ending. She fell on his chest and he immediately wrapped her in his arms and continued to rock up into her velvety, wetness. Panting in her ears.

“You feel so good. So good, please, please”

She knew that he was close from the pistoning of his hips, the sound of their skins smacking filled the room.

“Don’t hold back, fuck me harder. Don’t stop!”

He flipped them over, pressing her arms about her head, she made a mental note that she liked that. Really liked it.

“Say my name, Say I’m yours”

“Gang-Tae, Gang-tae, you’re mine. I’m yours. I...”

No. Not now. But it was enough to push him over the edge and she was so confused on his pleasure that she forgot about herself until she felt his fingers rub her clit in a circle motion and she too stumbled over the deep end.

His body tightened and he pressed deeply inside her, her walls clenching around him.

“Sex feels amazing.”

His sudden admission sent her into a fit of giggles, and soon he was laughing too and he fell on the bed from his laughter. Their laughter boomed in the room, now eerily quiet without their sex sounds.

Zzzzzzzzztttttt

She looked over and saw him looking down at the floor at whatever was vibrating, before leaning over and picking it up.

Her cellphone. It must have fell out of her pocket when he ripped her pants off.

He opened her phone without her permission and they needed to have a talk because only she was allowed to do that.

“It’s that punk. He’s sad you couldn’t make it.” He looked at her with glaring eyes. “I thought you went out with him”

“I lied. I got beef by myself and then came home.”

He looked upset before laughing again. Then he reached over and flicked her on the forehead.

“Ow what the hell!”

“I’m deleting his number” and she rolled over and pressed her naked body against him, not caring about whatever his name is.

She felt his penis plump up after a moment of cuddling him naked, “Stop being so horny, I’m tired now” she whined.

He stroked her back before his hand trailed down to her butt.

“This is all your fault” he answered before dragging her into a languid kiss and rolling on top of her. “You pulled my safety pin, this is the result.”

He exploded all night.

#it's okay to not be okay #psycho but it's okay #ko moon young #moon gang tae #fanfic #smut #kdrama #iotnbofic #psycho but it's okay fanfiction #filthy gutter trash #send me requests I'm in a giving mood

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

Text

Hit Or Miss || Morgan & Bex

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @inbextween & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan tries to get to know Bex over a game of Battleship. Explosions may or may not ensue.

CONTAINS: brief references to transphobia

There were a few things that death couldn’t take away from Morgan: love, the view of a January day, and board games. She had never been much of a fan as a kid, they were bulky, hard to pack in a hurry, and as soon as you lost a couple pieces, all that mess became worthless. But at Karen’s house a lifetime ago, the novelty special editions of Monopoly and Life and the varnished wood sets of checkers and parcheesi had seemed like treasures from another world; one where the ground was steady beneath your feet and it never occurred to you that the nice things you loved would fall apart. Today, she ran her fingers over a battered edition of Battleship: Classic (was there a Battleship: passé somewhere?) and brought it down to the table by the window she was bogarting at Board to Death, grinning affectionately at the scuffed pegs and stained ships hiding under the lid. It was the only coffee shop in town that anything to offer besides food she couldn’t taste. Her triple espresso had a soothing bitter taste, but all the icing in the world on the danishes or dipped vegan scones couldn’t bring back her old sense of taste.

She sipped the just-below-boiling mixture and watched the living world shuffle by in their puffy coats and bright scarves. When she saw a nervous looking girl approach the window she smiled, nodding in case it was her. When she entered the cafe, Morgan held out her hand. “Hey, you’re Bex, right?”

The strangest part about being back in White Crest was that it felt so nice. There was something about this place that felt enough like home that Bex almost didn’t altogether mind her overbearing parents controlling her every move. Almost. They’d delighted in the fact that she was being scouted by a professor already, and she’d opted to not mention the part where said professor was gay and also recommended by someone who thought they were a witch. For some reason, Bex trusted Nell’s judgement, and Professor Beck seemed really nice. And, well, Bex couldn’t help but leap at the idea of meeting a real life queer person. Especially a woman. Who was out! And open! Even if she couldn’t really ask her about it today. The concept was novel. And so Bex really wanted this meeting to be good.

Therefore, she kept an excited demeanor about herself as she made her way to Board to Death, trying to push the anxiety away. Put on a smile when she opened the door, and glanced around for Professor Beck, seeing her through the window. She scooted herself over, taking her hand. “Hey! Hi, yes! That’s me! I’m Bex! That makes you Professor Beck, then! Unless you’re not, which would make this very awkward,” she chuckled, then stopped, clearing her throat. “S-sorry. Um, hi, thanks for meeting with me!” Glanced down to look at her refreshments on the table, then back up. “I never really knew Board to Death had food! I’ve only been here a few times. Do you come here a lot?”

“I am Professor Beck, yes, but you can just call me Morgan. Pretty much everyone does.” Morgan took another sip of her espresso and gestured for the girl to sit. It wasn’t every day she could tell someone she’d spoken with online just from their demeanor, but Bex was nearly vibrating out of her skin with anxiety. It was an excited kind of anxious, like her face might hurt from smiling so much, but it still gave Morgan some pause. This was a girl who had wrecked a whole computer lab with just the force of her emotions. Even if she couldn’t accept magic yet, some kind emotional release would probably be good for her. “I don’t come here much, no. Coffee tastes pretty much the same to me anywhere, and at least here it comes with something fun to do. You’ve played Battleship before, right? It’s only one of a couple of two player games I’m familiar with that doesn’t make you think too much.” Grinning at her, Morgan lifted the top from the game and started assembling her board.

“Oh, um--” Bex started, feeling that anxiousness already bubbling in her throat again, “-- I’ll try, but no promises. My parents sort of drilled it into me that it’s ‘Mister’ and ‘Misses’, or ‘Doctor’ and ‘Professor’ only!” Her face scrunched, as if she were trying to be angry and she lifted a finger to waggle. A poor imitation of her father. “You are a child, Odelia, and you will address your elders properly!” Not realizing she’d let slip her real name, she looked back across the table at Professor Be-- er, Morgan. “Oh, yeah, I’m much more of a tea person, myself. Coffee makes me jittery and anxious and I think I’m plenty of that all on my own, you know?” She watched as Morgan began assembling the game, not saying too much. Her father had made her play old strategy games like Risk and Chess for hours on end as a child, but Battleship had never seemed to reach their table. “Um, once, at school. You just kinda guess coordinates, right?”

Morgan couldn’t hide the arch in her brow as Bex gave a different name as she impersonated her parents. Did they not address her the way she asked to be? Did she keep the name she gave out to acquaintances as a secret? Still, she snorted kindly and finished setting up her board. “It’s good that you know yourself at least. I’m not sure if the world is ready for a caffeinated Bex just yet.” She finished setting up her board and started on her ships, keeping them mostly spread out from each other. “And yeah, it’s just a fun guessing game! If you know your opponent well, you can try and guess their methodology, but it’s, you know--” She held up the box lid, “Ages 6 and up.” With everything set aside on her end, she could lean back and relax. “So, I do hope you’ll take one of my seminars. My syllabus is way more fun than the other professors’, not to knock my colleagues, because they’re amazing, but I hand out movies and, occasionally, video games too. We look at what speculative and fantastical stories tell us about humanity, how we see ourselves and each other and why changes in those perceptions matter. And, you know, with all the writing homework, you’ll probably get a leg up on your fellow pre-law students. Anyone can have an idea or a feeling, but it takes work to give voice to it. But, that’s my one and only pitch. I’d much rather get to know you. Sometimes strangers can be easier to open up to than others.”

“Oh, it’s definitely not,” Bex agreed with a chuckle. She watched Morgan set up her side-- without peeking, of course!-- before working to set her own side up. She didn’t entirely know the best strategy for Battleship, but she decided she wanted to go for an out there one, sticking all of her ships right in a square in the middle of the map. “Well, I’m definitely six and up, so, I think we’re all good. Who goes first?” She looked across the table to Morgan as she continued to fuss with her pieces, wondering which formation was better, listening to her description of her course. “It sounds like a great class,” she said when the older woman was done speaking, but there was something vibrating inside of her. Something about the description, something about how free and open the course sounded, made her realize something else was going on here. Bex might have been closed off and insecure, but she was observant as well. It was one of the qualities that made her an actual decent law student. Her gaze dropped to her board and she pulled her hands away. “I’m ready to start, then,” she said, lifting her eyes just enough to gaze over the top of the board, the double meaning of her sentence not lost on either of them.

Morgan watched Bex thoughtfully, from the tightness in her shoulders to the shrill chirp of her voice. She was trying, eagerly, desperately, but for what? Morgan wanted to tell her to relax, there were no quizzes or grades handed out at the end of this meet-up. But having been that anxious herself more than once, she knew drawing attention directly didn’t always have the desired effect. “A-10?” She called. “Why don’t you tell me about why you like it here? I thought I saw you mention something about ‘coming back’ on main and I gotta say, I haven’t heard of too many people returning after they’d left. Well, not often by choice anyway.”

“Miss,” Bex said quietly, sticking a peg into A-10. “E-6?” she tried, waiting for the response. She chewed on her lip at the question, thinking a moment. It wasn’t that she really liked it here, but White Crest was home and she knew she had a place here. And even if she hadn’t gone to school here, or grown up with the other kids, or become a regular at all the diners-- she still felt like she fit in here. More so than at Penn State, where the kids looked at her with those eyes, and whispered behind their hands, and posted her private life online. “It just...feels like home, I guess. I went to private school as a kid, so it’s not like I really have any sort of connection to the town, but I just feel right here,” she explained softly, neither smiling nor frowning. She stuck a peg into the missed slot. “I came back because I had to.” Where she really wanted to be was far away from the East coast, maybe in Oregon or Washington or California. Somewhere she could start over brand new and be whoever she wanted to be. She cleared her throat. “How um-- how long have you been in White Crest?”

“Miss,” Morgan called. She let a round pass unremarked, taking in as much as she could. She was just bundled up so tight, it was no wonder she’d exploded in front of Nell. That much repression might do the same even to someone without magic. “Private school, huh? Like boarding school? I didn’t realize those were still a thing in this country.” She made another call, D-6, and took another sip of espresso. “I’ve been here for a year now. I’m starting to see how somebody could feel like they belonged here, even with all the terribleness. It’s not an easy fit, but I don’t think I could leave on a dime, not by myself anyway. But what--is it okay if I ask what made you have to come back? Or if not, maybe tell me about someplace else you dream of being. Those are good ideas to hold onto. The future, I mean.”

“Yep,” Bex said dismissively, “I went to a private boarding school. And they definitely still exist here.” And they suck, she wanted to add, but held her tongue. Uniforms and strict schedules and forced rules. Secrets and hush money and skirting around the fact that Bex was not born a girl. “My parents paid good money for it, it was a Jewish Orthodox school, a really good one, too,” she went on, swallowing down the hard feelings. They didn’t matter anymore. “The town certainly has a charm to it, doesn’t it?” She stuck a peg right between two of her ships as a miss. “Miss. Um...H-7?” She looked up again, contemplating which question she wanted to answer. They both would give away too much, and she was bad at lying. “There was an incident at my old school,” she finally said, the waver in her voice coming through, “my parents thought it best I come back home.”

“It’s okay, Bex,” Morgan said softly. “I want to know you, but you don’t have to talk about anything you don’t really want to. But I am sorry about whatever happened to you over there. It doesn’t seem like something easy.” She tilted her head, trying to meet the girl’s eyes. There was something there, something awful. Bullies, maybe? Did kids chase Bex and lock her in storage cabinets and call her names like they had Morgan? Or was there some kind of accident with her magic? “What do you want, Bex? However important your parents are to your life, however close you might be, your life is still yours. Your future should look like what you hope for. Why don’t you tell me more about that, huh? Or how the law firm fits into that idea.” Another sip of espresso. “Miss, by the way.” She scanned her grid and made a guess toward the middle. “F-6?”

Bexley swallowed hard, trying to make the worble that was building in her throat go away. “It’s okay, it’s kind of public information, anyway,” she stated matter of factly, moving away from the topic enough to not feel too overwhelmed, and thankful for Morgan’s offer. But the next question felt even harder, and Bex could feel the anxiety building in her stomach again. Her hand shook as she went to plug in the peg next to her ship, one hole away and she had to grip it with her other to make it stop. “I want to make my parents proud,” she stated, as if reading from a script, “I’m the sole heir to our business and fortune. That’s all there is to it. M-my future. That’s all I want. To be the perfect daughter for them.” And stop messing up. Since she couldn’t be their son. Since she couldn’t be the best. “Miss,” she said and her voice cracked. “F-5?”

“Miss,” Morgan replied. “And you don’t have to be perfect. No one is perfect. Perfect in terms of being flawless and incapable of improvement isn’t even a real thing. And your parents--” Morgan frowned. She had a lot of fairy tales about what parents should be like, but the more people she met, the more she wondered where she had cooked that one up. “The best way to love someone is to enable them to be the most themselves. The best, freest version of themself. And asking yourself those questions is the best way to find yourself loved better. I don’t know what your situation is, Bex, but you shouldn’t live to be an object in someone else’s story. You’re more than that. What is it that really excites you? What do you hope for?” Morgan waited, peering at this small glimpse of Bex’s pain with growing concern. Then, suddenly remembering that she had yet to call a move, she distractedly mumbled something a few spaces out from her last one. “E-5?”

Bex didn’t like this anymore. Morgan was saying things she already knew, but she also already knew that they were things she couldn’t have, so what was the point in thinking about them? In talking about them? She didn’t even bother putting a peg in this time. This was supposed to be a fun, easy meeting, not a deep dive into her extremely painful situation. “Please stop,” was all she said, hands folded tightly into her lap, “just...please?” Fingers began to pick at nail beds, still red and raw from every other time she’d done it. “All I hope for right now is to make it through each day without messing up or embarrassing someone,” she admitted quietly, but her voice was stern, an anger stewing inside of her that she rarely let to the surface, “And I just hope that I can make it through the week without some shit happening. And I hope that one day I’ll be able to look back on all this and put it behind me, but that’s not feasible right now so I really need to just not think about it and keep trying my best for my parents because they’re all I have.” And she owed them everything. Shakily, she lifted the peg and placed it on one of her ships. “Hit.” A loud whistle behind the cafe counter signaled steaming water and Bex startled. She let out a long sigh. “A-2.”

“I’m sorry,” Morgan said quickly. “I don’t mean to-- I am being sincere in what I am saying and whatever me or my life looks like to you or anyone else peeking on main apparently, it’s-- I do know what it’s like to feel like your life isn’t yours and what you want doesn’t matter and keeping your head down and being small and left alone is the best you’re gonna get. I am deeply, intimately familiar with that feeling. I can only imagine what kind of suffering you’ve been through, but you were meant for more than that, and I’m sorry. I’ll stop, okay? Do you--” Morgan stopped as another kettle trilled, glowing with sudden heat. She made a note of the hit, but didn’t put the red peg on the board. Flustered and desperate to recover the afternoon, she pawed her pockets for her phone. “I have cats. Three of them. Do you want to see pictures of the cats? Or ask me something? This isn’t an interview. If there’s something you want to know you can--” The phone clattered onto the table. Deirdre and Anya’s faces bloomed on the lock screen. “You can do whatever you want, Bex, you don’t even have to stay.”

Everything Morgan was saying just made Bex tense up more and more. Kettle’s started shouting, left and right, even the baristas were beginning to panic, running around and removing them, but finding them still screaming, louder and louder, despite the lack of heat. A crack formed in the window next to Bex as she screwed her eyes shut and clenched her entire body. She didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for her or tell her how much they understood or tell her how sad it was-- she wanted to pretend like how she was living was okay and fine and that one day she’d make it through and suddenly everything would feel okay. And just be okay. She unclenched and the whistles seemed to die down. Looked at the phone that had fallen to the table and saw the happy woman on it, smiling and beautiful. And the cat, so peaceful looking. Tears welled in her eyes. “I have to go,” she said suddenly, standing up. The chair scooted back and toppled over. People turned around to look at them. Her heart seemed to leap into her throat and the mug on the table shattered. “I’m sorry! I have to--” took a step back and all the teapots wailed again. Bex looked around frantically. “It-- It was nice to meet you, Professor Beck, but I--” she didn’t get to finish her sentence as one of the pistons on the espresso machine shot off and shattered a nearby tower of cups. Bex turned and ran before anyone had a chance to ask her anything.

“Bex, wait! You need to--!” Whatever half-assed plea Morgan was working on fizzled out under the crash of falling furniture and screaming machinery. Someone’s baby started wailing, the window buckled like it had been gut-punched, and the steam whirred louder. Morgan grabbed her coat and bag and phone. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen to downtown with Bex like this, if she could talk her down or if following would only make things worse. Shit, probably worse, right? But by the time she stumbled out the door, the girl was long gone and all Morgan had left were more questions. At least she would be able to tell Nell one thing for certain: Bexley was not okay, and under her nerves lay a sadness too deep for her to contain, especially in White Crest.

#hit or miss #wr bex #wr chatzy #wr bex chatzy #wickedswriting

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randomfandomginger · 4 years

Text

Puppeteer

I’ve been working on this fic for long enough I should really talk about it over here lol

Anywho, who ordered a Logince and Moxiety slowburn with extra plot and superpowers?

Summary: There are a couple of life experiences that you can't get through without bonding with others. Being kidnapped just happens to be one of them. Discovering that you share certain enhanced abilities with your fellow kidnappees- that's another. (Logan would argue that it's hardly kidnapping, he's just helping to forcibly move them to a second location. No, never mind, that's definitely kidnapping.) Why have they all been brought to the same place? To fight crime apparently, and to steal back a little something that might just change their lives as they know them.

Words: 80k, complete!

Click below for the character’s introductory chapters!

Chapter One- Patton

Patton had been an optimist his entire life, somehow. To be fair, it had nothing to do with his personal experiences and everything to do with his love for life as a concept. Patton felt that he was lucky just to exist, lucky to have found such loving and accepting parents, lucky to feel so secure and happy as himself, lucky that he could do and see everything he wanted to do and see. Patton felt lucky, nothing else to it.

“Honey I’m home!” he called out jokingly into the open air, using his foot to help open the door to his apartment. In his hands, groceries were piled high, his spoils from his trip to the grocery store.

The store had been out of spinach, so they would have to forego the salads that he and Virgil forced themselves to eat every few meals, just for a semblance of healthiness in their lives.

“Pat? Is that you?” Virgil’s head poked out from around the corner. Patton was so lucky about so many things, and just knowing Virgil was one of them. The two of them had been inseparable since middle school, but the fact that they had both ended up at the same college had nothing to do with luck and everything to do with their shared love for the English language and a certain bond that could only possibly form between two boys who entrusted one another with such unique, such important secrets as they did.

“Who else would it be?” Patton said with a grin, setting the groceries down on the small table that they had set up in the middle of the tiny room. “Is anyone else around here referring to you as ‘honey’?”

“Last time I checked it was just you,” Virgil replied, beginning to help Patton stuff as many of the groceries as he could into their minifridge. “But then again, better safe than sorry.”

“Touche,” Patton replied. “Cutesy nicknames, that’s how they lower your guard…”

Virgil just laughed, a deep rumbling sound that Patton had been hearing for years, yet he never failed to feel a rush of happiness upon hearing it. “Alright, you find some cheesy feel-good movie to put on, I prepare our first round of food?”

“After last week’s disaster? Yes please,” Patton replied, smiling.

Being around Virgil was as comforting for him as it was for Virgil. Virgil’s brain seemed to slow down a bit when Patton was around, and a sense of contentment seemed to surround him. He was familiar, and safe, and Patton had known him so long that he could sometimes predict how he felt about any situation before he actually felt the shift in Virgil’s emotions.

Virgil gave him a grin. “I didn’t know it was physically possible to burn ramen, what with it being immersed in water and all, but you managed.”

“Well, I am a man of many talents,” Patton replied, a bit of an inside joke between them, already squatting down in front of their little box TV and looking through the collection of DVDs below. They’d been collecting since they were both children, but they’d agreed that only the essentials should come alone to them with college. That’s why, after a mere four hours of soft bickering, they’d settled on their twenty favorites to bring along.

“Hmm,” Patton mumbled to himself as he ran through his options. He could hear Virgil bustling around in the kitchen, humming the lyrics to some old song as he worked. “Something cheesy and feel-goodsy…” Patton said, then giggled at the word ‘feel-goodsy’.

He settled on Avengers, for both a comforting and fun storyline and Captain America’s ass, though he’d never admit the second one.

He and Virgil had been watching Avengers for years now, but what could he say? The movie held up. They’d always end up watching it somehow after bad breakups, difficult tests, kids being jerks, anything. It was a comfort movie, and one of the few that Virgil could stomach seeing more than three or four times. Movies like that were to be treasured.

Virgil waltzed back over to their shoddy little hand me down couch and sat down next to Patton, pulling him out of his thoughts, their plates clutched in Virgil’s calloused hands. “Our main course tonight will be none other than those gourmet reheated pizza slices that were apparently still left in the back of our fridge,” he announced with a flourish, handing Patton his plate.

Patton played along, gasping. “The very same gourmet reheated pizza slices that may or may not have been ordered a week ago?” he asked, doing his best but ultimately failing to hide the start of a grin tugging the corners of his lips up.

Virgil nodded gravely. “Those very same slices.” They stared at one another for a moment before they both burst out laughing. “Alright, what movie did you choose?” Virgil asked him mirthfully, and Patton simply nodded at the TV, where Avengers was all cued up and ready to go. “Nice!”

“Well, it is a cinematic marvel!” Patton joked, grinning at Virgil’s soft groan. “How could I not pick it?” He took a large bite of the pizza, chewing at the slightly stringy cheese.

“Terrible pun, Pat,” Virgil said, shaking his head as he shuffled a little bit closer to his shorter friend as he took a bite of his own slice. “ Terrible pun.”

Patton loved these nights on their ratty old sofa, eating cheap food and watching movies that they’d both already seen too many times to count. He knew they both had homework they needed to get done, and the next morning their stomachs would probably hate them, but these nights were to be cherished.

After all, Friday nights were one of the only nights he used to be able to have friends over.

Patton was fifteen, dressed in hand me down pajamas, and sitting in his living room, practically vibrating off the walls.

“Goodness,” his mother chuckled, walking into the room and finding her son staring at the front door anxiously, knee bouncing up and down feverishly. “He’s only five minutes late, Pattycake, I’m sure he’ll be here in a moment. Maybe traffic was just rough.” She was amused, which seemed to be her default setting. Amused and fond.

“I know, I know,” Patton said, bouncing his leg a little bit faster as the corners of his lips twitched. “Sorry Mom, I’m just anxious.”

Patton could feel his mom’s ripple of pride as he said that. He looked up to see his mother trying her best to hide a grin. That always happened these days, even though he’d gotten used to calling her mom almost a year ago. “And I can tell that from all the way over here!” his mother commented. “What makes this Virgil guy so special, hmm Pattycake?”

“He’s a friend,” Patton said, distracted, looking up and meeting his mom’s growing smirk with a groan. “No, Mom, not like that. He’s just a friend, I swear.” He wasn’t just a friend, he was Patton’s closest friend, but he didn’t really think saying that would help his case. It didn’t matter, he didn’t need his mother to know it for it to be true.

“Alright, whatever you say,” his mom said with another smirk. “You two are sleeping in the living room though, you hear me? Not your room.”

The doorbell dinged then, luckily saving Patton from any kind of further embarrassing gossiping. Vaulting to his feet, Patton rushed over to the door, opening it quickly and doing his best to act like his entire face hadn’t been flushed a brilliant red only moments earlier.

Virgil, complete with an overnight bag, stood on his front porch. As Patton took his friend’s image in, Virgil’s anxiety spiked through him like lightning. Virgil was clutching his bag close to his chest, eyes a little bit wide and unsure, knuckles white. Patton frowned. He didn’t really mean to read Virgil, but it wasn’t like he could help it.

“Hey,” Patton said softly to his friend as he took him in, Virgil’s anxiety still coursing underneath his skin like boiling water. He didn’t really need his empathy to figure out that Virgil was tense, but oh well. “You doing okay there, Virge?”

Virgil swallowed, nodding, shoving down whatever he was feeling. Patton resisted a small wince at that. Repression was never good in the long run. “Yeah,” he finally replied, cracking a small grin as he took in Patton in his baby blue pajamas. His mood shifted to a more positive one. “Yeah, better now.”

Patton beamed at that. “Great! Welcome to my home!” he said with a small flourish. “Come on in!”

As Virgil walked through the front door, Patton’s mom came around the corner, still grinning. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Virgil!” she exclaimed happily. “Patton’s told me so much about you.”

“Mom…” Patton grumbled, flushing a little bit, but Virgil just laughed a little bit.

“It’s nice to meet you too, ma’am, thank you for letting me stay the night.”

Oh gosh, he’s so polite.

“Please, call me Mrs. Hart,” Patton’s mother said with a small smile.

When his mother left, Virgil began to look around his living room. Patton followed his gaze, a frantic bundle of excited and nervous thoughts. Virgil’s gaze rested for an unnaturally long time on the mantle, and Patton frowned a little bit. Virgil’s house was full of baby pictures. You get through the front door, there are baby pictures on the walls. You go to use the bathroom, bam, more baby pictures hanging above the toilet. Their living room practically looked like a ‘greatest hits’ from Virgil and his older sibling’s lives. Patton had even found baby pictures all over the mug of hot chocolate his mother had handed him. They were everywhere. Virgil was the youngest of four, and Patton didn’t think there had been a moment of silence in that tiny house. He positively loved it.

Patton’s house didn’t have baby pictures. They didn’t even have him when he was a baby. Patton didn’t remember his childhood, as he was a baby at the time, but he did remember the foster care system.

Baby pictures don’t make a family, Patton reminded himself firmly. Sure, it would be nice for him to remember anything from his youth, but he was happy now, under the care of two loving parents that he cared for very deeply. No sense in dwelling on what you couldn’t remember. Besides, he had Virgil here right now, and his top priority was making his friend feel comfortable in this new space.

“Your house is so much cleaner,” was the first thing that Virgil said, after a long moment of silence. He wasn’t exactly wrong, the entire living room looked as though it had been surgically bleached. His parents liked a clean home.

Patton burst into laughter at that. “I promise my room looks more lived in,” he replied. “Plenty of dirty clothing on the floor.”

Sometimes, Patton hated feeling other people��s emotions. Sometimes it was a rush of hatred and disgust and all kinds of horrifying darkness that made Patton feel dirty just for feeling it secondhand. Sometimes it was sadness so crippling that Patton’s own knees felt weak, that he could feel himself tearing up. Sometimes, it was fear so paralyzing that he felt his joints lock up and his own breathing get shaky.

Tonight, it was joy and excitement and a tinge of adrenaline that usually accompanied exploration. Tonight, Patton had never been less bothered by his empathic skill.

As they watched the movie, Patton could feel his mind beginning to wander. This was in no way the fault of Avengers, he’d simply seen it more times than he could count. Besides, now his brain was full of thoughts regarding his special skills.

The empathy was bad enough, forcing him to pry into people’s heads when he didn’t want to know, but his second skill was even worse, even more intrusive. Patton knew secrets, or more accurately, one secret per person. Sometimes he knew their worst fear, sometimes he knew their greatest hope. On very rare occasions the two were the same.

For instance, when he first met him, Virgil’s greatest fear was someone discovering that he was different. It had changed since that day, but Patton had known and always would know with nothing more than a simple cursory glance exactly what it was. There were no words floating in circles around Virgil’s head, there was no psychic link moment where everything became clear to him, he just looked at him, and he knew. He didn’t have any better way to explain it.

Patton hated it. His mom’s greatest fear was cancer, and his dad’s greatest hope was to give his wife and son the best lives that they could possibly have. Most people’s were generic like that, but more often than he’d like to admit Patton would stumble across something that he’d rather not know.

He’d outed his first foster father at age eight, asking his mom what a homosexual was, and why his new daddy was so worried about her finding out. He’d informed his second foster father bitterly at age twelve that his wife was having an affair, one that she feared he’d discover. It wasn’t until he was thirteen and finally settled in with his mom and dad that he was able to relax.

Patton was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that when the doorbell rang, he jumped about a foot in the air, jostling the table.

“Oh crap!” he cried out in distress, watching as Virgil’s glass teetered, before beginning to fall to the floor, almost as if in slow motion.

Quick as a blink, Virgil’s hand shot out, easily snatching the glass before it hit the floor. He’d barely even looked up from his phone.

“Nice catch,” Patton said with a grin. “Show off.”

Virgil stuck his tongue out at him. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

Two, to be exact. They both had two. It had taken Virgil a long time to use his around Patton, but his enhanced reflexes came in handy around the house, as Patton tended to bump into anything and everything that could be broken. Virgil had probably saved about ninety percent of their dishes by this point. Super fast reflexes don’t sound very much like a superpower until you bump the dining room table over and not a single dish ends up broken.

“I’ll go see who it is,” Patton said cheerfully, patting Virgil’s silky purple locks as he passed him by, smoothing out his shirt in an attempt to make himself marginally more presentable before pulling open their heavy oak door.

“Hello!” Patton said cheerfully, his smile dipping momentarily as he took in the scene before him.

A young boy, maybe about his and Virgil’s age, stood in front of them. He had dark hair, so dark it was almost black, and navy blue spectacles on his face. He was dressed in all black, almost formal. He was expressionless, but a wave of guilt hit Patton like a brick. He began to feel uneasy.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” Patton tried again, eyes flicking behind the boy to see the two men standing there, staring straight ahead. They almost looked like soldiers.

“I suppose,” the boy spoke, and Patton turned his attention back to him. He appeared to be sizing Patton up, an action which was not appreciated. “Are you Patton Hart or Virgil Sinclair?”

“That would be me,” Patton said carefully, “What can I do to help you good folks?”

The boy in front of him opened his mouth again, when he heard from down the hall, “Pat? Everything good out there?” Virgil was nervous, he could tell from his voice.

“Ah good, that answers my next question,” Logan said with a nod, now rummaging around in his back pocket for something. “Well, Patton, I would tell you that I am incredibly sorry about this, but the fact of the matter is, I don’t find myself bothered by this. After all, it is necessary.”

Patton was taking a step back, already trying to close the door, but the man closest to him grabbed it before he could. “Virgil!” Patton shrieked as they pushed past him into the house, and then he felt a sharp prick in the side of his neck.

Looking back at the young boy, Patton swayed for a moment, suddenly feeling heavy. Blinking drearily, he squinted in an attempt to focus. What was he supposed to be doing? Gosh, he sure felt worn out. Wouldn’t it be nice if he could just take a little nap? As Patton’s eyes sagged closed, he could hear Virgil doing something, most likely fighting the other men, but he couldn’t keep his focus on much of anything for too long.

Family, he thought as he drifted off, staring up into the other boy’s bright blue eyes, his biggest hope is for a family.

And then his eyelids slipped shut, and he could feel his head thunk against their floorboards.

Patton didn’t dream while he slept. It was just dark. He couldn’t see anything, he couldn’t hear anything, but he knew he was asleep. That in itself was peculiar. Patton was a lucid dreamer, and usually his entire night was filled with fantastical adventures and unusual shenanigans.

He awoke in a strange bed, in the middle of a strange room. His eyes snapped open, another unusual occurrence for him, seeing as Patton usually took ages to muster up the courage to open his eyes after a full night’s rest.

The room was dimly lit, and he sat up, rubbing his neck slightly as he took in his surroundings. To his left was a table, a couple of books stacked underneath. In the right corner sat a potted plant with a light blue vase. In the chair next to the potted plant sat the same boy from the night before, staring intently at him.

Patton jolted as he noticed him.

“Oh, good,” the boy said with what looked like an attempt at a friendly smile. “You’re awake. We may begin. My name is Logan.”

Patton sat there, his mind racing. Should I say something? Will that make it worse? Where am I? Who is Logan? How long was I asleep? What am I doing here? Why did he take me?

Where’s Virgil?

Chapter 2- Janus

Janus couldn’t believe his luck. Honestly.

Walking throughout the crowded city street on swift feet, he eyed up the stores to his left and right respectively. The crowd rushed around him like a babbling brook, and just as loud. Vendors were out on the congested streets, doing their best to entice the public under their brightly colored coverings. Children were laughing, birds were chirping, and the organized chaos around him made conditions perfect for what he wanted to do.

Janus ducked out of the street, standing off near the opening to a sweets store, observing the festival from a bit more of a difference. The shadows obscured his already covered face further, and Janus tugged impatiently at the strings on his hoodie, squinting his honey and hazel eyes squinting at the people wandering through the festival. “Come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath.

A little ways away from him, a tan man with long black hair laughed loudly, running his fingers through his thick hair before interlacing them with his girlfriend’s once more. Perfect.

Janus concentrated. Usually, when he shifted, he preferred to close his eyes, but the most important part of this whole thing was that he stayed constantly on his toes, so he begrudgingly kept them open.

Janus could feel his entire body begin to tingle as the shift took over. That was probably his least favorite part of all of it. He could feel his chin bulging slightly, as well as his nose growing. His build became stockier, and his eyes, so captivating before, turned to a dulled brown. Likewise, his hair darkened as well, the already dyed blonde coloring fading from the roots outward. In a matter of moments, he was a completely different person.

Janus put down his hoodie, stepping a bit further out of the shadow of the archway and smiling a smile that wasn’t quite his. “Alright, let’s get this started,” he said, his voice deeper than it had been only moments earlier. Good, that was all in order then too. The mimicry was always easier than the conscious effort shifting took him, so long as he heard their voice first.

As he walked, opposite the direction from the man he’d just impersonated, he kicked at the sidewalk casually, forcing his toes to the end of his boot. Did I lose a couple of inches? He wondered, amused. He was pretty short already.

Whatever. He ducked into a nearby store, one that sold crappy old antiques for overinflated prices, resisting the urge to crack his knuckles as he did so. That would have been horribly stereotypical. Giving the shopkeeper another one of someone else’s signature smiles, Janus set to work, eyes flicking from shelf to shelf, noting the unsurprising lack of customers that made his job much simpler than he needed it to be.

As Janus left the same store only minutes later, an extra pep in his step and his pockets full of useless knick knacks, he blended back into the crowd easily, letting the flow carry him through the streets.

Nabbing a spare pastry from a visiting vendor and dropping some change on the counter, he continued through the crowded streets, allowing his face to slowly bleed back into the one that he’d been assigned at birth. This time, changing back was almost like shrugging off a heavy coat, one that fit him just a little too strangely to feel completely comfortable in.

That was the oddest part about it, in his opinion. Everyone was a slightly different experience. Some people fit like skin tight leather, others gave him a strange, almost bloated feeling while he was trying their likeness on. Still others left a tangy taste in his mouth, and on very, very rare occasions, people just felt right. A person’s outward appearance wasn’t the determining factor, to the best of his knowledge, as Janus had tried and failed to find one characteristic or pattern that would differentiate exactly how it felt to become that person.

It was a beautiful, bright summer day, and the heat of the sun beat down on Janus’ back while he wandered, taking another bite of his chocolate pastry. The sweet was positively exquisite, and he smiled. The summer festival was his favorite time of year, not only for the ease with which he was suddenly able to pickpocket, but also for the out of state company and the vendors from all over that lined the streets constantly, jousting one another for position, each tarp cover more flamboyant and eye catching than the last.

There were a couple of little kids playing in the street nearby, shrieking and giggling. Their mothers were pleasantly conversing a small ways away, most likely also keeping an eye on their respective children. Janus watched them from the corner of his eye, running his slender fingers through his hair. They were caught up in their own little world, unaware of the strife and conflict that surrounded them at all times.

He frowned. Ah well, they would learn soon enough. He certainly had.

As he moved on, his phone buzzed. Digging it out of his back pocket and checking it absentmindedly, he noted the time.

Grandma: When will you be home, garter snake?

Smirking at the pet name (though he’d never admit it), he shot back a ‘soon’ to his grandmother before repocketing his phone. He’d technically gone out today to see the festival and he wanted to stay just a little bit longer. After all, it really did only happen once a year.

It was at that moment that Janus heard the crying. Honestly, it was a miracle that he could even pick it out in the first place, what with how quiet it was. Luckily, several years of living on edge and learning to make money where there was none had prepared Janus for hearing noises others didn’t deem quite so important.

“Mom? Mommy!”

Janus glanced around hurriedly, heart race picking up as the small voice became clearer. The kid was getting closer to him.

It only took him a moment more to spot her, wearing a slightly scruffy white dress and blue boots, her straw colored hair pulled back in two braids. There were tear tracks on her cheeks, and she stood off to the side of the crowd, calling out to the foot traffic desperately, like she wanted to weave and search her way through the crowd but was unable to. She clutched the side of one of the nearby vendor’s tarps in her right hand and a tiny stuffed bear in her left. Crap.

Quickly, he ducked out of the flow, approaching the girl with his best ‘I’m not intimidating’ smile. The girl, for what it’s worth, evaluated him through calculating eyes. This would be very good, if not for the small sniffles she let out every couple of seconds, and the tears budding in the corners of her little chocolate colored eyes. Why is no one helping her? he thought, an irrational surge of anger coursing through him.

“Hey there kiddo,” Janus said, the words sounding a bit strange in his mouth, but pressing on nonetheless. “You doing okay there? You look a little lost.”

The girl nodded hopefully, though he couldn’t tell which question she was nodding in response to. She kept the distance Janus had established by stopping a few feet away from her, clutching the tent behind her a little tighter. “I’m looking for my mommy,” she explained, before sizing him up again and stating decisively, “You’re not my mommy.”

Janus had to push down a bubble of laughter at that, watching a small grin cross the girl’s face. “Well, you’re definitely correct there,” he admitted, shrugging in a ‘what are you gonna do’ kind of way. “But I can help you find her if you want,” he offered.

“Mommy told me if I ever get lost to go to the nearest place I recognize and wait there for her, but she hasn’t come to get me yet and I’m scared,” she told him. Janus didn’t miss the way her voice broke on the last syllable, or the tears now threatening to spill over the corners of her eyes and down her rosy cheeks.

Oh shit oh crap, don’t let the child cry, he thought, and before he knew what he was doing, Janus had dug through his pocket and pulled out one of his knick knacks, a little silver chain with an aqua stone hanging from it. It was one of the simpler things he’d nabbed, most likely not even very old at all. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the store had taken it and distressed it themselves in an attempt to pass the necklace off as an antique.

The little girl’s eyes widened as he offered the necklace to her, taking a step forward and reaching out with both of her little freckled hands to examine it.

“Here you go,” Janus said dumbly, because he wasn’t really sure what exactly to tell the small girl, but he wanted her to know the necklace was hers to keep, and she seemed pretty entranced by it already, but it couldn’t hurt to clarify.

“It’s so pretty,” the little girl said, touching the dangling stone carefully. A child who’d been taught how to handle breakable things, even better, Janus thought, giving her a reassuring smile.

“Okay kiddo, if I’m going to help you, I’m going to need to know your name, okay?” he told her, and she nodded up at him.

“That sounds reasonable,” she said softly, sounding out every syllable in the word reasonable. “My name is Jessica, but my friends all call me Jessie.”

Janus continued to smile at her, hoping it was still coming off as reassuring. “That’s a very pretty name, Jessica,” he said, watching her attempt to fasten the necklace around her neck. “My name is Janus, and my friends call me Janus. Would you like some help with your necklace?”

She giggled a little bit and nodded again, eager. “Thank you Mr Janus!”

He couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face as he knelt down to help her, Jessica turning around and raising her hair out of the way, even though it was in braids. Diligently, he refastened the little silver clasp around her neck, suddenly thankful for his long nails.

“Alright Jessica, now let’s get you back to your mother!” he announced in his best chipper tone, and the little girl flashed him a grin brighter than the sun.

I should probably find an officer, or maybe someone in charge of security, he thought, and even though his blood went a little cold at the thought of willingly walking up to anyone dealing with law enforcement, he shot another glance over at the little girl, and he steeled his nerves, doing his best to push down the anxious fluttering in his stomach.

“Okay Mr Janus,”Jessica responded, prim and proper and polite as she used her palm to wipe the last of her tears off of her face. Then, a little shyer; “Can I hold your hand?”

He looked down at her, and the words “Of course,” were spilling out of his mouth before he could even stop them.

Just as shyly, he felt a tiny hand slip into his, and Jessica gave him another of her little smiles. “Okay, all ready now,” she announced, and Janus grinned at her.

And the two of them were off, Janus weaving through the crowd easily, used to navigating large groups of people. Every so often, he would glance behind him to reassure himself that Jessica was still there, despite the weight of her tiny hand in his own.

As they neared the police tent, stationed near the barricades closing off the road at the ‘start’ of the festival, Janus could feel his stomach trying to crawl out of his throat. There were a few officers standing around under the cover of their tent, and one very desperate looking woman speaking with them hurriedly. As Janus approached, he could hear the conversation a little bit clearer.

“Please, sir, I need to find my daughter,” the woman pleaded. “I don’t even know what happened, one moment she was holding my hand and the next she was gone, please!” She sounded close to hysterics, clutching the deep red purse around her arm tightly.

“Ma’am-” the police officer said in a slightly exasperated tone, but it was at that very moment that Jessica cried out “Mommy!” and let go of Janus’ hand, running past him on her short little legs and straight into the arms of the anxious woman.

“Jessica!” the woman responded, picking up her daughter and squeezing her. “Oh my gosh, Jessica, what happened to you? Why did you let go of my hand? Are you safe? Are you okay?” The woman’s questions got louder and more concerned the longer she looked her daughter over, patting her down for injuries and then hugging her again, just as tightly as the first time.

“Mommy, it’s okay,” the little girl said, in that same placid tone that all children somehow managed to channel through them when they really truly believed that nothing was wrong. “Mr Janus helped me.”

“Who is Mr Janus, honey?” Jessica’s mother asked, biting her lip nervously and giving her daughter another once over.

“He’s right over there!” Jessica pointed back to where he was awkwardly standing a few feet away, feeling a little bit like he was infringing on a personal moment. “He gave me a pretty necklace and helped me find you.” Janus gave her an awkward wave, unsure of what exactly to do.

As Jessica’s mother looked him over, Janus squirmed under the scrutiny. Jessica clearly took after her mother, sharing her straight blonde hair and button nose, though her mother’s eyes were blue, and Jessica’s were brown.

“Hi,” he tried, unsure of the proper protocol for dealing with returning a lost child.

Jessica’s mother’s grip tightened on her child for a moment, and then she smiled genuinely at him, and oh, that was Jessica’s smile too, and tears were welling up in her mother’s eyes as she said her next words. “Thank you so much for bringing my little girl back to me.”

Janus felt a rush of emotions, most of them positive, some of them bittersweet, still others a little bit confused and unsure. “Yeah, it was no biggie,” he managed to make out, giving her a smile and a head tilt. “I just did the respectable thing.”

Jessica’s mother gave him another smile, and said in the most genuine, sincere voice she could manage, “Well, if the world were full of people like you, we’d be all the better for it.”

Janus had to resist the urge to laugh outright at that, though the corners of his lips did twitch up. Hopefully, he could pass that off as a bashful smile. Oh lady, you have no idea. “It was my pleasure,” he responded smoothly, smiling down at Jessica and waving. “It was nice to meet you Jessica.”

“Bye Mr Janus! Thank you for helping me find my mother!” Jessica said with another one of her big grins, and surged forward to wrap him in one more big hug before she let him go.

“Bye Jessica,” he echoed, even as he turned away, smiling a little bit, knick knacks weighing heavily in his pockets.

The walk home was a slow one, one that he knew well. He’d been walking these bleak streets for years now, practically since he was old enough to stand on his own two feet. They were as familiar to him as anything could be, the result of time and effort spent exploring their back alleys and lanes.

Now that the festival was behind him, the cheery feeling had faded, the colors desaturated. Even the air seemed different, slightly stuffier. He knew that was ridiculous, he knew the air quality couldn’t deteriorate that quickly, but it seemed to choke him, worming its way down his throat and making itself at home in his lungs. It always had.

A dog barked from a nearby house as he passed by, and Janus crossed the street. There was no one out on these roads, but that wasn’t uncommon. He wouldn’t have been very surprised if a tumbleweed bounced past him one of these days on his walk home. It was just horribly stereotypical enough to be funny.

His grandmother’s house was a little brick house on the end of the block. She’d lived there as long as he’d known her, which was pretty much his entire life. Then again, he’d lived with her for most of that life. He didn’t really remember his parents, but that was okay in his book. Anyone who deserted their three year old child wasn’t anyone he ever wanted to meet, much less be related to.

Besides, his grandmother had been a more than capable caretaker. No one had showed up at more random childhood talent shows and concerts than she did, and she baked cookies wherever Janus did anything even minorly noteworthy, to show him just how proud she was of him. They’d replanted practically the entire garden behind the house together when he was little, and it was yearly tradition by now for the two of them to go out on the first acceptably temperate day during the spring and do their first round of weeding together.

Janus was walking up to the front step, already fumbling for his key when he stopped. The door was already open, slightly ajar. His eyes narrowed.

He could hear deep voices coming from inside, faint, but definitely there. Not his grandmother.

Without a second thought, he shifted, struggling a bit to pull his coat from this morning back on. Crap. Were the man’s eyes blue or brown? Was the small scar on his right hand or his left? Did his chin have a cleft in it or not? He didn’t remember, and that could be dangerous.

His coat was full of holes, little ones, but holes nonetheless. It was like he’d left it in the back of his closet, only pulling it back out to wear again once the moths had had their way with it. Was his nose really that big too? That certainly didn’t feel right. Clearing his throat and letting his voice deepen and shift into the man’s honeyed rumble, he slipped his jacket off and left it on the rocking chair to the left of the door. The voice was always easier.

“Mrs Devon?” he called out as he pushed the door the rest of the way open. The voices inside quieted immediately, and Janus put on his best mildly concerned but mostly confused look. His teeth were just a little too white to be real. Something told him that he wasn’t nailing this.

“Janus? Sweetie is that you?” his grandmother called out. She sounded nervous, never a good sign.

“No, it’s, ah, Mark.” Janus winced. He hadn’t had time to come up with a name, a story, anything. “From nextdoor?” he tried.

“Ah, Mark, come on in!” his grandmother called out, and Janus had to resist smirking. She was a better actor than he’d ever be.

As he walked through his hallway and into the kitchen, he found his grandmother sitting at the kitchen table with her hands crossed in front of her. Her lips were pursed and her expression was mildly frazzled. All around her, making themselves at home in her kitchen, were several different middle aged men. Sitting on the counter and sipping from a juice box was a boy that looked about his usual age, kicking his feet a little bit.

Staring at the scene in front on him, Janus all but tilted his head to the side questioningly. “It appears that I am not acquainted with your guests, Mrs Devon. Are they new in town?”

Before his grandmother could reply, the boy with the juice box spoke. His tone was icy. “Simply passing through.”

“Yes, I do believe they’re looking for my grandson,” his grandmother said, meeting his eyes. Janus could feel his blood run cold. Surely this isn’t for petty theft, he thought.

“What did he do this time?” he tried to joke, but it fell flat.

“Not a gosh darn thing,” his grandmother replied. “Mark dear, you will let me know if you see him, won’t you? He’s been out all day and I’m ever so worried about him.”

“O-of course.” His throat felt dry.

“We were informed that he would return at around this time,” the boy said, eyes narrowing behind his thick glasses lenses. He brushed some of his black hair out of his face as he evaluated Janus.

That seemed to be happening a lot today.

“Well, I certainly haven’t seen him,” Janus responded, you know, like someone who certainly had seen him.

“Of course you haven’t,” the boy repeated again, in that same cool tone that made Janus feel like his skin was crawling. “Because if you had seen him, then you would certainly tell us. After all, you have nothing to hide, and as a fine, upstanding citizen you certainly want to make sure that the law is being upheld.”

“That goes without saying,” Janus replied. Seriously, don’t say it. Stop talking to me. Please.

The boy sighed heavily. “This is a real shame, Mr Devon, I’d hoped you would cooperate with us…”

“I’m sorry?” Janus replied, feeling dread begin to pool in the bottom of his stomach.

“Yes,” the boy said with a nod. “Yes, I suppose you are.”

There was a small prick in Janus’ neck, and he gasped, stumbling away from the man behind him, eyesight already going a bit fuzzy. Somewhere to his left, his grandmother let out an indignant cry. Shit. “What- what did you do to me?” he gasped out, blinking heavily even as the man retreated back next to the boy with the brilliant blue eyes. “Shit,” he gasped out, and then his vision went black.

Chapter 3- Roman

It was just like his brother to have done something incredibly stupid the last week of their senior year and then claim he was “too tired” to get anything else done for the rest of summer. Roman let out a small huff as he walked back from their kitchen, balancing two plastic cups in one hand, and a bowl of chips in the other.

Remus had set off fireworks indoors. Not a couple of fireworks either, he’d gone out with some friends a couple of nights before and bought as much as six months of a minimum wage paying job would buy in fireworks, which was more than you’d expect. Roman had been saving his own money for college, despite his scholarship, but Remus just went out on impulse and purchased more fireworks than could fit in the back of his truck quicker than you could say “bad idea”.

Talk about going out with a bang.

Besides, Remus wanted to be a ceramist, he’d already gotten everything set up and ready to go on that front. Best to start the whole ‘starving artist’ thing as early as possible, right? At least, that was his go to joke whenever it was brought up.

“Anything good on TV?” Roman asked him, setting the cups and chips down on the table.

Remus was flicking through the channels absentmindedly. “Nah,” he muttered.

“Move your legs,” Roman told him, nudging one of the offending limbs. Remus insisted on wearing booty shorts throughout the entirety of ‘shorts season,’ no matter how cold out it actually was. Between the AC and the time of day, Roman didn’t know how his brother’s legs hadn’t frozen solid already. Remus had always run warm though.

“Mmh, no,” Remus replied, reaching out and popping a chip into his mouth.

“Don’t make me sit on you,” Roman warned him. “I’ll do it too.”

“Whatever.”

“You asked for it.”

Roman sat down on Remus’ kneecaps, but instead of the usual cursing and writhing that would result from such an action shared by siblings, Roman could only feel Remus’ knees give a little bit, and then they went completely flat and rubbery.

“Oh, gross!” Roman leapt off of him at once, brushing down his butt like he’d sat in lava. “You know that I simply despise it when you do that!”

Remus let out a little snicker. “Do what?” he asked him, smirking.

“You get all… rubbery. I don’t know how to explain it! Just… ew.” Roman made a face.

“I know, right?” Remus grinned at him. “I’m like a gutted fish, ready to be cooked! Where do my bones go? Who knows…”

“Don’t make it any weirder than you already have,” Roman said, exasperated, like they hadn’t had this conversation over and over again in the past. “Come on dude, please, just move your legs.”

“Oh! Well why didn’t you just say so, brother dearest?” Remus said, batting his eyelashes comically at Roman and sliding his legs gracefully to the floor, where they fell with a slight jiggling motion, kind of like jello. Roman resisted the urge to make another face, he knew it just egged his brother on.

Sitting down, Roman popped a chip into his own mouth, chewing slowly and savoring the flavor. Twelve years of schooling, done and dealt with. He couldn’t believe it. They’d done so much and spent so much time in that old brick building that it felt almost wrong to leave it. He had no more constants in his life, no more getting up early every week day for school, no more Friday math tests, no more lunch block to be spent with the theatre kids. He had lost all his constants.

Well, all but one.

Remus was his one true constant. They were going to the same college, despite all of the differences between them. Roman’s football scholarship was offered by a place with an excellent theatre program, and Remus had chosen the same school based on their stellar arts program alone. Remus was the antithesis to his thesis, the yin to his yang. Even Remus’ powers seemed to be in direct contradiction to his. Roman had expected them to be exactly the same, since they were twins, but his brother and he couldn’t be more different when it came to their strange, almost otherworldly skill sets. They’d had two apiece their entire lives, the powers of unknown origins that they only used when it was them and their parents around.

Roman had always had thick skin and an even thicker skull, in every sense of the words. He couldn’t remember a time when any knife, nail, or needle had ever pierced his skin. He led a surprisingly bruise and scrape free childhood, but it wasn’t until he’d accidentally caught his finger in a stapler and pressed down and the stapler had bent that he realized he couldn’t break his epidermis. He’d come to his mother and father crying, they’d thought he was finally hurt, but when he showed them the bent stapler and his pristine almond skin, they’d simply exchanged a look that he couldn’t quite figure out.

Remus’ skin was weird too, but not in the same way as Roman’s. Where Roman’s skin was rigid and unmoving, Remus’ was practically too easy to bruise. He’d spent most of his childhood covered in bandages and gauze pads, but he’d never broken a bone. This probably stemmed from the fact that Remus was like a rubber band. He could have been a contortionist, though Roman hadn’t ever seen a contortionist that could squeeze themselves completely flat and slide under his door to wake him up at three am on their birthday. Remus had limits, sure, and he seemed to keep the same body mass no matter what, but it was like his bones were gone sometimes, weird to look at and even weirder to feel.

It was Remus’ second skill that really made him the one with the more interesting skill set, in Roman’s opinion at least. It was the one thing that actually made him a match for Roman’s super strength, and made sibling squabbles a little bit more “fair.” He didn’t use it often, and Roman hadn’t ever really been able to put a finger on what he should call it.

They were seven or eight at the time, sitting on the floor of their living room, propped up in front of the TV. Colorful cartoons flashed on the tiny screen, but neither brother was actually paying much attention at all to them. Their focus lay on the toys on the rug in front of them, trucks and cars and dolls and little tiny building blocks.

“Boys, do you want lemonade?” their mother called from the kitchen, before returning to her usual humming.

“Yes please!” Roman called back to her politely, before returning to his very serious battle with Remus. So far it looked like he was winning, but he never knew when Remus would try and cheat to get the upper hand, so he had to stay vigilant. His father had taught him that word last week, and Roman had been thrilled to know that it had so many practical applications.

“Alright, Monsieur Poopybutt will now lead his forces in an attack!” Remus cried out, holding up his own doll, a barbie with a sharpie mustache scribbled across its small upper lip. He placed the doll very delicately in his biggest monster truck, colored the green and brown of camouflage.

As Remus mimed driving the car closer to Roman’s lego castle, he let out a hearty laugh. “You fool! You’ve fallen for my plan, hook, line, and stinker!”

Remus chuckled. “It’s hook line and sinker, doofus!”

“Whatever! Point is, I have you now!” Roman grabbed another of the dolls, one he’d been saving for the special moment that Remus tried to attack him head on, like he always did. “This is Princess Elizabeth!” he announced, brandishing the doll close to Remus’ face so that he could see her closer. “She wears a sparkly dress!”

“I know Princess Elizabeth,” Remus replied, unimpressed. “You use her every time we play. She knows how to use swords and whatever. She’s not that cool.”

Roman gasped theatrically. “How dare you besmirch the good name of Princess Elizabeth?” he cried, dramatically throwing one arm over his forehead, the other still clutching his doll tightly.

“Meh.”

“Well, dear brother, there’s something you do not know!” Roman cried out, grinning the gap tooth smile of a delighted child. “Princess Elizabeth has learned a new skill since our last battle!”

“Oh?” Remus asked him curiously, tilting his head and flashing his own identical gap tooth smile. “What is it?”

“Princess Elizabeth has learned how to use magic,” Roman whispered, eyes sparkling as he leaned in for dramatic effect. It had taken him days to fully flesh out her backstory, limitations, and powers. Originally, he’d wanted to make her like himself, but in the end he’d fallen back on the classic elemental control.

Remus let out a raspberry. “Well that’s good for me, since Monsieur Poopybutt is immune to magic,” he said with a shrug, knocking Roman’s doll out of the way and continuing his siege on Roman’s now unprotected castle.

“Wait, you can’t just do that!” Roman cried out, scrambling to grab Princess Elizabeth. “You made that up just now, you can’t change the rules!”

“So what if I did?” Remus asked him, grinning. He was already in the process of destroying Roman’s castle, ramming the truck containing his own doll into the side of the structure again and again. “Monsieur Poopybutt can do whatever he wants! He’s immune to magic because I say so, and he’s killed Princess Elizabeth, so I’m free to attack your castle! Besides, you can’t learn how to use magic that quickly, that’s unreasonable. Learning magic takes time!”

“Princess Elizabeth is not dead!” Roman protested, holding her aloft. “See, she’s right here! She’s fine! You didn’t do anything to her!” He paused. “And you can too learn magic that quickly! Princess Elizabeth is a fast learner!”

Remus just looked over at him, before grabbing the doll out of his hand and chucking her across the room.

“Hey!”

“You started it! There, she’s dead, I killed her! Don’t make me pop off her head too!” Remus retaliated. “She’s gone, and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

Roman let out a shriek, throwing himself at his brother and knocking him away from the castle, sending him staggering to right himself.

“What was that for?”

“You can’t just kill Princess Elizabeth! She’s my doll, not yours!”

They were both on their feet now, glaring at one another, the toys discarded. “I can and I will!” Remus replied haughtily.

“I hate you!” he yelled at his brother.

“And what are you gonna do about it, huh? Punch me?” Remus’ voice was deeper now, a low growl in the back of his throat that no ten year old should be able to use.

Roman shoved him. He knew it wasn’t the right thing to do, he knew that Mom had told him never to physically lay his hands on anyone unless it really couldn’t be helped, because they weren’t as strong as he was, but he couldn’t help it. Remus had been a pain in the butt all day, and this was just the last straw. Besides, he’d killed Princess Elizabeth and that was simply unacceptable. She was too important to just be killed off like that. So he pushed his brother with all the strength he could muster, stumbling into him and knocking him over.

Immediately, it was like his arm had gone dead. Pins and needles traveled throughout his entire body, and Roman felt drained for a second. Stumbling further, he fell on top of his brother. Immediately, Remus went pliant beneath him, probably ready to ooze away from him like he usually did. “Ow, get off me!” Remus cried out.

Roman felt like his body had been filled with lead, the pins and needles feeling retreating and leaving him utterly drained. He was oblivious to Remus’ whining as he tried to figure out exactly what he just felt. That had never happened before, not even when he hit things as hard as he possibly could.

“I said, get off of me!” Remus cried one last time, and then he shoved up at Roman.

Roman stumbled back and off of his brother, feeling a little bit like he’d bounced off of a wall. Crying out on his own, he felt his back connect with the floor as the air was knocked out of him.

A moment passed, and then Roman became acutely aware of his brother staring at him with wide eyes, their quarrel forgotten. His brother had shoved him away with a strength that only Roman could have possessed.

It had happened in the span of a couple moments, only seconds. Maybe he’d imagined it. Roman rubbed his elbow on reflex, even if it didn’t really hurt. He had never felt more powerless.

The best way he could think to explain it was energy redirection. However hard you hit Remus, he could hit back just as hard. He assumed. It’s not like they took a lot of time testing it out. As long as Remus could weather the hit, he would be fine. That was a lot cooler than his super strength, the only thing he got out of that was an advantage in football.

I wonder if Remus would be able to redirect energy from a moving car? he wondered to himself before banishing the thought from his mind. Remus would absolutely be up for being hit by a moving car for an experiment, and if he even heard about the idea he wouldn’t be able to get the idea out of his head. If he didn’t end up asking Roman to do it, he’d find someone else to hit him with a car. Roman wasn’t sure which of those options he felt more comfortable with. Probably neither.

Right now, they were both just having a lazy night in, gorging themselves on food while their parents were still paying to keep it stocked in the house and heckling at reruns on TV. It was peaceful and familiar, and Roman was glad for that. With so much changing so soon, he was a little nervous for what the future held.

Their mom brought their dinner out to the couch about halfway through wherever stupid TV show they’d put on for background noise, and after a profuse thanks from the twins, who hadn’t expected any other food to be provided, she retreated back to her study to work.

They dug into their calzones while they watched, the ceramic plates cold in their laps even with the steaming food atop them. College was stressful to think about, college was going to be expensive, and college was nowhere on their radar tonight, luckily.

The Princes had a rather nice house, upper class if you will. It was no mansion, but they had several floors and more than enough bedrooms for everyone. They were quite comfortable, and one of the features of their big house was their lovely doorbell, which had been rewired sometime when Roman and Remus were children to ring with a pleasant chime whenever anyone pressed the button. That being said, the sudden loud knocking at the door was a jolt to both of the twin’s systems, unexpected and louder than was strictly necessary.

Roman felt his grip on his fork tighten a little bit too much in his surprise and he looked down sheepishly. “I bent another one,” he told Remus.

His brother just rolled his eyes. “You’re a dork. Try to bend it back into shape while I go greet our guests.” He slid off of the couch and, with a shimmy, waltzed over to their intricate front door, opening it with a flourish.

Roman listened from the couch. His brother had an interesting way of greeting guests that tended to persuade them to leave quickly if they were unwanted, and his methods were fun to listen to. He just didn’t have a clue who would be knocking at- he checked the time- ten thirty at night.

He could hear Remus wolf whistle from the doorway, low and long. Roman frowned. He’d have to talk to Remus about doing that in the future, that was quite inappropriate. Then again, if he told him that, it might just make him do it more.

“Damn, where’d you fall from, angel?” Remus said, presumably addressing whoever had the misfortune to be on their doorstep.

The response was quiet, and Roman had to strain to hear it from the spot on the couch. “I have not fallen, in fact, I’m here on business. I’m looking for Roman and Remus Prince.”

“I sure hope you are, pretty boy.” Roman could almost feel Remus’ smirk, could almost envision his brother biting his lip in that way he did that made you feel weird making eye contact with him ever again. “Hey Ro,” he called over his shoulder. “Look who’s here to see us!”

Roman poked his head over top of the couch just as the boy at the door sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is definitely them. Just…” he waved his hand vaguely at the men behind him. “You know the drill.”

It took Roman about three seconds too long to understand exactly what he meant by that. One second Remus was standing there, grinning at him with his hands on his hips, the next his brother had been stabbed in the arm by the man closest to him, crumpling to the floor mere moments later. The man leaned down and picked him up like a sack of potatoes, beginning to walk out the door.

Panic rippled through Roman’s system as Remus left his field of view, and he threw himself at the blue eyed boy, unsure of quite what he was supposed to do but knowing that when he got there he’d figure out exactly what he was doing. He had to get Remus back.

Unsurprisingly, the boy dodged, stepping neatly out of Roman’s way and back a little further onto their porch. Thrown for a bit of a loop, Roman stumbled, twirling around to try and find the man that had grabbed Remus, single minded and focused on that and that alone, and-

-he felt a sharp prick in the side of his neck.

“You son of a bitch,” he whispered, feeling a haze settle over him, stumbling a bit further as his vision began to go dark.

Edit: Here’s the Ao3 link!

#sanders sides #logince #moxiety #sanders sides fanfiction #fanfiction #my fanfiction #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders

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idgaf-what-you-call-me · 4 years

Text

This is the first time, outside of therapy, that I am opening up fully my past, I ask that you remain respectful.

Trigger warnings: Suicide, torture, neglect, alcoholism, … a lot listen you’ve got to be well resourced before you read this.

I know Dean, because I was Dean. I was raised to be “perfect”, I am so much like my dad, I didn’t have a childhood, I was tortured, I have lost time (dissociation not possession by an arc angel), I am fairly closeted, and I’m finally starting to get better.

Ever since a very young child, I was raised to be perfect. To look at a 99 and learn what I got wrong before I brought the grade home, otherwise, I was sent to study. I was raised to not be heard and taught to stay in my room. I was raised to not show emotion because anything more than stoic meant that I was an inconvenience. I had “fend for yourself nights” where I had to sort out what I would eat for dinner, and at inexcusably young ages, 5-6 years old. I learned to shoot at 8, and was taken fishing anytime my dad went. I was brought to the construction sites, learned how to use power tools, and eventually had my own set at home. While I wasn’t trained to hunt demons or other things that go bump in the night, I was molded to be just like my dad. My mom wasn’t around much when I was a kid, so I idolized my father. He was like a god to me. As I got older (legal), I even would drink things that my dad approved of like scotch and I smoked cigars. Often praised, “that’s my girl! Look guys, my daughter drinking scotch and smoking a cigar! Where are your kids?” The validation was like a high to me. I was desperate for his approval. Just like Dean. Talked like his dad, walked like his dad, drank like his dad, I get it.

I was blatantly ignored including being told that I was invisible by siblings. They would hold up a remote to me and say, “you’re invisible” and ignore me. I could leave the house and they would not come look for me. With my mom and dad often gone (usually working or partying we were quite poor), I didn’t have anyone looking after me since I was 4 so when my dad was around, much like Dean, all I wanted to do was make him happy and proud of me.

I was a closeted bisexual, who made so many gay jokes towards my cishet brother that I feel quite a bit of shame as an adult. I repressed every facet of desire I had for the opposite gender because being bisexual really meant that I must be gay. At least that is what Will and Grace told me, and I did not want to be gay. Things were bad enough, I didn’t need to add to my shit pile. By the time I was 12, I had no idea how to feel emotions and I had no idea how to love myself. Most days, now at 29, I still don’t know how to love myself. I am not out to everyone in my family. I don’t feel safe with everyone. All the gay jokes between the brothers, all the Dean is bi subtext, I lived a lot of it.

Torture can take the shape of many different forms but they fall under two umbrellas: physical and psychological. I was subjected to sound torture and sleep deprivation forms of physical torture that have lasting psychological effects. When you live through something like that, you don’t “rebound” in the traditional sense, and I would dissociate. My consciousness would retreat back into itself until it was safe enough to come back.

I dreaded Thursday nights as that is when it would begin. My father would bring home several cases of Michelob Ultra, from the store, and then he would start drinking. My dad didn’t measure his consumption in beers, instead he measured by the case. A form of extreme binge drinking that to this day I still don’t completely understand. While he would drink, his music would get progressively louder and louder until the whole house vibrated with noise.

There are some songs and artists that I cannot listen to anymore. They’re not songs by Metallica or Black Sabbath, instead they’re by Credence Clearwater Revival, Bob Dylan, Van Morrison and the like. Songs that people dance to at their weddings, sing at funerals, and enjoy on a road trip with the entire family. They are generally described as lively yet not heavy, yet this music was the conduit of 5 years of actual torture for me. I used to say that these were my favorite songs, but it was a way to cope with hearing them at home, and then hearing them play in the car on the way to school the next morning. In my house, the music was played so loudly that walls and floors shook and overwhelmed my senses and ability to sleep, think, do anything but have a heartbeat and breathe. It would last all night. I never learned to “fall asleep” I would pass out. To this day, I can be desperately tired, and able to drive for several hours without being a dangerous driver. Like my body learned to ignore fatigue. “I just need like 4 hours every couple of days,” yeah Deano, I’ve been there.

I would freeze mentally. Almost like a zone out but on steroids. Then I’d look around and things wouldn’t feel real to me. I would look in the mirror and see a stranger. Now I understand that I had developed dpdr as a way to cope. I don’t wish it on anyone.

My mother? She would leave the house and go clubbing. My siblings were 8 years older than me and lived on their own a great distance from where I lived. Besides, I had school to go to on Fridays. So I cooked, I monitored myself, I had to become an adult. I didn’t get to be a kid. My catharsis was angsty and fluffy Harry Potter fan fiction. You can find it on FF.net, RandHrFan I no longer post with that handle. Dean’s were movies, movies that my dad, and I’d wager his dad watched. I also love westerns just like my dad and my grandfather, there is something about them.

When Dean cries and opens up to Sam about his hell experiences, I get it. I’m so proud of him for telling Sam. To some it seems like he’s closed off but he’s not. He’s opening up as much as he mentally can. And Sam listens. Just like my sister eventually did. When Dean gets mad and yells at John and Mary, I’m proud of him, because he is fighting for himself. He knew he deserved better and he didn’t let it go. Just like I have done in my not so distant past.

All the while my parent’s marriage was fracturing and I was mentally declining. My mom began sleeping in my room and in my bed, and I was basically left to sleep on the couch. On days when my dad would drink, and my mom would go out, I could get to be in my room again. I could be on the computer (laptops weren’t a thing yet) which lived in my room. I could connect with the two other friends on AIM, but the reality of my situation I couldn’t escape. I was isolated, didn’t trust my family and I didn’t know how to ask for help.

One day I attempted to take my life. I saw no value in it. What was I doing with my life. I was a broken human who didn’t deserve love, who didn’t deserve safety, who didn’t deserve well anything. So I downed a bottle of pills. I had an iron clad stomach, I wasn’t too worried about not being successful. Except, I sent a goodbye message to a friend, and that friend saved my life. He got a hold of my sister who got to me in enough time to make me throw up. (She was a champ at that, having suffered from bulimia and taught to throw up from no other than my dad.)

I didn’t receive help afterwards. I signed a paper saying that I wouldn’t attempt again and was taken home. (I hope this isn’t how hospitals roll anymore.) I left my house, I went to school out of state and found stability, created stability for myself. But my past still haunted me whenever I went home. So when Dean has a death wish, and gets discharged from hospitals before he’s stable, I get it.

My parents eventually divorced, and I came home to a place where I couldn’t live anymore for a solid couple of months, I couch surfed, and again my mental health took a nosedive, but nevertheless, I persisted. I got my head back in the game, and finished my degree. Chemistry. I couldn’t go back home, because if I did I’d be working for my dad. I couldn’t do that, it was too painful. So I went to grad school. I got my Ph.D. I began to chart my own path. But there was a rage in me that I couldn’t escape. I lashed out at anyone and everyone to hide the pain that I felt all the time. People were afraid of me. I was great at what I did but I couldn’t make lasting connections with others.

When I was 27 suicidal ideations became dangerous, and I got about as dark. I tried to harm myself, and wanted my world to burn. It didn’t matter that I was married, with pets, and owned a home. Nothing mattered. I finally had to decide between life and death, I couldn’t continue in that state. I can say confidently that I would be dead if I didn’t get help that day. I wish Dean had this chance. He gets close to this in moments with Cas when he is honest about his feelings and experiences, he cries, he gets angry, lashes out, but Cas is there for him. From someone like Dean, I’ll tell you Cas being present holds more weight than gold for Dean.

I have been in intense therapy for a year. By intense I do mean more than once a week, regular check ins with her, and the occasional group session. She sends me articles to read, homework, and we do EMDR work, emotional integration therapy, mindfulness, etc.

It was then that I began to learn that all the rage that I had built inside me was hiding intense fear, loss, and disappointment. The rage gave way to tears, and the tears gave way to a new anger that I could make peace with. That anger comes from the person I am today. The person who fights for herself. Who doesn’t take shit from anyone. The person who says, humans don’t break, vases break, and I am a human. I see a lot of that in late season Dean. He is a fighter.

But I am still the person who receives a compliment and shuts down, there is still a side of me that doesn’t believe that I deserve nice things, good things to happen to me, but that person is getting smaller. My therapist likes to hit me with compliments when I am vulnerable as I am more likely to believe them. I still react like a dead fish when she says them, and then after the session sob for hours over it. One day my head and my heart will believe the same things about myself. I would have reacted the same way as Dean to that confession.

When the cards fall, I still know that I can depend on myself before anyone else because I had to. My life as an impoverished, unstable, depressed, neglected, and abused kid says I should be dead or amounting to nothing, but hear I am. I’ve now closely mentored about 20 undergraduate students, a handful of graduate students, and have helped them find their paths in life. I have taught nearly 1000 students. I made a difference with the life that I tried to throw away.

I have come to a place where I can love my dad. He is sober again, and yes, my love for him does depend on his sobriety. When he is drinking he is not the same person. I wouldn’t call him an A+ dad by a long shot, and hell I am so much like him that at times it makes me sick, but I do love him. I have been able to forgive him. Forgive in the sense that I can make peace with what happened. It doesn’t change what happened or how much it affected me, and I certainly don’t forget, but that isn’t what forgiveness is. I don’t hold the rage anymore. The fact that Dean is able to is personal for Dean, as it is for me, and it isn’t some “family that is what you do” type reason.

I do experience flashbacks when there are fireworks, I can’t go to a movie theatre because of the volume, when people play really loud music in their cars I typically have to peel off into a parking lot and meditate for 20 minutes to be able to drive again. There are some stores that I don’t shop at because their music triggers me. So when Dean experiences those flashbacks, I get it.

There is a belief in the psychology that monster shows help us become comfortable with our dark sides. My dark side saved me over and over again. My dark side told me to be better than them. My dark side told me to fight for me, to adopt a survivor mindset. (If you can’t tell I am a green veined Slytherin and have never been sorted into any other house even by random house generators.) The things I delight in are a bit off color. I cultivate a poison garden, consume way too much true crime, to gore I say give me s’more and so on. Dean gets to experience his dark side, and he has to make peace with it. He makes inappropriate jokes, laughs at it, but he also does talk about it.

This is the hard part: Just like Dean, I am also light. I love people (vomit), seriously though, they are more precious to me than any earthly possession. Plants bring me serenity. Animals are a comfort and companion in the worst of times. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do to protect living things. My motivations come from a place of love and a need to protect others from what I have been through. I know I can survive, but I don’t know if that is true for everyone else.

I know Dean. I was Dean. I see that every episode. Moments when he yells and screams for himself, I cheer him on. Moments where he tries to waste his life away, I understand, and am crying right with him. The purgatory apology guts me, I’ve had to make that apology more than once. The dead fish reaction, hell that is me at the end of a therapy session. I am here to say: Dean is not broken. Dean is strong. Dean is resilient. Dean doesn’t just fight for himself, he fights for the whole of creation. Dean is not a vase. He is a human.

Oh and John’s taste in beer, much like my fathers, is crap. Don’t drink shitty beer. Also, I don’t drink scotch anymore. I'm a gin girl and I drink *okay* beer.

I’m the same blogger who does drunk blogging regarding Supernatural on Saturdays. It is a lovely bit of comfort and joy for me and I won’t be stopping any time soon. We will get back to the lovely and light “Dean is Bi he he” commentary this weekend.

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clintbartonswife · 5 years

Text

Blushing

Pairings: Bucky x reader, some Steve x Sam if you squint

Summary: you find Bucky in Wakanda and are determined to help him see that he’s not the monster he’s sure he is. This is for @fairytaleparker and @neverlandparker writing challenge with the prompt: if you focus on what you left behind, you will never be able to see what lies ahead (bolded)

Warnings: slight angst, self doubt, a few swear words

masterlist

“Who’s this white wolf you all speak of?”

“King T’Challa brought a friend! He lives in a hut by the river” one of the children babbled, pulling his friend along excitedly, “he lets us play with his goats”

Your curiosity piqued, and you allowed yourself to be dragged along by the children.

You had been on the run for 5 months with Natasha after splitting from Steve and Sam in Vermont after a close call with the authorities. The two of you had received a message on your burner phone from Steve asking you to make your way back to Wakanda just as you were crossing sneaking across the Russian border. Of course, both of you instantly turned around and high-tailed it back to the hidden country, eager to see your friends after such a long time.

“Come on! Over here!” The boy said, flashing you a blinding smile as the goat pen came into view, “You’ll love him”

As you turned the corner, your jaw dropped as you saw Bucky exiting a hut, looking the healthiest you had ever seen him.

He was instantly crowded by the small group of children chanting “white wolf”, a small smile rising to his faces. After a quick conversation, he opened the gate to the pen and let the kids inside, smile widening into a grin at the happy squeals that filled the morning air.

“Bucky?”

He turned to face you, face full of surprise.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“The kids” you explained lamely, “they wanted me to meet the white wolf - I’m guessing that’s you?”

He blushed slightly, ducking his head to hide behind the curtain of his hair.

“I don't know why they started calling me that” he shrugged, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, “Shuri said it on my second day here and I guess it just stuck”

“ ‘S cute”

You watched with a small smirk as the blush on his cheeks deepened, liking the softer Bucky in front of you. Deciding to finally close the distance between you, you walked over to him, coming to a stop a comfortable distance away.

“I’m glad to see you doing better Barnes - I honestly mean that”

“Thanks Y/N”

He went to say something else, but the vibrating kimoyo beads on his wrists cut him off, Shuri’s face popping up on the hologram.

“We’ll talk later, yeah?”

“Uh - yeah - okay”

The next time you saw him was a few days later at the palace, Steve’s arm draped over his shoulder and Sam trailing slightly behind.

“From the look of Bucky’s face I’d say Sam hasn't shut up all morning” Natasha snorted, “Looks like he’s about to kill him”

“They love each other really” you commented fondly, watching as Bucky finally broke and began chasing Sam across the lawn like a pair of toddlers while Steve watched with a mixture of affection and annoyance, “Somewhere very deep down”

The two of you continued to watch them play fight, until they stilled on the grass.

“Do you think he broke him?” Nat sniggered, pointing at Barnes who had frozen in his spot whilst Sam cackled on the ground.

Cocking your head to the side curiously, you watched as he turned around in the direction Sam was pointing, his eyes fixating on you for a second, before his face blushed a deep scarlet and he ducked his head back down seemingly whispering angrily at Sam.

“What was that about?” you mused, turning to Nat, who was looking at you with a massive smirk.

“I have no idea” she drawled, taking a long sip of her coffee as she tried to repress her smile.

“Hey! Bucky wait up!”

You had been sitting on a bench outside the palace when you spotted Bucky leaving his appointment with Shuri, instantly jumping up and pursuing him.

The man in question turned around, a small smile on his face as he watched you catch up.

“How’s it hanging Barnes?” you grinned, elbowing him gently in the side as you fell into step with him.

“What?”

“How are you?”

“Oh - I’m good thank you. You?”

“Could’ve been better, I haven’t seen you around much”

You tried to bite back a smile at the light blush that began coat his cheeks as he cleared his throat, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear.

“Uh - Yeah I’ve been with Steve a lot”

“And Sam I guess”

“Not by choice”

You sniggered slightly at that.

“I saw you both outside the palace the other day, you looked like you were having fun”

The blush on his cheeks darkened considerably at that, ducking his head to look at the floor nervously.

“Well, uh, Sam was teasing me about something so I was trying to get him back”

“Did you?”

“No, he admittedly won that one”

You mock-gasped, hand flying to your chest.

“Sam? Winning? Never”

Bucky chuckled, a sound of pure joy, as he shook his head.

“That’s the only time it’ll happen, trust me”

Your smile faltered slightly as you reached the crossroad to Bucky’s hut and the town, knowing you couldn’t invite yourself into his space.

“Say Buck, how about we get a coffee later?”

“Coffee?”

“Yeah, like a date”

You silently prayed you came across confident, hoping that he’d say yes and you hadn’t completely been misreading the signs.

“Wha- date? With me?”

“Well you don’t have to seem so disgusted by it” you laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of your neck, “never mind Barnes, sorry for asking”

“No! I mean - I just - shouldn’t the man ask out the dame - woman - I -“ He gave up with a sigh, stressing his fingers through his hair, “I mean - are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t”

“Then I would love to get a coffee with you doll”

A grin lit up your features, giving Bucky a cheeky wink as you reached the crossroads, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek before running off towards the town.

“I’ll message you the details!”

Needless to say Bucky was freaking out. As soon as you were out of sight, he immediately called Steve on his beads, who in turn brought Sam over to his hut.

“She asked you to coffee? Wow, when I said you didn’t have game I didn’t -“

“Sam cut it out. Buck, I don’t see the big deal. I thought this is what you wanted?”

The brunet sighed, throwing his hands up in the air dramatically.

“This is what I want”

“Then why are you sat here stressing like a teenage girl about to go on her first date?”

“Because it is my first date! In over 70 years!” Bucky roared, Sam’s comments finally pushing him over the edge, “I don’t know how much dating’s changed. Hell - I can barely hold a conversation with her without getting all sweaty and flustered. I’m pathetic”

“You’re not pathetic Buck-“

“Yes Steve. Yes I am. Look at me and tell me that I’m going to be able to hold an actual relationship with Y/N”

Steve and Sam faltered, and he sighed, dragging his hands down his face.

“I’m not the man I was. I don’t know how to charm dames anymore. That’s been lost along with the rest of me that was taken away by the fucking chair”

Head hung in defeat, Bucky collapsed onto his bed, hands clasped infront of him as if in a prayer.

The other two shared a look (or more accurately Steve glared at Sam and gestured for him to fix it), Sam moving from his seat to stand in front of Bucky.

“Look, I know I tease you, but I fully mean what I’m about to say. If you focus on what you left behind, you’ll never be able to focus on what’s ahead. Sure, you’re not in the 40s picking up chicks in the hundreds, but you have one very special one who asked you out” Sam paused to check Steve, who gave him a thumbs up, before continuing, “And shes gonna be waiting on you in that coffee shop, don’t disappoint her”

“What can I possibly offer her Sam?” Bucky asked, voice cracking slightly from the pure emotion held in his voice, “What sorta life can I give her? She deserves so much”

“She chose you Buck - if you think she deserves so much then let her make her choice - let her choose you”

You tap the side of your mug nervously, eyes searching for Bucky. He was only a few minutes late, but that was enough to send your mind running with doubt.

What if he wasn't ready for this yet? What if you had misread the signs?

Thankfully, before your thoughts could run away too far, you spotted him entering the small shop, his hand running through his hair nervously.

You waved him over with a smile, pushing out the saved seat for him with your foot as he approached.

“I was starting to think you ditched me there for a second Buck” you grinned, gesturing o the cup in front of him, “black coffee with no sugar, just how you like it”

“Thank you” he mumbled, ducking his head shyly, “Sorry I was late”

“Only a few minutes, it’s fine. Everything ok?”

“Honestly?”

You quirked your head to the side, nodding.

“No, everything’s not okay - I almost didn't come”

You bit down the immediate hurt, reminding yourself that he was here.

“Any reason why?”

“I’m not good enough for you doll, it’s selfish of me to be taking up your time like this” he began, putting his hand up when you went to protest, “Steve and Sam talked some sense into me by saying it’s your choice. I don’t deserve to take yours away from you, so I’ll just have to trust that you understand what I am”

You sighed a sigh of pure relief, placing your hands over his.

“Bucky, I do know what you are. You’re a kind, selfless man who loves and protects his friends. You look after goats for gods sake”

He chuckled, slightly embarrassed, before looking down at your hands and entwining your fingers with his own.

“I like you for who you are, James Buchanan Barnes. Not who you were, not who you were forced to be, but who you are right now in this moment”

Bucky looked back up at you, eyes wet with unshed tears.

“Thank you”

His voice came out slightly choked, though the genuine smile on his face made you want to kiss him silly.

“I choose you, Bucky. I hope you can find it in you to choose me too”

#tessandclairesdisneywc #bucky barnes #reader insert #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #wakanda #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #marvel #marvel fic #captain america #post cacw #sam wilson #steve rogers

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chroniclackofselfpreservation · 3 years

Text

Creatures of the Night

Chapter 30 - the afterburn of childhood wounds

Back to the Beginning < Previous chapter / Next chapter >

AO3

Masterlist

(TW: mild panic, memories of past abuse, pain, verbal abuse)

(The title of the chapter comes from "Often I Pray" by Michael Sowder.)

Daveigh didn’t waste any time the next morning, practically shaking Patton awake at the first signs of light on the horizon—much to Patton’s displeasure.

“What is it?” he asked, sitting up, immediately awake and concerned.

“I know it’s early, but I couldn’t wait,” Daveigh said, unable to hide her unabashed grin as she rummaged around in the dark. Patton heard the rustle of stiff fabric as Daveigh retied her skirt around her waist, and out of pure instinct, Patton fixed his gaze on the doorway. It seemed everyone on the island had little sense of a need for privacy. Daveigh and Mikhail wore simple skirts made of a durable, off-white fabric—Daveigh wearing a wrapping of similar material around her chest, but nothing more. It wasn’t that Patton thought they were being unseemly, it was just… a bit of an adjustment for him when Daveigh had announced it was time for bed, discarded her skirt, and walked casually across the hut to her woven mat, plopping down and promptly falling asleep.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. Living on a deserted island for as long has they probably had, privacy was likely a luxury they’d learned to live without. He’d just have to learn as well, it seemed. He still wore the clothing he’d shown up in—jeans, a t-shirt reading “famILY" across the front, and his favorite cardigan. The fabric was worn from the harsh salt water and was incredibly dirty, but he couldn’t bring himself to discard them. Not yet.

Patton looked over at Logan, sleeping on his side, curled tightly in on himself. He looked uncomfortable, and perhaps a bit cold. He certainly wasn’t as used to sleeping on the ground as Patton was. He still wore his old clothes as well, jeans and the deep blue polo shirt he usually wore to work. His glasses were gone—which Patton was still getting used to. He didn’t mind, of course... but he’d liked Logan’s glasses. They framed his face in such a nice way…

“Come on,” Daveigh said, dressed and stepping out into the cool morning. “You want to learn how to astral project, don’t you?”

Patton joined her, pulling his cardigan sleeves down over his hands and bunching the fraying fabric in his fists. “Lead the way.”

* * * * * * * * * *

The sun didn’t take long to rise and warm Patton’s back comfortingly. Daveigh had taken him to a section of the beach far from Eudora’s cave and with much softer sand. They sat across from each other, Patton fidgeting his fingers through the sand at his feet.

“Okay, first of all: this event in the past you projected into. You knew someone there? Personally?”

“Yeah, his name is Virgil.”

“And you’re in love with him, yes?”

Patton choked. “I—what? Why would—I mean…”

“I’m in love with Amaryllis, so there’s a chance your powers could have picked up on that, but then why that event?” she said casually, as if she were solving a math problem and not ousting Patton’s deepest feelings. “If it had only been my influence, you likely would have seen something from our time together—but you saw Virgil. Am I right?”

Patton flushed so hard he was surprised he didn’t start giving off steam. “Yes.”

Daveigh clapped her hands together, “Great, that solves that mystery for us. Oracles can do more than just witness the future, like sibyls do. We have a connection to time and space itself. When we form emotional connections with people, especially strong ones, our powers react to that and can become directionalized if you aren’t paying enough attention to what you’re doing,” she explained.

Patton’s brow knit. “What?”

“Your abilities are directly affected by your emotions, and therefore your connection to others. Have you ever had a dream about someone you didn’t know?”

Patton thought back. The only dreams he’d had that weren’t about himself were Merri and Roman—not counting the time-travel escapade last night, of course. “No, I don’t think so.”

“That’s because you don’t know how to control them,” she explained, lifting a finger. “Our powers are designed as self-preservation tools. Whenever an emotionally charged event in the future looms closer, your powers kick in to warn you about it—but they only pertain to yourself or those you care about because, according to your powers, anything else happening in the world doesn’t matter. You have to learn to broaden your perspective.”

“And that will help me stop the dreams?” Patton asked.

Daveigh hesitated. “Stop them? Why would you want to stop them?”

“I mean, not right now, but… eventually, yeah.” Patton wrapped his arms around his knees, the morning sunlight making the left half of his face prickle with warmth. “I don’t like seeing the horrible things that are going to happen to my friends,” he whispered. He glanced over at her. “Do you?”

Daveigh looked absolutely heartbroken. She turned away from him, facing the ocean. “When I opened your mind the first day I met you,” she began, voice soft with shame, “I’d never felt so many mental barriers in my life. I didn’t see anything—that isn’t how our powers work—but watching what reliving those memories did to you…”

Patton tensed. He remembered the feeling of liquid fire coursing through him, every wall he’d ever constructed torn asunder. Memories let loose to wreak havoc as they pleased. He shivered. “That wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know.”

“It was my fault, Patton. I should have asked, and I know I’ve apologized about a hundred times already, but I’ll do it again. Excitement isn’t an excuse.”

Patton swallowed. “Thank you.”

Daveigh took a breath. “Your powers will always be a part of you, Patton. Repressing them will only make them more unruly and unpredictable, but… you’ve really never had a happy prediction before?”

“Not that I can remember,” he admitted.

Daveigh ran a hand across her smooth scalp. “I wish my mentor were here. She’d know how to help you without hurting you so much.”

Patton shifted, unfurling himself from his semi-fetal position. His powers weren’t going away. The sooner he could accept that and learn to control them, the sooner he’d be able to help his friends. “I want your help, Daveigh. I don’t care if it hurts.”

“But—”

“I’m going to help save my friends. All of them. I can’t do that as I am right now,” he said, his resolve building as he spoke, slowly but surely. “I’ve lived with pain before. I will gladly do it for the people I love.”

Daveigh smiled at him. “Okay, but you have to promise to let me know when you need a break, okay? We don’t want another panic attack.”

“Right,” Patton said, smiling back.

“Okay, first we’re going to just have you astral project out of your body, right here on the beach. Sit with you legs crossed,” she instructed, “and place your hands—yes, like that. Okay, now close your eyes and concentrate.”

“On what?” Patton asked, feeling slightly foolish sitting there with his eyes closed.

“You can start with your breathing. Feel your environment around you. Eventually, you’ll feel yourself disconnect from your body.”

Patton opened his eyes. “What?”

Daveigh raised a placating hand. “It’s okay. You’ll be perfectly safe. I promise.”

Patton chewed the inside of his cheek skeptically as he closed his eyes again. “So basically you want me to force myself to dissociate?”

“No. The opposite, actually.” Daveigh said. “Focus on your breathing, and I’ll explain.”

Patton nodded.

“Dissociation is a result of panic and anxiety. It forces the self to retreat deep inside the mind to escape what is happening around it. Astral projection is sending the self outside the mind to perceive things that the body cannot. The two are mutually exclusive. If you begin to feel too much fear while projecting, your body will drag you back in an effort to protect you. In extreme cases, you can rebound in the opposite direction and end up dissociated.”

This is going to be harder than I thought, then, Patton thought, dutifully focusing on his breathing. Daveigh stopped talking, but he could still hear her breathing softly beside him.

Patton wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been sitting there when suddenly, something shifted. Sounds became clearer and more precise. Instead of just waves washing up and down the beach, he heard the rustle of sand against the push and pull, the trickle of every droplet as waves crested and tumbled over themselves; the wind as it brushed across the beach, picking up an entourage of minuscule particles, parading after it joyously. The sun warming him. Vibrating through him.

Patton felt himself tip forward, as if falling asleep, and he jerked up, blinking in the light.

Daveigh looked over at him, smiling. “Well done.”

“What?” Patton looked down and saw himself sitting where he had a moment ago, but his body was slumped forward, completely limp. He was overlapping his own body in a strange, almost terrifying way. Patton bit down on the fear, remembering Daveigh’s warning. Slowly, he stood and stepped away from his body. Daveigh repositioned it—him?—so that his body lay on its back on the beach. It was odd, still feeling the sun on his face, the warm sand beneath his back, while standing a few paces away.

Looking down at his current state, Patton found himself similar to how he’d appeared with Amaryllis. Shimmering. Angel-like. A little transparent, but not enough that he felt like a ghost.

“I did it!” he breathed, feeling his own voice vibrate through his new astral body like he stood inside an enormous church bell. “Whoa, that’s weird. Helloooo?” he said, testing it out. Daveigh watched him gleefully. “This didn’t happen last time,” he noted.

Daveigh nodded. “You weren’t in control last time, and your mind did its best to keep you feeling safe.”

Patton started. He could hear her twice, from both his own ears and those of his body. He shook his head and Daveigh laughed. That, too, freaked his brain out. “We never completely detach from our bodies, no matter how far we go. You’ll always be able to hear, feel, and smell if you concentrate hard enough.”

Patton held a hand out, studying it. He could still touch his own skin, though it felt smoother; he didn’t pass through his palm like he was made of mist, but looking down, he found he wasn’t making an imprint in the sand beneath his feet.

“Can I touch you when I’m like this?” he asked, reaching out tentatively. Daveigh obliged and swiped her hand right through his arm.

“Unfortunately, no. There are very few things we can interact with while in the astral plane,” she said, standing.

But her body remained where it was, sitting calmly on the sand.

Patton smirked. “How come you get to sit all nicely while I look like someone hit me over the head?”

Daveigh winked. “Core muscles.”

“Really?”

She laughed. “No. When you’ve done this for a while, you’ll be able to astral project and control your physical body at the same time. See?” she said, and Patton jumped when Daveigh’s body turned, opened its eyes, and waved at him before returning to its meditative seat.

“That’s kinda creepy,” he chuckled, looking at his own body warily, waiting for it to spring up and do something ridiculous. “So, it’s like you’re in two places at once?”

Daveigh shook her head, gesturing for him to follow her down the beach, away from their bodies. Patton followed, smothering his nerves in his trust of her.

“It’s more like aiming a crossbow with both eyes open,” she said. Patton gave her a confused look. “No? Let’s see… it’s like reading while you walk. You aren’t putting all of your focus on where you’re going, but just enough not to run into anything. Does that make sense? Typically, you can’t speak or make too complex of facial expressions without really concentrating, but I could get up and do simple tasks while my astral self was elsewhere. That’s a little advanced, though. Let’s just start with putting some distance between you and your body.”

They strode down the beach calmly, Patton simply trying to get used to the sensation of it all. He could feel the ground beneath his feet, but he didn’t sink into the sand or leave footprints. He saw a breeze pulling on the palm trees, and could feel it faintly across his body behind him, but his astral form didn’t react to it, his hair lying still.

Curious, he wandered over to the water and let the tide rush over his feet and ankles. The water went right through him, undisturbed. He did feel the temperature difference though, his feet going cold, but remaining dry. Daveigh stepped up next to him.

“We don’t need to breathe in this form,” she said. “We don’t float, either.”

Patton stopped, realizing that he was, in fact, not breathing. He could feel his body breathing of course, but his shimmering, translucent chest didn’t rise or fall with breath. He started. “You mean we could walk underwater?”

She nodded, smiling. “It's quite the experience. Maybe another time. I think it might prove a little too overwhelming for you to handle on your first time. It can be quite disconcerting.”

“My feet are cold,” he mentioned, wiggling his incorporeal toes.

“We can feel temperature, to an extent,” she said, continuing down the beach.

He followed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we can’t be injured, we don’t have physical bodies right now, but that doesn’t mean extreme heat or cold wouldn’t be painful,” she explained.

Patton opened his mouth to ask another question, but something flickered in his periphery and he stopped, turning. Daveigh slowed to a stop ahead of him, watchful but unsurprised.

“What was—” Patton started, when something else flashed just out of his field of view and he whirled again.

“Remember what I said about the difference between projection and dissociation?”

“Yeah, but I don’t—”

“Patton,” Merri whispered so close to his ear he could practically feel her breath. Patton yelped and stumbled back a few steps, but nothing was there. Just him and Daveigh standing on the beach.

Daveigh watched him carefully. “I said that astral projection makes the self aware of things that the body is not, that includes being aware of your own mindscape.”

Patton’s breath came quicker now. He felt like he was being watched on all sides. “You mean my memories,” he said. “They’re all here?”

“To an extent,” she said. “You will not relive them as vividly as you would a flashback, but fleeting glimpses of them will appear. Smells, sounds, people, objects. They aren’t real, Patton,” she admonished. “You must remember that.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, unable to keep from glancing around the beach. Patton lifted a hand to the ear he’d heard Merri in. He could have sworn she was right there. More images tugged on his attention from the corner of his eye, and it took a significant effort not to turn and look. Daveigh put a hand on his shoulder, and he relished the solid contact.

“Patton-cake, are you ready to go?” Dot called from only a little ways away, her voice several years younger than he’d last heard her. Patton felt his eyes misting and took a shaking breath. He could hear her closing a sandwich baggie and folding down the top of the brown paper sack his lunches were always in for school. Now, it seemed, it wasn’t only the bad memories that would be hard for him to handle.

“Is it… will it always be like this?” he asked, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You’ll never completely get rid of them, but you can muffle them. It takes a lot of training, though,” she said. “There are many factors at play. How far you are from your body, how emotional you are, what emotions you’re feeling exactly, how concentrated you are. Your mental state affects how you experience the astral plane.”

Patton stiffened as his own broken screams pierced the air from behind him, but before he could even think about turning around, he flew away from Daveigh, like someone had yanked him backward on a leash. The world went black for a split second and Patton gasped, sitting up in his body once more.

He felt heavy, like he’d donned a lead-filled track suit. Patton had only projected for a couple of minutes, but feeling his lungs expanding in his chest, the blood pumping through his entire body… it all felt brand new and a bit foreign.

His screams were seared into his mind.

Patton felt nauseous and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Daveigh rubbed his back gently. “The feeling will pass after a few moments.”

He stiffened. “Can you not touch me right now, please?” he breathed, fighting for calm. She retracted her hand immediately.

“Of course. I should have asked. Forgive me.”

“It’s fine, just… give me a minute.”

Daveigh sat silently next to him while he collected himself, carefully organizing his mind back to where it had been. He realized he couldn’t live like this forever, not dealing with his past. Of course, he knew. But not right now. Not on an island in the middle of nowhere, not knowing if Roman or Virgil were still alive. That would have to wait.

* * * * * * * * * *

Virgil stared in disbelief at the cluster of trees where the portal to Wakeby had once been. Behind him, Dorian corralled Remus from accosting a tree nymph with that strange expression that could have been fondness but surely wasn’t because immortal snake-demons weren’t fond of anything, and Roman watched in slack-jawed amazement as a swarm of multicolored pixies passed by overhead.

“This place is amazing!” Roman said. “Hey, Dorian, is it always this warm?”

“Yes,” the demon replied. “Though there is a rainy season that lasts about a month.”

“I don’t understand,” Virgil breathed. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

Roman approached from behind. “Virgil, what’s wro—”

Pain erupted behind Virgil’s eyes and he gasped, swaying. His ears rang and his head swam. Virgil knew that pain. Ursula was trying to enter his mind. No doubt she could sense that he’d returned to their homeland. Through watering eyes, Virgil saw Roman about to reach out and steady him.

“No!” he cried, scrambling away from Roman, careful to keep Ursula from hearing his words. he fell back to a seat on the ground, backing up against a tree. “Don’t touch me. She’ll know.”

“What?”

“It’s Ursula,” he managed, forcing controlled breaths in through his nose and out through clenched teeth She was breaking through. “She’ll sense your powers if—if you touch—”

You are getting harder and harder to contact, kitty, she tutted inside his mind. Care to explain—

“Virgil, let me help—”

—what you’re doing in the Witchlands? I don’t—

“—what do you need me to do?”

—remember giving you permission to abandon the prince.

“Shut up! Just stop talking!” Virgil cried, clutching his head. He couldn’t focus on both of them at once, especially when they were talking over one another. Roman shut his mouth immediately, stepping back. Dorian watched curiously from afar, then leaned over and muttered something in Roman’s ear.

How dare you speak to me like that, Ursula snapped, her presence pressing down even harder. Still it wasn’t the worst Virgil had experienced from her. It didn’t make sense for her to be holding back, and she’d said it was getting harder for her to reach him… it was probably just the Witchlands itself. Ursula being banished must be affecting their connection.

If you’ve brought the prince there to cultivate his powers, there won’t be a single corner on in the universe where you can hide from me, she hissed. Virgil could feel her attempting to see through his eyes. He panicked. If she saw Roman—if she knew Dorian was working with them… it would all be over. You’ll wish I killed you, you worthless—

I ran away! Virgil thought back frantically.

The throbbing lessened somewhat. What?

Virgil stopped bridling his fear, letting it wash through him, making sure Ursula could sense it. They didn’t want me anymore, so I ran away. I figured coming here, I’d be less of a burden to you.

How’d you get inside?

I kept the charm.

All these years? Ursula snorted. You always were a coward. I should have known.

He saw Roman begin to argue under his breath with Dorian, gesturing at Virgil. He probably wanted the demon to aide him in dealing with the dragon witch. Thankfully, Dorian understood what was going on far better than Roman did, and Virgil didn’t have to convince him not to. He shook his head, staring at Virgil, and for once Virgil didn’t feel pinned to the floor by it. It was almost comforting, knowing that someone that powerful was on his side.

Fine, if you’re too much of a child to do your job, stay in the Witchlands. Less of a chance you’ll get in my way, she sighed. How’s the curse holding up? Our prince is still in one piece?

Yes, he’s fine, last I saw, Virgil reported, replacing the fear with defeat, hopefully feeding into Ursula’s sense of still having control.

You know, she said carefully, I remember the prince mentioning a promise he had with Bloodwyrm to kill me in exchange for his freedom last we met. Any idea what that’s about?

Virgil’s mind raced. She was testing him—prodding at his story to see if it held together under pressure. It was unlikely that he wouldn’t have known about it, but he couldn’t let her get too suspicious. There was a contract Roman convinced the demon to enter into, but it expired when you defeated him. The curse is still intact.

Very well, she conceded, and it took an immense effort just to keep relief from flooding his mind. Enjoy your little vacation, coward. However, if Bloodwyrm disposes of my prince sooner than later, I’ll expect you back here. I’m going to need something to keep him occupied.

Dread trickled down Virgil’s throat at the thought. Of course.

And with that, the dragon witch withdrew.

#panic #tw panic #memories of past abuse #past abuse #tw past abuse #pain #tw pain #pain tw #verbal abuse #tw verbal abuse #COTN

1 note · View note

writingpuddle · 5 years

Note

Could you share your hc of the foxes reacting to soft(er) affection(as they get) andreil??? Ps I owe u my life ty.

hello friend! to absolutely nobodys surprise this took like half a year to write, but i hope you enjoy!! it ended up being a lot more about andreil dealing with pda than the foxes reacting to it, but its soft as hell so who cares. ao3

—

The hallway was filled with the smell of pizza and the sound of chattering voices. Neil slipped through the door into the girls’ room, which was abuzz with conversation. It was only the original Foxes tonight, but there were still enough of them to make the small room feel crowded.

He ducked Matt’s offered drink and spotted Andrew sitting at the end of the couch, watching Nicky’s animated re-enactment of one of the final plays of tonight’s game with a blank look on his face.

Neil skirted the coffee table and perched on the armrest above Andrew. His eyes flicked up to meet Neil’s in greeting, then returned to Nicky. Neil repressed a small smile. Despite Andrew’s bored expression, the very fact that he was watching Nicky at all was evidence of his attention.

“In summary, I am a mad genius,” Nicky said. “We are so gonna win championships this year. I can feel it.”

“If the freshmen don’t ruin everything,” Kevin said from Nicky’s other side. He shot Neil a quick glance. “If we can’t play Neil and Jack at the same time, we’re at a major disadvantage.”

“I’m dealing with it,” Neil said, a little peevishly.

“No more Exy talk,” Andrew said. “The game is over.”

“Kev-iiin,” Nicky whined, prodding at him, “why do you have to ruin everything? Did you even see my tackle?”

“One good play does not make a season,” Kevin said.

“It’s movie night,” Neil said. “We’ll do a recap at practice tomorrow.”

Kevin looked like he was about to argue, but he stopped himself with a quick glance at Andrew. Neil couldn’t see what Andrew had done, but he felt faintly grateful anyway.

The lights flickered on and off several times. “Attention everyone,” Allison said. “We held a vote, and we’re watching Legally Blonde.”

“You were the only person that voted for that,” Dan said dryly.

“We did technically hold a vote though,” Matt said. “She lost, but she didn’t lie.”

“Legally Blonde is a classic,” Allison said, sticking her nose up. “You’re going to appreciate it, or else.”

There were a few mutters, but nobody really had major objections. Movie night had started as a post-game decompress, but it had quickly been established as tradition once everyone realized it was the only night of the week that they got to avoid the freshmen completely. Exactly which movie they watched was an afterthought.

Unlike many of Allison’s choices, this one seemed to strike something, because within a couple minutes even Kevin was snarking at the TV in Elle’s defence, while Nicky fruitlessly begged for everyone to please shut up so I can hear the movie.

Neil watched with some distraction. He’d still not really gotten into pop culture, despite Nicky and Allison’s efforts. He figured he’d just been out of the loop too long to care about getting back in it. But the movie was kind of entertaining. He admired Elle’s devotion to studying law, even if her ex-boyfriend seemed like a loser.

He propped an elbow on the back of the couch. Andrew’s eyes flicked up towards him before returning to the movie.

Neil dug his phone out of his pocket and tapped out a short message.

How accurate is the legalese

He heard the buzz of Andrew’s phone a second after it sent. For a long moment, it looked like Andrew would ignore the message, but as the scene slipped into another emotional confrontation with the ex-boyfriend, Andrew’s attention drifted from the TV screen to the phone in his pocket.

A response buzzed into Neil’s hand. Okay

From Andrew, that was as resounding an endorsement as Neil could’ve asked for.

Neil glanced down at Andrew, feeling warm and sort of fuzzy. The team was getting riled up by the movie and were paying him no mind. His body was heavy and sore from the game, but with actual striker subs playing this year, it was nothing compared to the post-game aches last year. Andrew’s head rested against the back of the couch a couple inches from his elbow, and Neil’s eyes drifted from the TV to the tufted strands of Andrew’s un-styled hair.

He tapped out another message, feeling a little lazy and a little bold. Touch your hair, yes or no?

A frisson of energy went through him when he pressed send. He tried to keep his eyes on the TV, posture casual, but he couldn’t help glancing down when Andrew flipped his phone open.

He paused minutely. It wouldn’t have been obvious if Neil hadn’t been watching; Andrew’s natural state was stillness. Neil bit the inside of his cheek as Andrew contemplated the message for a long moment, face hidden.

Finally, he typed out a slow response. It buzzed through to Neil’s phone. Now?

Neil gnawed on his cheek, debating the merits of a longer explanation. In the end, he just replied: Yeah

He closed his phone and focussed on the movie. Below him, Andrew opened his phone and read the message.

Neil figured he would need to think on it for a moment, so he was startled when his phone buzzed barely a second later.

Yes

Neil folded his phone away, his chest a little tight. He couldn’t remember what the movie was about anymore. Andrews’s eyes darted up to him again, almost wary, as he rearranged his lean against the couch to give him better access to Andrew.

Andrew exhaled heavily through his nose when Neil’s fingers slid into the fluffy mess of his post-game hair. He watched for a sign that he could stop, but Andrew just readjusted his shoulders slightly, head faced forward. Neil combed his fingers through Andrew’s hair, twisting the longer bits around his fingers. It was startlingly soft. Neil’s own hair was fried and twiggy from years of hair dye.

His gaze roved down the side of Andrew’s face. His eyes were half-lidded and hidden in shadows. Neil bit the inside of his cheek and returned his gaze to the TV, idly brushing his fingers through Andrew’s hair and marveling when Andrew leaned into his fingers like a cat seeking pressure.

A soft noise rustled across the room and Andrew stiffened, his shoulders tensing. Neil froze, his eyes shooting across the room.

Matt had one hand over his mouth, eyes wide with regret. His other hand was on Dan’s wrist, directing her attention across the couch. To Andrew and Neil.

Matt met Neil’s gaze and Neil gave a sharp shake to his head to stop him from saying anything.

It was too late. Allison had caught the movement. In seconds a half dozen sets of eyes were swinging over to where Neil’s hand was still buried in Andrew’s hair.

Neil retracted his hand a beat too late. “What?” Nicky said, twisting around in his spot next to Andrew. “What are you all looking at?”

Neil opened his mouth to tell everyone to stop gawking, but Andrew was already moving, pushing himself to his feet. Neil jumped up and followed him out the door, ignoring Matt’s apologetic protest. “Andrew,” he said, as the door swung shut behind them.

Andrew strode down the hallway to the stairwell, his movements jagged and tense. “Andrew,” Neil said. “Stop, look at me—”

He grabbed Andrew’s hand to slow him down and Andrew lurched to a halt, spinning around to face Neil. His face was pale in the naked fluorescent light, his eyes wide and flickering. Neil would’ve thought he was angry at how Neil had grabbed him if it wasn’t for the fact that Andrew’s fingernails were digging into his hand so tight that they were going to leave bruises.

“Hey,” Neil said. “Look at me.”

“Shut up,” Andrew growled. His grip on Neil’s hand didn’t relent. Neil took a slow breath, meeting Andrew’s gaze evenly.

They stared each other down in the stairwell. Andrew stood a couple steps above him, their hands linked in the open space between them. The buzz of the overhead lights droned in Neil’s ears.

Slowly, Andrew’s shoulders dropped, the muscle in his jaw smoothing out. Neil carefully shifted his hand, interlacing their fingers. Andrew squeezed, like he was reassuring himself that Neil was real.

Andrew turned back up the stairs again, this time without the frenetic pace. Neil let himself get drawn along by their linked hands, watching the lines of Andrew’s back.

Andrew shouldered his way out onto the roof, but he didn’t go straight to the edge like Neil expected. The door slammed shut behind them with a gust of wind and Andrew shook out his pack of cigarettes one-handed, propping one between his lips before tilting the pack towards Neil.

Neil shook his head. This close to Andrew, he didn’t need his own cigarette. Andrew folded the pack into his pocket without a word and dug out his lighter.

Smoke swirled and caught around them. Neil rubbed his thumb across Andrew’s knuckles, scanning the horizon. The sky was purple and bruised with storm clouds. Humidity hung in the air in thick curtains.

Neil’s phone vibrated. Andrew flicked his eyes towards him, but Neil didn’t make a move to grab it.

They stood shoulder to shoulder for a long moment as Andrew burned through his cigarette. Neil suppressed a shiver. His t-shirt wasn’t meant to guard him against the evening chill.

His phone buzzed again.

“Are you going to check that?” Andrew said.

Neil shot him an assessing look before scrounging his phone out of his pocket.

“Matt wants to know if we’re okay,” he said, looking up to study Andrew’s profile. “Are we?”

Andrew ashed his cigarette, a tiny wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. He didn’t say anything.

“Was it me touching your hair?” Neil asked. “Or was it that they saw?”

“I don’t care what they think,” Andrew bit out.

Neil read between the lines. “But it bothered you.”

“Nothing bothers me.”

“Am I still nothing?”

“No.”

Neil blinked. Andrew wasn’t looking at him, but the set of his jaw was tight. “Oh,” Neil murmured, looking away, a fizzing, bubbling feeling rising in his stomach. He wrestled it down before it could show on his face.

“It shouldn’t matter,” Andrew said.

Neil didn’t know if he meant what had just happened in the dorms, or this. He didn’t try to specify. “We don’t always get to decide what matters.”

“Don’t pretend at wisdom,” Andrew said. “I know you.”

“You do,” Neil said, resting his shoulder against Andrew’s. Andrew leaned back, just slightly, his broad arm radiating heat. “Are we okay?”

The wind gusted again, sending goosebumps rising up the back of his neck. “Yes,” Andrew said, after a few seconds.

Neil squeezed his hand, typing out a message clumsily with his left. Fine. Just needed space. Don’t wait up

Matt’s response came through instantaneously. Let me know if you need anything.

Neil closed his phone and shoved it into his back pocket. “Do you want to go back in?”

A longer pause. “Not today.”

Not today. But maybe tomorrow. Neil didn’t say it aloud; he didn’t need to.

“I’m going to head back inside,” he said. “I’ll text you when it’s done.”

Andrew nodded, a bare tilt of the head. Neil raised their linked hands and brushed a kiss across his knuckles. Andrew flexed his fingers when Neil released them, closing his hand and tucking it into his jacket pocket.

Neil lingered a second longer to make sure Andrew was really okay before slipping back into the stairwell. It was only a few scant degrees warmer, so he descended back to the Foxes floor quickly. The door to the girls’ room was still unlocked.

He pushed it open and had about half a second to edge into the room before Allison paused the movie and all eyes turned on him.

“Hey,” Matt said. “Are you–”

“I’m fine,” Neil said.

Allison rolled her eyes. “Right, we’ve never heard that one before.”

Neil shot her a glare. Aaron beat him to the punch, though. “Where’s Andrew?” he said, scowling at Neil.

“He needed a break,” Neil said, and nodded his head towards the TV. “You can keep watching.”

“Should we wait for him?” Renee asked.

Neil shook his head. At Renee’s prodding, Allison huffed and pressed play. Neil dropped into the spot on the couch Andrew had vacated. Nicky shot him an inquiring look, but Neil shook his head to dissuade questions.

The movie played onwards, not that Neil paid much attention.

Above, on the roof, Andrew watched the storm roll towards Palmetto, washing away the dust of a dry autumn. His hand in his pocket still burned with the imprint of Neil’s palm.

He rubbed his thumb over his fingernails and tossed the butt of his cigarette away. The wind mussed his hair, blowing away the ghosts of Neil’s fingers.

His hair was too intimate, he decided. That had been a mistake.

Hands, though. He could manage that.

Next time.

The first raindrops hit the roof and he pulled his jacket around himself, waiting for the storm to break.

#thanks anon #soft andreil #ish #aftg #fanfic #andrew minyard #neil josten #PDA

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buckyownsmyheart · 5 years

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Duty [6/12]

CHAPTER 6: An Explosive Situation

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: SMUT (18+ pls!) in the first part. Probably language.

Series Summary: Ex-army doctor, and now on-mission-for-the-Avengers doctor, Major (Y/n) (Y/l/n), had prepared herself for anything. That was, of course, until she met a devastatingly charming Sergeant from Brooklyn with a quick wit and a kind smile. I wonder what will happen.

A/N: We’re now rolling into unedited, I might have to take a break from posting Duty so I can keep my life on track! Please keep giving those likes and reblogs, I appreciate every single one.

Series Masterlist

Chapter 5

After Bucky was sure that the door was locked and that there were no prying ears, he turned back to you.

“We should probably talk Buck, figure out what’s going on between us, make sure we’re on the same page and everything.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” He wound his arms around you and kissed your forehead.

You felt a strange sense of awkwardness. You perched on his bed and scratched your neck.

“So, I said my piece, I like you, but I also want you to know that this, that us, might need a bit of getting used to. With my job, I’m surrounded by death, and so I think about it a lot. I tend to withdraw from people because it’s easier when they leave, but I want to take this leap of faith with you, I trust you. I like the person I am when I’m with you, and I try and better myself to make you proud. You just might have to be a bit patient with me, but I wasn’t joking when I said I was all-in, I want to put in the work and be with you.”

Bucky looked at you, and your fingers itched to touch him. It was a strange thing, because you’d been in his presence for the best part of a year, and yet this felt different. It was like you could feel each of your confessions still hanging in the air, and it was almost like the universe was saying, ‘and now what?’.

He took your hand and sat next to you on the bed, “I’m ready to take this at whatever pace you want. I want to be with you, and you know I appreciate you being this open, I know how hard it can be, but there’s no one else that I want to be with. I haven’t felt like this in over 70 years. I’m prepared to wait a little longer if that’s what you want.”

“Can I have a kiss?” You asked, feeling uncharacteristically shy.

“Yes Ma’am.” And his warm lips were on yours. A soft kiss, more of a hello, and a promise of more. His metal hand ran gently through your hair, tilting your head up towards him. A slight opening in your mouth allowed his tongue to slide in. His thick thigh was now positioned between yours as you both lowered yourselves onto the bed, and you let out an involuntary moan at the friction. You felt an inexplicable need for more, and tingles were spreading from where Bucky’s mouth was now leaving sloppy kisses down your neck.

“Is this okay?” His voice was gravelly, seemingly trying to control some emotion or desire.

“This is more than I’ve ever wanted.” You whispered as you brought his face down to capture his lips in a sweet and slow kiss, trying to slow down the pace and savour this moment. You rolled him over so that you were now on top of him, and pulled off your top, leaving you in a super sexy sports bra that you hadn’t changed out of since getting back. Oops. But Bucky quashed any reservations you had about not looking your best. He looked at you as if you were the best thing that had ever been made, and it caused a stirring within you.

A smirk formed on your face as you started to roll your hips against him. His fingers dug into your hips as a groan escaped from his lips. After a substantial amount of seductive wiggling and struggling out of your sports bra, accompanied by stifled laughter from Bucky, you were free, and your mouth was back on his. Moving your hips in a rhythmic motion, you made small nips at his neck, relishing in his hard breathing and trying to control your own. His hands roamed around to squeeze your ass, pressing you down harder into his length.

“Too many clothes,” You hummed into his ear, and his hands made quick work of your belt. He flipped you over and pulled your trousers down, gently removing them from around your ankles, his hands grazed up your thighs, gripping the tops. His thumb pressed gently over your underwear, moving idly in circles, causing tension to build in your lower abdomen. Heat was flowing through you, and you longed for more. He kissed your inner thigh slowly and pulled you to the end of the bed. His steady movements were agonising, teasing you, and building the anticipation.

“Bucky, please,” you breathed, “I need you.”

In response, he moved his mouth over your clothed heat, and you could feel his tongue pressing against you. His fingers pulled down your underwear and he licked a long stripe up your folds. The feeling was euphoric, and you arched your back at the feeling. Your hands moved down to his hair, running your fingers through it and tugging slightly at the roots. You felt the vibrations of his moan against your core and it was enough to send you over the edge. His tongue was moving slowly against you, his fingers pumping. The various sensations, and the tight grip he had on the tops of your thighs sent a shock right through you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head in a delirious haze. You involuntarily pressed his head towards you as your orgasm washed over you. When you opened your eyes again Bucky had moved on top of you and you kissed him lazily.

“Shit, babe,” you whispered, “I could definitely get used to this,”

“It isn’t over yet, Major,” He said with a smug smile, as he reached down to remove his sweatpants. You helped him tug them down, trying to hurry up the process. You reached down and swiped his precum over his sensitive tip. Bucky was nibbling at your ear and breathed out heavily at your touch. You guided him to your entrance and he slowly pushed himself into you, grunting in the process. His thrusts started slow, filling you each time in a glorious way. His body was low over yours, the friction of him pressing onto areas of you that were sensitive from the movement. As his hips bucked faster into yours, you felt the burning start to build once more.

The thrusts hit deep inside you, each one leaving you gasping and moaning, Bucky breathing heavily above you, swearing gently. He held you against him, cradling your head and kissing you when the both of you found the time.

“I’m not going to last much longer, baby, you feel too good,” Bucky whispered in your ear, his hot breath tickling you.

You didn’t quite manage to get any words out before you felt the heat spread up your body, taking all of your concentration as Bucky’s thrusts sped up. They became messier and jagged before he stilled inside you, groaning deliciously. Both of you lay there panting, his head resting in the crook of your neck, pressing soft kisses on your skin. You had never felt so speechless before, your mind still a little fuzzy from your antics. He slowly pulled out and flopped down beside you, peppering more kisses all over your face. You curled into Bucky’s side, and gave his neck a gentle kiss, the slightly salty taste from his sweat remaining on your lips. He drew patterns along your back and kissed your hairline, it seemed both of you were still getting used to the idea that you could kiss each other whenever you wanted. Sleep came easily to you, and it was some of the best sleep you had in a very long time.

An alarm blared into the room and you shot up in bed. Bucky clearly had the same reaction as you smacked heads. Holding your throbbing head, you mumbled something incoherent before managing to murmur “What the fuck?” You looked over at Bucky who looked just as perplexed as you.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., what’s going on?”

“A bomb just exploded at the Smithsonian with threats of more, all personnel are required in the briefing room immediately.”

“Well shit, so much for a lie in,” you grumbled, turning to Bucky before bursting out into laughter. His hair was sticking out in all directions, and his face was about as happy as when Sam stole the last of his nutella. “Looking good, Sarge, bedhead really is the new style…” He threw a pillow at you before diving on top of your body, pinning you down.

“Say that again. I dare you.”

“I would, but there’s a slightly imminent death threat for a large portion of New York, and I feel like if I responded to your threat, the sexual tension would increase dramatically, and my self-control would fly out of the window.”

“Good point, well put, probably should suit up.” He jumped off you, flicking on the lights and trying to sort out your clothes from his, still discarded on the floor from last night.

“I’m going to get fresh clothes; I’ll meet you there.” Your door was only a few down from him, so you chucked on his hoodie, bundled up all of your clothes and gave Bucky a quick kiss on the cheek. You legged it out of his room and hoped no one had the chance to see you.

“Nice ass, Major!” Shouted Sam as you slammed your door shut in a hurry. Crap. Well, guess the whole compound now knows about you and Bucky, so much for keeping things casual and seeing where it goes.

After a quick change of clothes, you strolled into the now full briefing room trying to be as nonchalant as possible and holding two large cups of coffee.

Sam wolf-whistled at you and said over the hum of the room, “Did I witness a walk of shame earlier, Doc?”

“Stride of pride, Wilson. Stride. Of. Pride.” You called back and sent a wink in his direction before sitting next to Bucky, handing him one of the coffees.

“Here I was thinking that both of those were for you,” Bucky spoke in a low tone, giving you a grin.

“They were, but I took pity on you,” Hiding your smile with the cup, “You look like crap.”

He brought his hand to his chest in offense and pinched your thigh with the other one, earning a yelp from you. As the briefing started you were both still trying to repress your sniggers.

It turns out at 4:30 this morning, someone had set off a bomb in the Smithsonian, and an anonymous video threatening to set off a second hidden one with a larger blast radius. The plan was to send in a medical team, that you were heading, as well as some of the Avengers to find the second bomb and help with the heavy lifting.

By 5:45, you were in the foyer of the damaged museum setting up a triage, working with the nurses to tend to the 8 security guards and 4 civilians that had been injured in the blast. As you were checking a head wound, the ground below you shook, and you were thrown down to the floor. The sound of a loud blast and heat filled the room you were in. You heard Cap speak into the radio,

“That was on the third floor, Bucky? What’s going on up there?”

Bucky. He was up on the third floor searching for the bomb. What if he had been caught up in the blast? You raced up the stairs, ignoring shouts from the others. You needed to find him and make sure he was okay. Taking the stairs two at a time, you ran along the corridor towards the damage, screaming his name.

“I’m in here, doll, I’m okay,” Bucky’s voice came from your right and relief swept over you. You ran towards his voice but stopped abruptly in your tracks as you rounded the corner. Bucky was in the centre of the room, looking around, but behind him was an IED. He hadn’t spotted it, but you had seen many of those in your time. The jerry cans had wires poking out of them, with a burner phone attached to the middle. As your face turned to horror, the phone lit up with an incoming call.

You cried out Bucky’s name, but as he turned to look at you, you felt it. Orange and black filled your vision as you were thrown back into the wall of the corridor. Everything hurt. You couldn’t breathe, it felt like someone had shoved a towel down your throat and your eyes wouldn’t open. Your mind was surrounded in a layer of fog, and it was as if someone had removed your brain and replaced it with jelly. You screamed at your legs to move, to check on Bucky, but nothing happened. Your last thought before you succumbed to darkness was please god let him be okay.

You woke up, disorientated and dizzy. Everything was so bright, and your eyes were struggling to open. Your throat complained as you tried to swallow, feeling like someone had put a razor blade down there. You slowly sat up to try and figure out what had happened. The museum. The bomb. Bucky. A nurse rushed to your side, handing you water and helping you sit up, propping up the bed. She was doing checks on your pupils and testing your reflexes, but your mind was still waking up.

“Bucky,” you croaked at her, “Where is he?”

She smiled at you sympathetically, and your heart dropped, that wasn’t a good sign. You knew he had been too close to the bomb; he was standing right by it. There was no way he could have made it through. Before you could respond, Nat hurled herself through the door. The emotion you felt at seeing her overwhelmed you, and your face crumpled, finally expressing any emotions you had suppressed for so many years. She had become like a sister to you, and the love that you felt for her was just too much for you to handle at that moment. Your throat, everything, felt raw, and constricted, your mind and body both felt empty.

“Shh…” Natasha comforted, “You’re okay, he’s okay.” You paused, swallowing a sob and looked up at her. Tears still streamed down your face as Bucky burst through into your room. He looked beaten up, his left eye was black, his right arm in a sling and you could see the endings of scrapes coming out the sleeves of his t-shirt, but he was the best thing you had ever seen. The sight of him, alive, sent a fresh torrent of tears down your face, and in a few short strides he was by your bedside cradling your face and kissing you.

“Bucky,” you whispered, pulling back and pushing some stray hairs out of his face.

“I’m here, I’m here,” he assured, pulling you into a tight hug. Your body was protesting at the movement, but being in his arms was the best feeling, and you relaxed into him, letting out a deep breath.

“I’m going to leave you two to it, come find me when you’re done,” Nat teased, leaving with the nurse, and you smiled gratefully at her as she left the room. You disentangled yourself from his arms and looked at his face, touching it gently to make sure he was really there in front of you.

“What happened, Buck?” You asked gently, “You were right in the blast, I saw you, how are you still here?”

“It was smaller than we thought, lucky for us the maker didn’t seem to know what he was doing, and I managed to recover after a few days, nothing too serious, especially with my healing.” He looked at you, pain and regret transparent on his face. “You had a bit of an altercation with the wall though, and some shrapnel embedded itself in you, I’m so sorry.” His voice caught and he failed to meet your eye.

“You better not be blaming yourself James Buchanan Barnes. I was the idiot that ran into a bomb.”

“I should have seen it; I could have done something about it.”

“No Buck, you said it yourself, the maker didn’t know what he was doing, and the chances are that as soon as you touched it, it would have detonated, and you wouldn’t have got off so easily. I’m guessing you’re not able to grow back fingers.” You dragged your thumb against his cheek, trying to convey how grateful you were for him, how you wished he could see himself as you saw him and remove any doubt he had in his head. “We’re okay, we made it,”

“We did, just.”

“Just?”

“Might want to check your chart, Doc, things weren’t looking to fresh for a while,” He smiled at you, not quite as fully as he usually might, and reached over to the end of your bed, handing you the chart before sliding into the much-too-small bed beside you, not that you were complaining. You leaned into his shoulder and began reading. Fractured ribs explained the pain in your side, accompanied by a shrapnel to the abdomen that had narrowly missed obliterating your liver and nestled itself beside your pancreas. A long surgery to remove that, with some notes by the surgeon on how well your tissues held the tissues, (which Bucky pointed out was unfair that you were good at everything, even anatomically), and then some repair to your thigh that had been damaged in the aftershock, and was going to require a heck of a lot of physiotherapy.

After glancing over a raft of medication that you had been on the past few days, antibiotics and pain meds among them, you put the chart down onto your lap, and moved yourself further into the crook of Bucky’s arm, and a wave of exhaustion washed over you.

“I think the technical term is shit hit the fan.” Bucky nudged you, making you chuckle.

“Oh man, this is so inconvenient,” You groaned, “It’s going to take so long to recover, and I’m not good at sitting around doing nothing.”

Bucky snorted, “I don’t know, lots of bed rest doesn’t sound too bad to me,” he pressed his lips to your forehead and whispered against your hairline. “As long as I’m there. That’s an essential condition, I’m afraid.”

You hummed, “Yeah okay, I can probably live with that.” As you closed your eyes to get some much-needed rest, you heard voices overlapping each other. I guess you were being naïve to assume that you would get some peace and quiet in this place. As you opened one eye, your view was full of Tony’s concerned face.

“Get your perfectly manicured goatee out of my face, or there are going to be consequences.”

A cheer went up from behind him, “And she’s back,” You heard Clint mutter in Nat’s ear as she beamed at you.

“Seriously though, Tony, it always stays like that. I’ve never seen it grow any more, even after days without access to a razor. Is it actually fake? Or do you have a razor hidden in your suit for such occasions?”

“Right, put her back under, I preferred her when she was asleep.” Tony shouted, stepping back and looking around the room. Everyone was smiling down at you, some faces showed pity, but most showed relief. The tension in the room was palpable and you had never felt so uneasy at the silence and attention on you, it was so much better when they teased you.

“Man, now I know what it feels to be like a new-born baby, can you all stop smiling at me? It feels weird and unnatural.”

Clint spoke up from the back, “We’re just glad you’re back, wouldn’t be the same without you and the unbearable sexual tension that you and Barnes have. Keeps us all entertained on long missions.”

“Wow Clint, that started off so nice and went speedily downhill from there,” Tony exclaimed,

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m uncomfortable with emotions.”

You laughed, “Thanks, I appreciate the sentiment.” You struggled to sit up, and Bucky moved with you, allowing you to lean against his chest as a back support. “How about as a show of your gratitude, you sneak me out of this hospital?”

“Shouldn’t you be resting? That’s what the doctor said,” Bucky spoke from behind you.

“I’m the doctor now, and I’m prescribing myself my own bed.”

“Not sure you can do that.”

“Try me.” You went to stand up, but Nat pushed a wheelchair to the side of the bed, raising her eyebrow when you opened your mouth to protest. She was giving you a look that made you snap your mouth shut and slide into the wheelchair soundlessly. You had learnt not to fuck with Natasha Romanoff when she gave you a look like that. It was her mum look. And so you slid into the chair and allowed yourself to be wheeled off home, that warm happy feeling emanating from your chest again.

Chapter 7

tags (message me to be added!):

@broco8 @velvetwonderbucky @sebbbystaaan @nerd-without-a-cause @livylou3333 @cap-just-said-language @mcubuckandsteve @cutiepiemimi13

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #b.b fanfic

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rianmichaelyoga · 4 years

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Accept yourself to save yourself.

Recently, as I have realized but forgotten previously, I have realized just how much I fucking hate the state that I exist in. I fucking despise the way that I have made myself. Granted, I have done so much unconscious action that has lead me here, it is hard to be mad at myself. Actually, it would be stupid to be mad at anyone or anything for me creating this life, because I did not know better and a lot of it was created and propelled through fear. Fear makes us unconscious. It is great at that.

So instead of being pissed at myself, I am using that anger to aggressively remold my existence into something I can be fucking PROUD of. There is this recreative power within anger. Anger holds this space of fire. Fire melts or burns stuff down to be recreated. Currently, I feel myself torching the life I live; I feel the deep, dense desire to pour gasoline over everything and watch it burn… metaphorically.

I don’t need to go into the details, what matters is the feeling. The feeling of anger, it begins as this vibrational fire within us. It is a vibrational fire to do something, and when we do not act, it is smothered. But smothering the vibrational fire does NOT put it out. No. To try such a thing only increases its heat. You throw energy into the fire, in trying to repress it, and it holds back a little, it quiets down a little, but it is waiting.

This is why people EXPLODE with anger who have been so quiet all their lives. The fire has been quieted. Eventually it bursts.

BUT!

If we can spot the fire as it begins to burn and recognize that something must be done, then act! That fire is put to good use. It is turned into a creative act, we create!

The point I am making in this short discussion on anger is that if you accept the vibrational fire, the pre-anger, then anger does not ever need to rise. Anger is indeed a needed emotion. We need to release that roaring flame when it appears, or else we burn up on the insides.

In accepting the pre-anger, that fire, and using it when it needs to be used, we could experience a whole different life.

The various intense emotions we experience are there because of this. So...

Is there an emotion you experience regularly that could just need release earlier on?

How can that early release change your life?

Can you act on the first glimpse of emotion that arises?

Can you accept that side of yourself and ACT?

Do so, find out. And save yourself in doing so.

#life #protection #anger #fire #love #self acceptance #accept #world #heal #action #act #be yourself #be #what are you #inspiration #release #motivation

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franklyshipping · 5 years

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Hands-On Learning ~A Markiplier Ego Fanfic

This is from another wonderful anonymous prompt which I am excited to write because I LOVE ANYTHING WITH ANY OF THE GOOGLES! LET'S DO THIS!!!

TAGGING: @google-switchy-red and @thegoodnewsdoctler

To put it frankly, Dr Iplier was flustered, and particularly in this situation...it was most irregular. Currently he was seeing to a patient, and due to his cheeky, tickly techniques it was always the patients that were flustered....but not this time. This time he had a patient who was bold and unabashed....and wanted to talk about tickling, so he could learn about it and understand its ''mechanisms'' as he phrased it; however, he wanted to learn these things....by being the tickler.

'I-I....y-you w-want to what?'

The doctor stammered, which made the Red Google facet cock his head at him. Google Red, or Ryan as he was affectionately named, analysed the doctor a tad. He was blushing, stammering, and his pupils were more dilated than they had been before he had broached the subject of tickling. Ryan smirked, amused that the mere mention of the subject in this context flustered the doctor so much. He stepped closer to Iplier as he replied candidly.

'I am particularly eager to learn about how and why humans react to tickling, and reasoned that you would be a logical candidate to receive tickling since you are so acquainted with it yourself. As a doctor, you understand tickling on a biological level. Will you be my subject, doctor?'

Ryan paused, figuring that the doctor would require a degree of time to go through his reasoning, understand his request, and then make a decision unto whether he wished to partake. Needless to say, Iplier took a minute or two to think it through. First off, he was still in shock from how Ryan had just sprung this request on him as soon as he'd entered for his ''appointment', which Iplier now realised was a guise just to make the request.

Iplier leant against his desk and ran a hand through his hair...this request couldn't have come at a more perfect time. The doctor was in a raging lee mood, he'd been fantasising about being tickled all day and his request just felt like the heavens were answering his need. Dr Iplier developed a soft smile, clearing his throat lightly as he looked back up to Ryan, nodding softly.

'W-Well uh....all your reasoning is logical, a-and since it's for the purposes of learning then...yeah, okay, I'll...I'll be your subject Ryan.'

Ryan let out a satisfied hum.

'Good. Now, strip down so that an appropriate amount of skin is exposed, and lie upon the medical bench so we can begin.'

Iplier's breath hitched in his throat at how commanding Ryan sounded, but the doctor didn't let it delay him....he was far too desperate for tickles to let that happen. Iplier took off his coat, shirt, trousers, and socks and put them on his desk before lying himself on the bench on his back. His toes curled a little from nervousness as Iplier looked to Ryan who had come over, with a duffel bag in hand. The android looked over Iplier's form, and nodded in approval.

'This is satisfactory. Now, in order for the data to be accurate, there can be nothing interfering with it...'

The doctor's eyes widened when Ryan pulled out two pairs of padded cuffs, and two lengths of rope; the doctor's face was already going pink.

'Do I have your consent to restrain you?'

Iplier gulped, feeling giddiness and excitement building up inside him as he nodded.

'Y-Yeah....'

Ryan then went about restraining him. He used the cuffs to bind his wrists together, and his ankles together. Then he used the rope to affix Iplier's restrained wrists above his head at the top of the bench, as well as keeping his cuffed ankles affixed to the bottom end of the bench. Ryan then stood next to Iplier's torso with his hands clasped at the small of his back, his tone of voice a professional one as he spoke.

'Now, for this initial experience I shall limit my tickling to three places on your body. Your armpits, your knees, and your feet. Additionally, as I understand it, the word ''stop'' can often be said unintentionally as a verbal reflex when being tickled, so I shall require you to select a word for you to say that is an ultimate signifier that you are at your limit of being tickled. I am partial to your good health and comfort amidst all this.'

Ryan offered the doctor a gentle smile, despite being one of the Googles who was less partial to emotion he still felt senses of care and appreciation for the rest of his Iplier family. The doctor felt warmth swirl in his tummy at how respectful and considerate Ryan was being, which is why it inspired his chosen word.

'Okay....I choose the word ''Red''.'

Ryan hummed lightly, smiling wider at Iplier's grinning face; he couldn't help but feel pleasant at seeing the doctor be so jubilant.

'As you wish, now....'

The doctor squeaked in surprise when Ryan suddenly vaulted onto the bench to straddle his hips.

'....let's begin with your armpits.'

Iplier gulped with a wobblier, giddy smile....before he became a mess of titters and giggles. Ryan wasted no time in using all his fingertips to start tracing in both of the doctor's exposed, sensitive hollows. Ryan let out another thoughtful hum as he observed Iplier, he just found the entire thing to be most intriguing.

'I assume by your giggling that this tickles?'

The doctor nodded, giggling in delight at how effortlessly and softly Ryan's nails tickled him.

'Yeheheheah.'

Ryan continued to observe the doctor, making mental notes about how the gentler tickling technique produced gentler reactions of mirth from the doctor. Ryan elected to remark aloud as he thought back on some of the research he'd undertaken beforehand.

'What is particularly interesting about ticklish armpits to me, is that practically every technique of tickling seems to be effective. Whether it be tracing, scratching, digging in, or indeed the use of tools. Does that sound accurate in your opinion doctor?'

Iplier shuddered as he listened to Ryan...he didn't know what it was, but hearing him talk about tickling and techniques with such nonchalance gave him serious chills. When Ryan addressed him though, he couldn't help but be cheeky amidst his giggle fit; the doctor was always a cheeky, slightly bratty ticklee.

'Sohohounds rihight to mehe Gohohoogy.'

Iplier repressed a louder laugh when Ryan pursed his lips at him.

'Please refrain from referring to me with such an immature nickname.'

Iplier started to grin wider, his tongue poking out through his teeth adorably as he raised a taunting eyebrow up at Ryan.

'Ohohor whahahat Gohoogy?'

Ryan narrowed his dark, crimson eyes down at the doctor, before deciding that now was definitely the perfect time to move onto the next stage of his research. Iplier had naively thought, from his lack of reply, that he'd won their mini verbal battle....oh how wrong he was. Iplier squealed with wide eyes as Ryan's fingers suddenly switched to scratching hard and fast in his hollows; only then did Ryan muse.

'Does this tickle more than the previous technique?'

Iplier's cheeks had definitely reached a dark pink now as his giggles got far wilder, especially since to the doctor it felt like Ryan was very much teasing him.

'Yehehes ohoho gahAHAHAD YEHEHEHES!'

Ryan smirked, he found that he was deriving quite a lot of enjoyment from watching the doctor succumb to his sensitivities.

'Excellent.'

The madly giggling Iplier was squirming and wriggling like a snake at a rave, which Ryan of course took many mental notes about. After about thirty seconds of the non-stop scratchy tickling though, Iplier found himself starting to get desperate, it just tickled so much.

'R-RYAHAHAN CAHAN WEHE MOHOVE OHOHON NOHOW?!'

Ryan cocked his head down at the doctor upon hearing his cute splutters, and he mused lightly in reply.

'You wish for me to move onto the next stage of my research? Are you sure?'

Iplier just nodded frantically as his face scrunched up amidst his mirth....he wasn't even thinking about what he could potentially be letting himself in for.

'YEHEHES DAHAMMIT YEHES!'

The smiling android chuckled under his breath.

'Alright then.'

....Iplier was expecting a break, a return to tracing perhaps, or maybe a soft tool hidden in the android's duffel bag....but no, Iplier's poor armpits suddenly had to endure Ryan's thumbs vibrating in them as deep as they could possibly go. Needless to say, Iplier was a shrieking, writhing mess.

'NAHAHAHA FUHUHUCK! FUHUCK YOHOHOU MEHEANIE!!'

As Iplier laughed, Ryan donned a neutral, candid expression.

'Doctor I assure you I am no such thing, my position here is entirely objective and linked with the purposes of learning and education.'

Iplier laughed and squealed, tossing his head about in his desperation. Oh he wished he'd kept with the scratches, the scratches felt like frickin kisses compared to this!

'GEHEHET OHOUT OHOF MY DAHAMN AHARMPIHITS!!'

Of course, Ryan didn't heed his request right away. His thumbs rubbed deep circles into his hollows, making the doctor wail as the android replied with his candid, professional demeanour.

'My analysis of this stage is almost complete doctor, please try to be patient.'

Iplier let out a noise that was sort of a mix of a squeak and a gasp out of indignance, and was ready to use what little breath he had to go on a rant; after a few more seconds though, Ryan had mercy. The doctor was left panting and gigging residually.

'Ohoho my fuhucking gohohod....'

Ryan analysed Iplier, fondly noting that even after the tickling had stopped, his smile did not diminish. The doctor's eyes also seemed to be gleaming, and all in all he was displaying every single sign of happiness. Ryan mused curiously.

'How was that for you doctor?'

Iplier pursed his lips up at Ryan, playfully glaring at him as he stuttered; I mean, what kind of teasy question was that?!

'Tickly ihis what it was! You're ehevil!'

Ryan hummed at his response. He understood that Iplier was being playful with his words rather than hurtful, and so decided to respond in a similar fashion.

'If by ''evil'' you mean that I am an effective tickler, then thank you.'

Iplier let out a surprised laugh, before grinning up at Ryan teasingly.

'Since when did you get so sassy?'

'Most likely since I started associating with humans like you.'

The doctor feigned aghastness, but in reality he absolutely adored all this banter. It gave him an excuse to be a cheeky little shit.

'You're lucky I'm the one strapped down here and not you....if our roles were reversed right now, I'd have made you pay for saying that.'

Ryan froze. Frankly, he was amazed that the doctor had the energy to be so teasy in his response to their banter....but then Ryan remembered that the doctor was quite a cheeky person by nature. Ryan surmised that it would take a certain degree of something to chip away at that cheekiness, and Ryan found himself eager to reach that degree. Ryan placed his palms on the table either side of Iplier's torso, and leant over the doctor a tad more as he spoke in a lowered tone.

'Except, doctor, our roles are not reversed. I am the one who has you strapped down....if I may ask, how does that make you feel?'

The doctor shivered a little....he couldn't deny that Ryan was flustering and intimidating the hell out of him. His demeanour was cool, yet teasy, and his deep crimson eyes seemed to stare right down into his soul. The doctor cleared his throat, in an attempt to make his reply somewhat measured.

'U-Uh...well uhm...n-nervous, definitely, b-but uhm...I-I still feel safe. Like, I-I know and t-trust you to keep m-me safe and not go o-overboard....'

Ryan's smile widened at hearing the doctor's endearing stammers....Ryan just loved it, and it made him lean down a little closer too.

'Fascinating....how wonderfully fascinating. When doing my preliminary research, those answers were among them. However, it seemed that people being tickled also felt a strong sense of feeling flustered, or intimidated by their tickler. In addition....there was a vulnerability. A vulnerability associated with the fact that the tickler had so much control over....the ticklee....'

Iplier's breath hitched in his throat as he listened....and his and Ryan's eyes met. I mean....the doctor figured that Ryan using that terminology had to be a coincidence...right?

'.....do you find yourself feeling these things too, doctor?'

Ryan didn't hide his smirk. It was true, he was sort of here to learn...but he'd looked up a few little things before the appointment. Iplier was trembling, too flustered to even speak, and so could only meekly nod.

'Ahh, I hypothesised as much.'

Ryan mused, before he coaxed out some rather delicious snorts and splutters by reaching behind him and spontaneously pinching Iplier's bare kneecaps.

'Pfptpftt-hehehey! Hehehey s-stahahappit!'

The doctor was caught between squeaks and snorts, the new tickle attack having totally caught him off guard. Iplier was biting his lip and hiding in his bicep out of embarrassment whilst Ryan remarked.

'I figured that a certain degree of spontaneity would also contribute to sensations of ticklishness, was I correct?'

Iplier whined, trying and failing to contain the torrents of snorts leaving him whilst his legs twitched and jerked about. However, he was a sassy ticklish thing.

'Whahat the fuhuhuck dohoho yohou thihihink?!'

Ryan raised a teasing eyebrow down at the doctor, gleeful at the prospect of having flustered him. He kept up his pinching and minute squeezes to the doctor's knees as he replied playfully.

'I asked you first doctor-'

'Bihihite mehehehe!'

Ryan paused. Now, I know there's this whole conception of non-human/robotic entities not being aware of idioms and such-like, and perhaps in Google Blue's case it would be more accurate....but not in Ryan's case. Ryan understood that the doctor was being sassy and rude in an attempt to combat his embarrassment at the tickling. What Ryan did particularly enjoy though....was pretending not to understand idioms, because he was a cheeky little android.

'As you wish.'

Needless to say, Iplier had not foreseen what Ryan decided to do next. He squealed and cackled when Ryan suddenly turned around to face his knees, leant down, and started softly nibbling his kneecaps. It was diabolical.

'NONONONO WAHAIT IHI DIDN'T MEHEAN IT!'

Ryan chuckled, pulling away since he didn't want to over-exert the doctor. He looked back to Iplier, and his own eyes were gleaming now.

'I know, but perhaps that will teach you to be more polite with your idioms.'

Honestly, by this point Iplier's cheeks were almost the same colour as Ryan's eyes as he bashfully replied.

'I-I'llbemorepolite....'

Ryan let out a satisfied chuckle, before he slid off of Iplier and stood back upon the ground. Iplier let out a nervous whine as he craned his neck, trying to keep Ryan in his sights as the android ventured towards the doctor's desk...where he gestured to the doctor's desk chair.

'Might I borrow this?'

Iplier nodded tentatively, which spurred Ryan to drag the wheelie chair over to the foot of the medical bench...ironically, where Iplier bare feet were cuffed. Ryan sat down before them, and the doctor scrunched his feet nervously as Ryan mused.

'Ticklish feet are particularly intriguing. Human feet are constantly in use, so you'd assume that the nerves here would not be so prominant, and yet....'

Iplier yipped, whining in embarrassment when Ryan swiped a single finger up one of his soles. He felt so embarrassed when he heard Ryan's deep chuckle....but Iplier was still having the time of his life right now.

'...they hold remarkable sensitivity. Even the gentlest touch can tickle in unimaginable ways....wouldn't you agree?'

Iplier burst into soft whimpers and giggles as Ryan used all his fingertips to trace up and down the doctor's soles; Iplier was getting goose-bumps as he squeezed his eyes shut, his feet were a very tender place for him.

'Ohohohgodohgod d-dohohon't tehehease!'

Ryan smirked and purred.

'Interesting....you cannot take what you dish out, as they say.'

...wait...what did he just say? Iplier felt his blood run cold at Ryan's words as he tentatively opened his eyes, and gulped when he saw that Ryan was now standing, still teasingly tickling his feet. Iplier decided to play dumb, because that always works.

'I-Ihi d-d-dohon't knohow wh-whahat y-yohou mehean....'

Ryan cocked his head at the doctor fondly, he was certainly the most adorable little human.

'No? Then allow me to enlighten you.'

Iplier whimpered nervously, was Ryan about to reveal an ulterior motive? Oh the doctor was beyond flustered now, and he was arching his back and letting out gasp-filled giggles as Ryan softly scratched his inner arches. Ryan smiled, and revealed all.

'I already had a desire to learn about tickling through tickling somebody....but it wasn't until three days ago that I decided that you would be my subject. Oliver came stumbling into our lab, blushing, twitching, and shivering in the wake of your little ''appointment'' with him...and I reasoned that it was time for you to understand what it was like to just be tickled and tickled and tickled....'

....Iplier was starting to wonder whether there was a literal divine power reading his thoughts, because this was Dr Iplier's literal favourite tickle fantasy. For so long he had longed for somebody to take revenge against him for every time he had tickled one of the egos during their doctor's appointments, and now that it was actually happening....Iplier crumbled so fast. With Ryan smirking down at him and teasingly now scratching the balls of his feet, the babbly apologies just flowed from the doctor.

'I-I-Ihihihi'm s-sohohorry p-p-plehehease Ihi'm sohorry!'

Iplier's giggles were so precious and high pitched, Ryan simply adored how he doctor seemed to be crumbling...and yet not using his mercy word. Ryan hummed playfully, since he had surmised that the doctor was in fact enjoying himself.

'For someone who is meant to be expressing remorse, you seem rather giggly.'

The doctor whined as he smiled hugely, wriggling and scrunching his feet desperately as Ryan dragged his blunt nails up and down his soles at an achingly slow pace. He continued to babble as he gazed up at his tickler with happy, watery eyes.

'P-Plehehease Ihihi c-cahan't hehelp ihit p-p-plehehease Ryahan!'

Ryan hummed, dragging his nails back up Iplier's feet so he could casually tease the pads of the doctor's toes.

'Are you truly sorry?'

Iplier squealed, nodding giddily and embarrassedly.

'Yehehes yehes I-I-Ihihi swehehear!'

Ryan thought for a few moments, taking time to analyse the doctor. He had not used his mercy word, but he was particularly red-faced and his breathing was becoming a tad laboured....and Ryan reasoned that there would be plenty of time in the future to experiment with the doctor's limits. So, he removed his fingers from his feet with a soft smile.

'I believe you doctor.'

Iplier let out a shaky gasp as his body went limp, every part of him had been tensed and trembling throughout all the tickling, and it was only now that the doctor realised that he was actually quite exhausted from it all. He meekly smiled at Ryan as he released his ankles and wrists, and bashfully purred when the android's fingers stroked and combed through his hair gently.

'How are you?'

Iplier mumbled very bashfully.

'I'm good.'

Ryan smiled, murmuring softly in reply as he felt warmth in his core at seeing the doctor's joyous, melted demeanour.

'I feel I have learnt a great deal today.'

Iplier felt his heart leap at Ryan's words, and he felt himself softly fidgeting with his fingers as he replied.

'Good, I'm glad.'

Iplier was so happy....and Ryan too was feeling the most amount of happiness that his form was capable of. After a few more moments of making sure Iplier was totally calm after the onslaught on his nerves, Ryan packed away the restraints and headed to the door, before pausing, and looking back to the doctor with a teasing smile in place.

'Oh I hope you do not object, but I intend to book a follow-up appointment. I very much desire to learn exactly what it will take for you to say ''Red''. Good day doctor.'

Ryan left with a nod and a light chuckle, which left Iplier lying on the table, blushing, twitching, shivering....and happy beyond belief.

HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THIS FIC LEMME KNOW IF YA DID WOOOOO LUV YOUS XX

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