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diningpageantry · 6 years

Text

Just Tell Me Why

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15957728

Word Count: 3016

Summary: Simon's got a regular coming in looking a little worse for wear on a rainy afternoon. Despite their seemingly mutual distaste for one another, they come together over sweet treats and dried tears. (Coffee Shop AU)

Notes: thank you to @jessethejoyful for going over this super quick! i basically got the idea for this, wrote it, got it edited, then published it all within 6 hours so big thanks to her for help! also, there’s a spotify playlist to go with about half the fic’s background music. this is Simon’s Nightshift playlist!

The rain patters outside, a repetitive tapping against the long, paper-covered windows. Adverts, local band posters, cram-session times and business cards close off the shop from most of the outside world, leaving a multicolored, softened haze of light to filter in. Each lamp, each overhead light buzzes in this world, closing us off from the stampering around outside as students rush to one place or another.

I hear the chime of the doorbell and the soft shuffling of feet against the straw welcome mat before the steps approach the front. The soft mutter of “Shit” and the droplets of water from a flicked head land on me, turning my attention away from the case as I refill the cookie plates.

Oh. It’s him. “Basilton,” I hiss with my most forced smile, which only falters as I notice his eyes. Blood red. Oh. His cheeks aren’t wet from the rain, they’re red on their own terms. Great, this bloody prick somehow made me feel bad for him (even if it is in the slightest).

He sneers down at me, shaking another hand through his hair as he clearly tries to keep composure. “The usual, will you?”

“Yeah, fine. Anything else?”

He drags his eyes over the restocked case and I watch him fix his cuffed sleeves. The ends are damp in spots, as if they were moping something up rather than hit by drops. “Unless there’s toffee bars in the back.”

If he didn’t come in looking as depressing as he does, I would’ve just said no and left it at that, but I know for a fact that there’s some that are still cooling (even though they’re not set enough to really sell). I hesitate, looking up to meet his eyes. They tear away from mine. “Yeah, actually, there are. One or two?”

“Tw—one. One.”

“Riiigghhhttt… I’ll grab two.”

He sends a glare over my way, but straightens himself out again. “Fine.” His hand reaches into the inside breast of his jacket, digging in for his wallet as I raise a hand, grabbing my own out of my back pocket.

“I’ve got it,” I say sternly, not leaving wiggle room for him to protest.

He simply clears his throat, head turning away as his throat clears. I’m sure he won’t give me a thank you, but his off-turned nod is quite enough before he heads off to take a seat in the far corner, opening his messenger bag and pulling out a laptop.

The harsh blue of the screen illuminates his face. The only other light near him is a table-lamp on the other side of the sofa, and it’s the dimmest one in the whole shop.

Sometimes, whenever Penny comes in to sit at the bar and bother me, she comments on how he looks like this.

“He’s so angular,” she’d whisper, narrowing eyes as she stared blatantly. He didn’t seem to notice. “Looks like Dracula’s nephew.” This is, though, after I’d blabbered to her for at least an hour or two the night before about how I catch him staring at me. She thinks I’m being ridiculous about all this. “He stares at me, Penny, like without moving his head and just lifting his eyes oh dear god he’s plotting some shit, and I saw the way he watches Agatha whenever she’d come in and we’d steal a kiss on my break and Christ, Penny, he’s going to pull some shit have you seen how ridiculously handsome he is fuck him.”

Two things were decided that night. 1) How much wine is too much wine for me, and 2) We have a “Baz-cap”, or a cap to how much we talk about Mr. Coffee-Shop.

That was, of course, until we saw him off taking Agatha’s hand right before an exam, talking to her by a bathroom carve-out.

That cut it. Agatha broke it--the whole relationship thing--off with me, and I went from having a bitter spat with him each time he’d come in to barely dealing with him, if I can help it.

Except now, I suppose.

He looks down at his laptop screen, lips drawn to a tight line as he clacks away. I take notice that in pauses between words, his fingers hesitate and tremble in the slightest. He swallows sharply, blinking so much that he can’t not be crying.

Well, shit. I put together his frankly overly sweet order of some latte with six pumps of butterscotch, pushing through the swinging door to the back and getting a plate together of two toffee-bars (throwing on a vanilla bean cake-pop because, for some reason, I briefly care).

Swiftly, I take hold of his drink and bring it over to him with a slight yet genuine smile.

There’s a gentle clink of the plate hitting the plastic bowl on the table as I set it down, followed by the gentle swishing sound of his egregiously pre-diabetic drink as I rest it beside his food. He glances up at me, then down to the plate before dragging his eyes back to mine. “You seemed to have left something extra there.”

“I know I did. Seemed like you needed it.”

He scoffs quietly, the sound dragging through the back of his throat. “Is this why people gravitate towards you, Snow?” he grumbles half-heartedly, picking up one of the bars and a napkin. It dips a bit in the middle, still obviously a little too fresh. He doesn’t seem to mind. “Your hero complex?”

“I don’t have a hero complex. I just like being nice, you should try it.”

He makes the sound again, biting into the treat. I watch as he chews slowly, dragging his eyes up to mine. He swallows all showily. “Should I? I’ve gotten far enough without it.”

“Yeah, you should. It’ll get you your own girlfriend instead of havin’ to creep up on someone else’s,” I mumble back, leaning down to clean the discarded dishes beside him and giving it a good once over with my rag. He stares at me, and I swear I can hear him laughing.

Scratch that, he is laughing, somewhat a bitter twinge to his voice. I force my head up, eyebrows knit together in frustration. “Oh fuck yo—“

“You think I want your girlfriend, Snow?”

“You can already have her, tosser.”

“I don’t want her.”

I stare at him, and I catch him staring back. His laugh has far gone and disappeared into a slightly lowering brow and drawn in lips. His eyes scan around my face, the space between us all static-y. “Alright…” I draw, completely unconvinced. “Then what the hell happened last year?”

“She came onto me, Snow,” he says flatly. “It’s not my fault your girlfriend likes me better.”

Something inside stops me from spitting on him and calling him a prick. It’s the same part of me that actually cared that this arse came in crying. “Ex. She’s my ex, now.”

His brow arches, like it usually does when I tell him off, but it doesn’t have the energy of me about to be punched in the face. Instead, he’s inquisitive. “Oh. Ex?”

“Ex,” I sigh, pausing for a second. “Why don’t you want her? Everyone wants her.”

“Not my type,” he replies, a little too quickly.

I think he notices this too, because for the first time in minutes he drags his gaze back to his computer screen, finishing his thoughts as he types. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not after her, Snow. Don’t let me stop you from your… fantasy world, hero.”

The way he punctuates the end makes me bite my tongue again, holding the words trying to urge out as I clean the surrounding tables and take back the cups.

The clock ticks on as I fill the dishes into the sink. The café’s closed in four hours, and each time I peer out, it seems to still be dead silent. I stop, occasionally, to serve a customer.

The outside world darkens, drawing into a sunset before sinking back into a world only illuminated by yellowed streetlights. Most people leave, the rain having let up for about 15 minutes and setting a cue for the dining area to clear out.

Only a few stay, one of whom is Baz.

I chew on my bottom lip, hand floating over the Spotify playlist for the shop. It’s been on “Rainy Day” since before my shift started, so I just scroll down and pick “Simon’s Nightshift” and hit shuffle. It starts echoing out as I turn to keep cleaning and just standing for a time, taking out a book to try to read. It doesn’t last, and I clean around as mostly everyone trickles out of the shop slowly.

As the rain fully picks back up to a roll, it’s just Baz and I left inside.

After nearly 10 minutes on internal conflict, I grab the last few scones in the case (the other batch in the oven) and take a seat in the plush, leather armchair adjacent to him.

Slowly, his head rises and he gives me a bored look. The redness in his eyes has all but gone, but he still seems overall unsteady. It half stops me from even saying anything, but I push through the bubble and let it pop in my hands. “Do you have someone to talk to?”

He cocks his brow at me again, pursing his lips and clearly thinking over his words (or maybe mine). “Are you asking if I would wish to speak to you about my problems?” he draws, and the way he puts it makes me feel like I’m back as a toddler when the teachers would ask me if I understood English because I was so quiet.

The pit of my stomach churns as I forcefully stuff half the scone in my mouth. My stomach doesn’t want it to go down. I force it down anyway. “Yeah, I guess.”

He exhales exasperatedly. “What are you, a shrink?”

My shoulders shrug up, then sag. “I’m just someone who’s bored at work with nothing better to do. Least I could do is pester you.”

The clacking of his keys halts as Baz stares down at his knuckles. They wrap in, then extend once more. I watch as he drums against the surface of the keyboard before shutting the lid. “Okay. Fine. Do you truly want to know?”

I nod more encouragingly than I mean. Or, maybe I do mean it and I just don’t really want to admit it, even to myself. That’s what Penny thinks I do, at least; hide stuff from myself.

I listen to him sigh as my eyes flicker down to the rest of the scone I’m stuffing in my mouth.

Baz rubs his index finger and thumb against his temple as the exhale lengthens. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this of all people,” he mutters under his breath before straightening out and looking me in the eyes. I feel his next exhale. “My mother died years back and while looking through an old textbook of hers for a course, a picture of her and I fell out. It had a message from her on it, and it got to me. There. Happy?”

I blink a little, noticing that I still haven’t swallowed yet. I do that before continuing. “Baz…”

“Don’t start with the pitying shit, Snow. I don’t want to hear it,” he snaps, looking at his hands deliberately. “I’ve heard it quite enough before.”

“No, Baz, I—“

“I said to shut it,” he says, voice as hard as an edge as he shoves his backpack into the large pocket of his bag. “Just… forget it.”

“Baz?”

He sucks in a breath as I lay a hand on his knee, my plate setting on the table as he stares. His eyes transfix on each and every part of my hand, seeming to follow the veins and the scars scattering my weathered knuckles. It takes a moment before his eyes close and I’m nearly positive he’s on the brink of tears. It takes a moment of his mouth flying open before I cut him off this time.

“Why did you come here of all places?”

There’s a hesitation in his movements, but he keeps his knee in place as his waist shifts to face me more before opening his eyes. “What does it matter to you? This is very atypical of you, either way, not telling me to piss off.”

“Christ, Baz, I’m not heartless, especially when someone’s crying.” My voice lowers as I shift, the leather of my seat squeaking. “Plus, if you’re not swooping in to snag my girlfriend—or ex, but that doesn’t matter—fuck it, why did you go along with the fighting?”

He seems taken aback by my conversation shift, but his knee draws in and sends my hand back to my lap. “Does it matter?”

I shrug, hands laying together in my lap and playing a bit with twiddling thumbs and an anxious tug at my heart. Why does it matter so much? “Guess not. I just… I dunno, don’t like the fighting?”

“So you suggest we forgo the bitterness?”

“I mean, that’s what we’re doing right now, innit?”

He glances to meet my eyes and takes a second. “I suppose we are.”

I smile a little, sitting up straighter with a growing grin. “Good, glad that’s settled.” I pause before saying what else is on my mind, but the timer for the oven beeps and I launch myself up and run over to pull everything out.

By the way Baz was packing, I expect the couch to be empty by the time I return, but instead he’s sitting there with his phone by his face, thumbs in a pattern of scrolling. I bite my lip, hesitating before leaning over the counter and giving him a smile. “Oi,” I whisper, a twinkle in my eyes as he glances up to me, hair falling in soft waves against the sharp angles of his face. It makes my heart race a little more than I’d care to admit. “You want something absolutely amazing?”

“Is this a friendly offer?”

“This is a peace treaty, now, will you take it?”

“I suppose,” he mulls, the click of his iPhone sounding over the soft thump of the music. “What is it?”

“Fresh scones.”

He blinks. “What’s so amazing about them?”

I pout a little, taking one over and sitting directly next to him this time. “Just… taste it. It’s so much better like this; fresh from the oven.” I pry open his hand, pressing one onto his palm and watching him happily. I nearly swear I see him smile. “Well then? Go on, eat it.”

His hand slowly raises to his lips, taking a bite and chewing slowly. “I swear, you’re trying to fatten me up tonight,” he grumbles before swallowing, but I don’t see him complain as he goes for another bite.

A soft, pleased sigh lets out of my nose as I sit back against the armrest, grinning. I wait until he finishes before letting myself finish my thought from before I broke the moment. “Why the hell do you stare at me?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Because you’re a trainwreck, and I can never look away,” he quips, but any malicious intent slides right past him.

“Is that really it?” I dare, pressing him further. “Because I wouldn’t come right here if my I found my mum’s left note.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have a dead mum, do you?”

“I don’t know,” I say flatly, shrugging. “I don’t know my mum. I grew up in the system.”

He blinks, narrowing his eyebrows for a moment before letting it slip off. “Interesting.”

I stop myself from making any comment beyond that, chewing on my lip. “I want to know, though,” I say quieter than before, “why you’d come here. Why you came here so much even though we had a big tiff. Why you stare at me.”

Baz’s eyes don’t look up as he chews on his last bite of scone, staring right through the chairs across the room. “Move past that, Snow.”

“Why?”

“You don’t want the answer.”

“Maybe I do.”

He pauses mid chew, freezing for seconds before swallowing and turning his head to look at me, sitting all curled up to myself and pressed up against the arm. He looks so unsure; fuck, no, he looks scared. He starts shifting in his seat, glancing around like a cornered animal trying to find an exit. “Snow…”

Something about the tremble in his hand floors me and, honestly, I can’t give an explanation for what follows. It’s like my brain shuts off between then and now, with my lips pressed up against Baz’s.

My hand’s wrapped tightly around the previously shaking hand, trying to steady them as my lips press a tad forcefully against his and I can swear he’ll recoil and slam a fist into my nose, but something in him softens for a split second as I decide to pull back. His eyes, moments before open, are now shut, and mouth open in the slightest.

Oh, fuck it.

I lean my head back in, and this time, his hand flies up to brush against my cheek as he finally kisses back and my heart is pounding against my ribcage, telling me that this, this is the answer I was looking for.

He tastes like all the sweets he packs into himself; he tastes like the sour cherry scone I’d forced onto him. He tastes like everything I’ve wanted from him.

After every bit I take from his mouth, after minutes that feel like an eternity, he lets back and watches me through heavily lidded eyes and breathes through parted, shining lips. “How long ‘til closing?”

My eyes dart up to the clock, but something in my chest tugs. I bet Ebb wouldn’t mind if I closed a tad early because the weather… “Fuck it, right now,” I whisper back, going in for another kiss.

#snowbaz #carry on #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm-pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #simon #baz #fanfic #fic #mine #ficlet #oneshot #coffeshop AU

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superprincesspea · 6 years

Text

Knock, Chapter 15

You’d been waiting for this moment but that didn’t mean you were prepared for it.

Simon/You

Warnings: Birth/Labour

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

So, I accidentally deleted this chapter. This is just me reposting it. Nothing has changed! <3

It had only been a couple of hours since you’d told Simon that you wanted to leave the Sanctuary and as the evening had deepened into night neither of you had mentioned it again.

Now you were climbing into bed and adjusting a hundred different pillows in an effort to make yourself comfortable while Simon relaxed on his back, carefree and unweighted by pregnancy. You envied him of that. Of all the things your body had craved since you’d beome pregnant you think you craved lying comfortably the most. Sleep was almost impossible at this point and you supposed it wouldn’t get any better once the baby had arrived.

As you reach to switch off the lamp a lazy tightening of pressure rolls across your stomach before wrapping around your back and fading away. You’re so used to the aches and cramps of being heavily pregnant that you barely register the pain and if you did, you wouldn’t think anything of it.

When the second pain arrives you’re lying down, your eyes firmly shut, leaving nothing to distract you from the pressure as it builds and recedes.

By the third your heart begins to race while two words scream across your subconscious like a battle cry. IT’S TIME, IT’S TIME!

Still, despite the alarm sounding in your head you remain paralysed, barely breathing as you wait to see if it happens again.

Part of you, and maybe it’s wishful thinking, has decided that this is a false alarm and you’ll be waking up in the morning rolling your eyes. But deep down, the other part of you, knows this is it. Ready or not, and right now you’re leaning towards not. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want a few more weeks but you suppose that doesn’t matter now.

You lie there for what feels like hours, although time has a strange way of moving in the dark. All you can be sure of is that Simon is one hell of a snorer when he sleeps on his back and by the time you decide to wake him, your contractions are starting to catch up with the rhythm of his snorting.

You flick on your bedside lamp but he remains undisturbed leaving you to envy his peacefulness and almost feel bad at the prospect of waking him. Almost. Afterall, you’re the one doing all the hard word. All he has to do is watch.

“I think this is it,” you say and he grumbles something, his lips slapping together before he rolls away.

“Simon,” you nudge him, your voice a little louder and this seems to get his attention. He rolls back to face you, heavy lids peeling open from a deep sleep.

“It’s happening,” you repeat before heaving yourself from the bed and bracing your hands on the headboard as yet another contraction snakes across your belly.

The pain has already started to become less bearable and you wish you could ignore the niggling voice in your head which keeps reminding you, it's only going to get worse.

At the sight of you hunched over the headboard Simon’s eyes spring fully open, realisation finally setting into his sleepyhead.

“It’s time!” he says, rolling from the bed with so much uncoordinated vigour that his legs tangle in the sheets, sending him falling to the floor but not without hitting his head on the nightstand as he goes.

You roll your eyes, deciding this was why women gave birth and not men. When he stands up, there’s blood pouring from a gash above his eyebrow but as usual he’s more worried about you.

“What should I do?” he shouts, panic making his eyes wide.

Surprisingly you feel a wave of calm. You always knew this was going to happen, you’d spent months thinking about it. Now you just had to do it. In a way it would be a relief to have it over with. Just one contraction at a time, you remind yourself and when another rolls across your stomach you shut your eyes, floating in some far off place until you can open them again.

“Your head,” you say to Simon, who’s standing uselessly by the bed and somehow hasn’t even seemed to notice the blood he’s dripping onto the sheets.

You motion for him to follow you to the kitchenette where you find a clean towel to stem the bleeding.

“I should be taking care of you,” he grumbles when you push him into a chair and press the towel to his head.

“You do… usually.”

“If I could take some of the pain I would,” he tells you before taking your hand and brushing a kiss against your knuckles. It seems like such a cheesy thing for a man to say but with Simon you know he means it.

Still, you can’t help but tease him a little anyway. “You couldn’t even get out of the bed without cracking your head open.”

Simon chuckles, taking the towel from you hand and holding it for himself. “Then tell me what to do. You’re the boss.”

You know your labour could last for hours, maybe even days but you’re clinging onto hope that things are progressing quickly. “Wake Doctor Carson. I’ll feel better once I’ve been looked at.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own for a few minutes?” Simon asks, his eyes skirting over the room like it's suddenly a death trap.

“It's either that or you deliver the baby…” you point out and his face blanches.

“I’ll be back,” he says, leaving the door wide open as he runs down the hall wearing nothing but his briefs and a bloodied towel.

You want to laugh but another contraction arrives and stupidly you regret letting Simon leave you here even if its only for a few minutes.

///

Now its several hours later. Simon’s head has three fresh stitches and the Sanctuary is awake, everyone waiting on the news of your baby’s arrival. Although it's starting to feel like it might never be over.

Simon and Carson haven’t left your side, both of them patiently watching as you pace the hallway like a wounded animal. The endless motion had been helping you, giving you something to focus on but it’s not enough anymore.

The pain is now beyond unbearable and the time between contractions has dwindled to nothing more than a heartbeat. When they come now you feel like you’re being slowly ripped apart and it might sound dramatic but you want to die. Dying would be far easier and a sweet release from the endless torture of labour .

“I can’t take it anymore!” you screech, slowly edging to your room and feeling a gush of warmth as your waters finally give way, adding an extra level of discomfort to the situation.

“You can do!” Simon encourages, taking your hand to help you walk.

Usually you relish his touch and the way his long fingers completely encompass yours but not right now. Today you want to ball your fist, rear it back and punch him directly in the face. If only he could feel a small part of what you’re feeling, he wouldn’t be so optimistic.

“I hate you,” you hiss, snatching your hand from his before kneeling besides the bed and hunching over the mattress.

Simon isn’t fazed by your outburst. He quietly takes a kneel besides you, one hand kneading pressure on your lower back, the other scraping the matted hair from your brow.

“I love you,” he whispers but his words are lost as you begin to make a noise that resembles a cow being dragged to the slaughter.

“I think it might be time to push,” Carson says and you don’t care if he’s got his head where the sun doesn’t shine. You don’t care about anything but getting the baby out of you.

You follow his instructions, pushing hard and long with every contraction. You push until your hands have nearly torn the sheets apart and your head is dripping with sweat. You’re never truly knew what it meant to feel exhausted until right now. It’s like you’ve been running a marathon and now you’re being asked to climb a mountain.

You can’t see the worry on Carson’s face but you can hear it in his voice. “We might have to try another position,” he says and you sob, feeling defeated.

“If you have to choose, I want you to choose the baby,” you whimper, licking your lips for moisture.

Simon’s face looks even whiter than it did when you went into labour. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think like that.”

You can’t help it, you don’t even have the strength to stand and you’re like a rag doll as Simon and Carson hook their hands under your arms and pull you onto the bed.

When you’d pictured your labour, you’d imagined one bead of sweat dripping a pristine path down your forehead, followed by one long hollywood push as your baby came bounding into the world. The reality is so far removed that you wonder why any woman would do it twice and for the first time in a long time you want your mum.

“I think we’re gonna need to use forceps,” Carson says as gently as he can and truthfully the idea of forceps had scared the crap out of you before but the pain has made you fearless.

“Just do whatever it takes,” you shout through gritted teeth and what happens next is a steam of events you’d rather not endure with your eyes open, so you close them, praying for an outer body experience.

“Push,” Carson says and you pull strength from a well you didn’t know existed, bearing down and pushing so hard you feel your head might burst.

“Keep going!” Carson commands and you scream like you’re being murdered, determination aiding your struggle, your hands biting into your thighs.

Then, suddenly, in the passing of a single moment, it’s over with.

A newborn cry fills the room, echoing down the hallway to wash away your screams. The relief is immediate, the euphoria greater than anything you’ve ever experienced.

“It’s a girl!” Someone shouts but you’re lost to exhaustion, your head falling back into the pillows.

Somewhere in the background you’re vaguely aware of Simon cutting the cord and Carson rubbing the baby with a towel, all of them quietly congratulating each other. But the reward is yours and you’re overcome with a indescribably sense of pride. You did it. She’s here and you did it.

“She’s beautiful,” Simon whispers as he places a bundle of towel and baby on your chest.

Your shaky hands cradle her, your weary eyes desperate for that first precious glance. Her face his scrunched up, her tongue rooting for milk and even though she’s looking more like an alien than a baby she seems so familiar to you. When her eyes slowly blink open they remind you of Simon, the soft downy hair on her head is the same shade as yours and there’s something about her chubby cheeks that makes you think of your Grandfather.

“Hello,” you say, letting her tiny fingers wrap around yours and feeling your heart swell with love.

“I’m so proud of you,” Simon says and when you look at him he’s got a dopey smile plastered across his face even if he is still a little pale, still a little shell shocked. You guess he’s wearing the exact same expression you are right now.

You might have carried her for nine months and spent an entire day in labour but somehow you can’t quite believe she’s here. And she’s yours. Ten fingers, ten toes, perfect.

Most women would be thinking about dressing their baby in its first outfit, finally settling on a name and showing them off but you’re thinking about the conversation you had with Simon before she arrived.

You feel overwhelmed with responsibility to this tiny life and you’ve fought hard to bring her into the world. You’re not going to give up now. You’re not going to keep her where she isn’t safe. When you’re rested, you’re going to leave the Sanctuary. You want to take her somewhere she can be free, somewhere she can play and laugh and not worry about strangers creeping in the night.

“Let’s call her Sylvie, after my mom,” you say and Simon doesn’t protest.

He kisses the top of your head and whispers, “you’re the boss.”

You hope he means it, you hope he really will do whatever you want because if he doesn’t you’ll be leaving him too.

#Simon TWD #Simon's Thirst Squad #Simons Thirst Squad #Simon the Savior #Steven Ogg #TWD #The Walking Dead

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wonderlandmind4 · 6 years

Text

Delicate Stages Chp 33

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x OFC Ana Rios

Warnings: Language, Anxiety/Panic attacks, mentions of anxiety/panic attacks, mild PTSD, an over use of coffee consumption. Slow burn. Eventual smut. Explicit. NSFW. Past violence. Mild violence. Past mention of suicide. Trigger words. Nightmares/terrors. Flashbacks.

Summary: Bucky Barnes agrees to participate in Deprogramming Sessions. What he gets is not anything like he expected.

Words: 2.4+ @justreadingfics @nerdyandproud9 @buffy-morgendorffer-01

Every electronic in the room is going haywire; some light bulbs pop, some flicker wildly. The air is thick and tainted with energy, heavy as if it hangs there like droplets of humidity. It's strange feeling the effects of the energy- the emotions-, that prickles at Bucky's skin as he watches Ana pace back and forth. She is livid. Her hands are shaking, she can't keep still, her jaw is clenched. She steps up to the throwing station, grabbing one of her knives before thrusting arm her forward quickly. The sharp weapon lands perfectly in the middle of the target.

She doesn't stop there though, doesn't even give herself time to reset. She just grabs a set of throwing stars, flicking her wrist. One after the other, landing on various planned targets. She grabs another set of knives after that, but the lightbulb hanging above them pops, casting the station they're standing in into shadows. Ana doesn't hesitate, or seem to notice.

Bucky huffs audibly, quickly stepping up and grabs the blade of the knife with his left hand as she brings her arm back. He grasps her wrist with his right hand then yanks the weapon out of her hold. Ana whirls around, a fiery glint in her eyes still visible despite the darkness. Bucky is suddenly glad she doesn't have the ability to melt people with her glares.

"What the f-"

"Come with me." Bucky interrupts her, replacing the knife before dragging her out of the target station.

"Bucky, what are you doing?" There’s an annoyed edge to Ana’s voice.

"Preventing yourself from injury." He tells her, pushing he doors open. He doesn't let go of her wrist. "You popped the lights."

Her hand goes limp in his, which he takes as her just giving up and allowing him to lead her away from the practice range.

"I didn't mean too," She mumbles behind him.

"I know," He replies gently.

He scans the hallway as they walk, a habit that Bucky just can't break. He's only making sure there aren't unnecessary people hovering around, especially with Ana in tow. Especially since she's been showing signs of her enhanced ability growing stronger. It happens now, the lights dimming for a few moments, before growing brighter. The air thickens.

Bucky spots a set of doors that lead outside onto a small lanai. He abruptly turns, tugging Ana along until he pushes the doors open. He drops her hand only to turn and place both of his on her shoulders. Ana is biting her lip, but it doesn’t stop the small tremor of her chin.

"Ana." He starts, attempting to keep his voice calm. "Take a breath."

She takes a step back, breaking physical contact. "I can't! I'm still so angry, Bucky! I feel guilty too, because what if something happened? What if that dickhead ended up-"

"He didn't, Ana. He didn't. I'm okay, see?" He smiles at her. She rolls her eyes. "I'm fine. They fired him right?"

"Bout damn time." Ana mutters darkly.

Bucky takes hold of her hands, squeezing her knuckles. "You need to take a breath. Just breathe. All this negative energy isn't good for you, darling."

Ana steps into him, pressing her forehead to his chest. He hopes she can't hear his heartbeat spike up from her sudden action. He wraps his arms around her, keeping her close, safe within his hold. And just in case, if it becomes too much for her and she passes out, Bucky will be right there to catch her.

She came back fuming from a previous meeting. Bucky had watched her storm in, yanking her arm away from Steve's hand, ignoring his word and marching straight to her room. The entire living compound's power shut off for two solid minutes before it came back on. Bucky was being briefed on what happened when Ana came back out and left, slamming the door so hard behind her, it shook the dishes in the cabinets. It took all of a split second for Bucky to follow her.

Right now, as Bucky holds Ana who is trying to calm herself, all he wants to do is kiss her anger away. Have her melt against him like she did on the roof, as if all their problems in the world had disappeared and nothing matter but them. He's not going to though, since it probably won't help any.

Instead, Bucky will continue to hold her close, and sacrifice want he wants. Because what he wants, is not what he deserves. Not when his brain remains to be fixed completely. Not when he could trigger at any moment and when he wakes from that darkened state, Ana will no longer be in his arms.

"You should box." Bucky suggests, breaking the silence after a while. "That helps doesn't it?"

Ana nods against his chest, her fingers gently playing with the end of his hair.

"Come on then."

***

At least when Ana walks into the gym she can breathe easier. The smell of the vinyl mat and punching bags instantly calming her more. She no longer wants to hunt Simon Mills down and throttle him, mostly due to Bucky reeling in the majority of her anger. She changes in the women's locker room after stopping by their home to grab clothes. Ana spots Bucky as she stands in the entry way of the locker room.

"Spar with me." Ana demands, putting her hair up in a ponytail and adjusting her tank top.

"What?" Bucky deadpans. He's giving Ana the flattest look she has ever gotten.

"I figured it out," She says, walking up to him. "I have too much energy pent up. Plus, I've been rather pissed off the whole day and I need to let it out. Please, Bucky?"

Ana widens her eyes, and blinks twice, poking her bottom lip. She doesn't use this look a lot, but he looks like he might refuse. Bucky's eye twitches and his jaw clenches. Then he sighs in defeat, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling.

"I feel like I might regret this."

"Don't worry, Winter Wonderland," She smirks, patting his arm as she passes him. "I don't expect this to be...hard."

Ana is abruptly jerked backward, a hand gripped around her bicep and her back colliding with something solid. Bucky's lips graze her ear, his breath hot against her skin.

"We'll just have to see about that." He whispers hotly.

The low tone of his voice sends shivers down her spine. The same waves of fire Ana felt from that night come rolling back, licking up her insides and making her heart rate speed up. Bucky then grabs her free arm, keeping them both tight in his grip behind her back. Ana jerks, testing his hold. It's strong.

"You seem to have a thing for restraints there, Barnes." She teases.

"Only where it counts, sweetheart."

Ana inhales slowly, trying to will her heart to beat normally.

"Tell me, how would you get out of a hold like this? Dead weight is one thing," Bucky says, then nudges her right foot with his own, locking his shin around hers. "But one little move from me and I can take your bad knee out. What do you do?"

Ana tries to focus, instead of thinking how she can feel his every breath, feel his chest against her shoulder blades. "I-" She has to clear the rasp from her throat. "I would headbutt you, but seeing as how I'm not going to do that."

"That's one way." Bucky states, tightening his hold. "Anything else?"

"Yeah."

Ana lifts her left leg high enough until her foot reaches his knee, bent ever so slightly. It's enough of boost for her to use the muscles in her leg to step up, unlocking her right leg from his, and swing it around, twisting in the air. The surprise slackens Bucky's grip for a moment and that's all she needs to pull her arms free. She kicks off his shoulder with her free foot and separates them. Ana lands lightly on her feet. Bucky has to put his hand on the mat and twist to stand back up.

"Alright." He smirks at her, an impressed expression coloring his face. "That was good. You reply on the element of surprise. You did that on the mission too."

"I have too. Seems to help me a lot."

Bucky pushes his long hair back with his hand, making his way further onto the mat. "What happens if you injure your knee."

"Fight through it?" She shrugs.

He hums, turning to face her. "Lets hope that doesn't happen. How is your hand to hand?"

"I've only used the bags and Fred over there. So, a bit rusty." Ana informs him truthfully.

"Lets work on that then. Remember to use very advantage you have. Just keep your stance locked, Ana.

Ana huffs. "You know I do."

Bucky just smirks at her.

An orange knife flips through the air, Ana shoots her hand out to catch it by the handle. She turns, then jabs rapidly at Bucky's side. He blocks the attack, getting in his own metal jab at her ribs, his first one since they incorporated the dummy knife.

"Kept your side open." Bucky tells her.

He had taken his shirt off, leaving him just in a black tank top. Ana had done the same with hers, fighting in just her sports bra and workout pants. Sweat dampening her skin, and Bucky standing there without so much as a glisten.

"Stole your knife." Ana counters, panting. She glares at Bucky. They've been going at it for nearly an hour and he has only taken a deep breath once.

He nods, a proud smile on his face. "I think, and please rub this in Sam's face, your knife skills surpass mine."

Ana's mouth drops open. "What? Seriously?" She is shocked, and happy. "That's like the highest compliment coming from the Winter Bunny!"

His smile drops off his face. Bucky advances on her again and Ana cackles as he tackles her.

Bucky comes at her with a right hook. Ana dodges it the best she can, catching his left fist in the process. He pulls her forward for a moment, the metal plates shifting to accommodate her weight, then thrusts her back. Ana nearly trips over her feet as she regains her steps, dropping down as Bucky pushes at her again. She swipes her legs out, but he just flips out of the way.

They've been sparring with hand to hand for nearly an hour and a half, and neither of them have given up. The practicing has taken her mind off what Simon had done, and Bucky seems to be doing alright with it. Ana knows he's just relieved he wasn't triggered because she wasn't there. Bucky has his back turned to her after he dodged her last attack, and she forms an idea.

Ana takes a running start. She grabs onto his shoulders, uses her momentum to pull her body up, hooking her left leg over his shoulder, swinging her body upside down and moving her right leg onto his opposite shoulder, trapping him in a vice like grip between her thighs. His hands distractedly come up to grip her hips, but Ana throws her weight forward, knocking him off balance. He falls backwards, hands slipping over her thighs as Ana lands on her feet, twisting around.

Bucky blinks up at the ceiling. Ana has to stifle a laugh with how bewildered he looks. He shakes his head , continuing to just lay there. Ana walks over to him, peering down.

"That was new." Bucky states is a daze.

"Told you, Nat trained me, but I added my own moves here and there."

"And as I have told you, I trained her." He reminds her.

Suddenly, he swipes his arm out at her feet. Ana jumps, because that's the oldest trick in the book. That is, until Bucky catches her mid jump as he pops up, hooking his arm behind her knees. Ana grunts as her back hits the floor, wrists pinned, and thighs locked down by his, so she can't move them very far. It's the first time Bucky doesn't hold back.

"Got you. Looks like I won." He gloats, that little infuriating smirk back on his mouth. His eyes flicker down for a second.

"Really? Because it looks like you want to kiss me again, Winter Bunny. What's stopping you?" Ana whispers, leaning her head up just a fraction.

Bucky glares down at her, his eyes flickering between her own and her lips. His grip tightens on her wrists, his thighs clenching around her hips harder. She grinds her hips up just slightly, a swirl of arousal kicks up in her stomach and Ana has to bite her cheek. Then, Bucky releases her and rolls off to the side. They're both panting as Ana sits up.

"I win." She declares triumphantly. "You said use every advantage."

"You're a dirty fight, sweetheart." Bucky says, his voice rough and a touch deeper. He sits up as well.

"I've got an injured knee that's one good hit away from falling out. I have to fight dirty."

"Good. Good strategy."

"Hmm." Comes a loud thoughtful hum from the side. When they both look, Clint is causally lounging on one of the benches, munching on twizzlers. He points with one of the red candies. "You were pulling your punches, Barnes."

"Ugh!" Ana throws her hands up. "I knew it! How is that fair, Bucky!?

"I didn't want to hurt you!” He claims. “Besides, you pinning me to the mat three times was all you."

"Unless that was your plan." Clint inputs.

Both Ana and Bucky hold up their middle fingers. Ana kicks his boot. "Fine. I understand, you didn't want me to kick your Frosty the Snowman ass."

"Frosty the Snowman." Bucky mumbles, rolling his eyes up. "I swear, you and the endless nicknames."

"I've got plenty. Just haven't used them all."

He sighs. "I wasn't throwing punches hard because if I accidentally clip you, guess who will have my ass."

"Okay, good point."

"Question." Clint speaks up, leaning back against the bench and crossing his feet, twizzler sticking out of his mouth. "Have you both kissed again? Because this sexual tension is becoming too much, even for my taste."

Ana can feel her eyes widen and her cheeks heat up. "What the fuck." She mutters.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably next to her, suddenly interested in the laces of his boots.

"No!" Ana answers loudly. "I mean. How the hell do you know?"

"So, Nat was right." He smirks like he just caught them both.

"Go home, Legolas." She deadpans.

"Natasha knows?" Bucky asks, shocked.

"So does Cap." Clint provides.

"Oh my god, Steve knows!?" Ana turns to face Bucky. "You told him?"

"I panicked!"

"Jesus! I'm going to take a very long, hot shower. So if you boys don't mind."

Ana begins to gather her shirt and water bottle and walks away. As she's nearing the door, she can almost feel Clint open his mouth. So she shouts,

"Shut it, Link!"

*************************************************************************************

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#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes fanfiction #Bucky Barnes #delicate stages #my fic #marvel #mcu

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wallewizzle · 7 years

Text

BTS Jealous, Maknae Line

Thank you so much for reading! First time I´m uploading anything so when I got 20 likes my heart burst. Really...Thank you. And once again, if you have any ideas, be free...and merry.

Jungkook

Jungkook ran up the stairs up to your apartment with his stomach aching, his throat clenching, making it almost impossible for him to breathe. He knocked on the door and drummed his feet against the floor, trying his best to control his anger. But he was fuming. He had seen you with that guy. Happily having an early lunch, snuggled up tightly laughing at each other, clearly sharing secrets. He could have convinced himself that you were just friends but when he kissed your cheek Jungkook broke.

But you weren’t home and he let his mind wander. Where were you? You were with him? Fucking him? Screaming his name? How the fuck did this happen? Jungkook walked the whole way home to the dorms, fighting the tears with every step. He had lost you. His busy schedule drove you away. But how could you treat him like this? He thought higher of you. You had promised that you wouldn’t cheat, never lead him on. Now he was alone, his whole body aching, stomach starting a riot and his knuckles whitened from his clenched fists.

He texted you the second he came home. Making you know exactly what he saw and that you better have a good explanation or this was all over. That if you wanted to end it then you should just tell him.

When you red his text your heart stopped. You called him instantly but it went straight to voicemail. You texted him, called him again but it gave you nothing.

”What´s wrong?” Peter asked noticing your sudden change of mood. You showed him his message and he gasped. ”You haven’t told him that I´m gay?” You shook your head and he sighed. ”Well, that´s fucking stupid”. You slid your phone over the table after the fifth call went to voicemail and dropped your head. Fuck!

You tried to contact him all night but he never answered. Peter encouraged you to go back to his place but you were scared. What if he already made his mind up? Jungkook could be so darn stubborn and he might not even open the door. But here you were, Peter dropped you off outside their place and you sighed. You thought that when he got your text he would understand.

”I´ll wait here to make sure you get in, okay? He said and stood by the car. You nodded and rang the bell. The door opened quickly and there he was. Jungkook stared you down and his clenched jaw caused you to stutter.

”Why didn’t you answer me? You asked but he wasn’t even looking at you. Without a word and before you could react he ran against Peter. ”Jungkook!” You yelled and ran after him just as he gripped Peters jacket and slammed him against the car. ”STOP!" You grabbed his arm but he was to strong for you to budge.

”You´ll fucking leave her alone!” He spat in Peters face. Jungkook felt the need to smash his head in but your presence stopped him. It shouldn’t but he really didn’t know how to survive it if you left him. He might still have a shot. You heard Jimin and Kim running out of the house and you panicked. Suddenly he kicked away Peters legs making him fall to the ground with nothing more then Jungkook´s hands holding him up. ”STOP IT!” You yelled again and grabbed his hand trying to pry away his grip. ”Get the fuck away from me Y/N!” He hissed and looked at you with hate in his eyes.

”Jungkook!” Jimin shouted and ran up to his friend. He had never seen Jungkook like this and it scared him. ”NO!” You yelled as Jungkook raised his arm. ”HE`S GAY! HE`S FUCKING GAY!” You screamed and Jungkook stared at you. He watched you with big eyes with his hands still on Peters jacket. He looked back down at Peter who awkwardly waved with a scared smile.

Jungkook released his grip and Peter fell to the ground. You ran up to him and grabbed his hand to help him up. When you did Jungkook turned around and grabbed his arm to help you. ”I`m…I´m so sorry! I just…I thought that…” He muttered and straighten out Peters jacket before he looked at Jimin with a helpless stare. You saw him clearly mouthing the way fuck before he came back to Peter. ”I´m really sorry! Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?”

”Can you all please just get in? It´s fucking freezing”. NamJoon´s voice ended the chaos and all of you did exactly what he said.

Jungkook didn’t look at you once as you passed him with Peter and walked inside. You understood his feelings but the way he handled them scared you. What if he ever got that mad at you? You guessed he just did but he had Peter to take it out on. What if he wasn’t there?

”So this is awkward”. Jimin laughed nervously and you forced out a smile. ”I just…I overreacted. I´m sorry” Jungkook sighed and you huffed. ”You said that already! It doesn’t matter”. You hissed and he looked at you with sad eyes.

”Ouch! NamJoon murmured. ”Alex you have to see this from his point of view…it really looked like you two were…” ”He slammed my friend against the car NamJoon!” You exclaimed and stared at Jungkook who just looked at you with a sad expression. You didn’t care.

”Y/N? Come on! He didn’t overreact. I would have done the same thing”. Peter said and you frowned. You shook your head not wanting to believe him. Peter was the sweetest guy on the planet. ”I did the same thing! My ex was fooling around with this guy and I might have punched him a bit…not as good as Jungkook here but still…I tried”. ”Actually he´s right. I mean, you scared the shit out me but I got your back”. Jimin said and grabbed Jungkook´s arm. He looked at Jimins hand and sighed. ”Don´t give me that shit! It´s a guy thing?” You hissed and Jimin nodded in response. ”It´s a ”I found the one I want so don´t you try to fuck this up thing”. Peter snickered and you huffed trying to hide the smile on your lips. ”Don´t worry”. He smiled and turned to Jungkook who awkwardly smiled back not getting how the guy he just jumped on was defending him. ”Just buy me food at some point and we´re good”. He added and took Jungkook´s hand. ”I´ll leave you here”. He said as he grabbed your hand. ”Talk to the poor guy” He whispered so only you could hear. You quietly nodded and gave him a hug. ”I´m sorry”. You murmured and he chuckled. ”Yeah? Stop being so darn naive then”. He smiled and grabbed his jacket. ”It´s been a pleasure”. He smirked and walked out of the door.

You were left alone with Jungkook and saw the insecurity in his face. He knew he overreacted and you would make him grovel for a long time. But you knew what he saw and you got what he felt. You would forgive him, maybe not today but you would.

…

Tae

”Why are you like this?” You asked and he huffed. He didn’t answer you at all. He just sat there in front of his computer probably busy with music and not even caring that you were there. ”Have I done something wrong Tae?”

”No…miss perfect doesn’t do anything wrong right?” He muttered.

”What did I do?” You pleaded him to tell you. You hated him like this. When he got mad, he was really mad and nothing could bring him back. ”Tae!” You could feel the panic taking over.

”Are you going to cry now?” He hissed and made me feel so small. ”You are? Maybe you should call that friend of yours? Maybe he can make you feel better?” ”Is this because you´re jealous?” You asked and he just huffed. ”It´s nothing between me and Simon”. ”You know what? I don´t even care if it is”. He said and shrugged his shoulder. How could he say that? He broke your heart. You don´t care?” You repeated and bit down on your lip to keep yourself from crying but it didn’t work. ”I-don´t-care!” He stated. ”I wouldn’t care if you sent me a video of you sucking his dick so you just go ahead and do that!” He spat showing zero emotions. ”So save those tears. It wont work baby”. He smirked. ”Don´t call me baby ever again Tae!” You spat and swiped your tears away. He suddenly looked straight at you and it felt like your heart was about to jump out of your chest. ”Fuck you!” You hissed and ended the call just as he opened his mouth. You slammed your body down on your bed and felt the tears pour down your cheeks.

Tae knew he fucked up. He crossed the line and pushed his forehead against the desk. He had been away for two months now and it was eating him up. The only contact he had with you was through the phone and he missed you. He missed tickling you until you could laugh anymore and started to scold him for always overdoing it. He missed your hands against his cheeks as you kissed him softly, making his lips feel the excitement of being loved. And when you then sent him a snap of you and that friend of yours he snapped. He saw your eyes glitter and your hand covering you mouth as you laughed. How much more of this distance could you take?

He called you but you couldn’t answer. You read his messages, begging you to answer, and turned off the sound. You turned up the music and sighed. You couldn’t talk to him. You didn’t want him to know how much he hurt you. You hid under the comforter and stayed there until you finally fell asleep. When you woke up in the middle of the night you had ten missed calls and eight messages. You sighed, grabbed a cigarette and walked over to the balcony. His fucking behavior actually made you buy a pack of cigarettes. Fucking douche!

Just answer me so I know you´re okay? We haven’t talked in three days and I´m going crazy. I was wrong! I´m sorry!

I acted like a jerk. I´m sorry.

I love you. So much! If I hurt you I´m sorry. Just let me explain baby. I miss you so much.

Two more days past when he called you again. You knew he would be coming back home any day now but you still hadn’t figured it out. But he called again and without thinking twice you answered him.

”Yeah?” You muttered and jumped up on the counter.

”Hey”. He murmured and you felt how your eyes burnt. ”How are you?”

”Okay”. You answered quickly and bit down on your lip.

”Yeah?” He said knowing you weren’t. ”I´ll be back tomorrow…and I want to see you”. You heard his words and shook your head.

”I don´t know…” You murmured and heard his sigh.

”Please Y/N! Just let me talk to you! I need to…just be with you. I´ll do anything”. You wanted to yell at him but your eyes welled up.

”Okay”. You muttered to keep your voice straight.

”Okay?” He repeated but you didn’t say anything. ”Okay. I´ll be there at six. Thank you”. He hurried to say before you hung up. You dried your eyes and shook your head. You knew what you wanted. You wanted him.

Ten minutes to six the next day the doorbell rang. You jumped out of your couch and looked at the door and down at yourself and your wide black pants and cropped top. When you placed your hand on the handle you took one last deep breath.

”Hey…” He muttered and placed his bag by the door. He looked at you like he wanted to hug you but he didn’t. Why did you want him to? You sighed and threw yourself against his chest. He tensed up but slowly you felt his breath against you and his arms around you, hugging tightly. He inhaled your hair and pushed his lips against it. ”I missed you so much”.

”I´m still very confused and angry”. You muttered and pushed your hands to his chest to create some space. ”You told me you didn’t care and…it just felt…I felt like a big pile of shit”. You said and felt how angry his words made you. When your eyes burnt you huffed. ”And I guess this doesn’t work either?” You muttered and pointed towards your teary eyes.

”I´m so sorry!” He exclaimed and took your hand in his. ”I had no right to talk to you like that. I was just…stupid and scared. The distance is so hard and I started to think that you would find something better. Someone who can be with you all the time. And then you hung out with that shit-head and…”

”I cant…” You said and shrugged your shoulders.

”You can´t what?” He asked with panic in his eyes and you shook your head.

”I can´t find someone better…because I…I love you.” He grabbed your neck and pushed his lips against yours. His tension had been building up until now when it just exploded into this massive need of having you close. He kept his lips moulded to yours as he pushed your back against the wall. His hand moved down your throat, chest and stomach before he pulled his hand down your pants. You sighed into his mouth and saw his beautiful smile as his fingers moved against you. Your stomach started to tingle and you desperately tried to get rid of his jacket. You wanted him now. He stepped back and watched you as he threw his jacket on the ground a long with his shirt. He unbuttoned his pants and just looked at you while biting down on his lip. You felt his hands gripping your ass tightly and before he pulled down your pants leaving you basically naked.

”The things you make me feel baby”. He smirked and grabbed your waist. With strong hands he turned you around and placed your palms against the wall over your head. You felt his dick against your ass and his face nuzzling down your neck. He placed sweet kisses down your neck and shoulder and brought his hand up over you hip and stomach before they grabbed your breast that basically was screaming for his touch. He growled as he filled you and goosebumps covered every inch of your skin.

”Fuck…I…” You moaned and tried to keep yourself put as he moved inside you. He grabbed your hair and pushed you hair back to kiss your throat and your goosebumps turned into fire. His hand moved down to your throat with one finger over your lips. When you bit down on it he hissed in your ear. ”Baby…you feel so good…so fucking good”. He purred and grabbed your hips and thrusted harder and faster making you feel the first wave take over your body. ”So tight…” ”Tae…I cant…” You stuttered and felt how his nails dug down your hips. He bit your shoulder and you flipped your head back, him slamming himself against you and you saw red.

”Yes Y/N…Tell me you want me…only me…” He murmured and you felt how he tensed up behind you. ”Only you…just you”. You stuttered and felt how an explosion erupted in your stomach. He came over your back and leaned his head against your shoulder. ”I love you so much”. He muttered while you tried to recover from your high.

Jimin

”Ey Jungkook!” Jimin called and opened his door. He saw him on the bed with his arm over your lap and he tensed instantly. You looked up from your computer and quickly shut the screen and jumped off the bed. Jimin frowned feeling how his jaw clenched at the sight. Why were you here? You hadn’t told him you were coming over.

”What are you doing here?” He asked sounding more annoyed then happy about seeing you. Why the hell did you have to sit so close together in the first place? Alone in his room?

”Nothing! Jungkook is just…”You tried to explain and Jungkook jumped in. ”I´m helping her with her computer class”. He filled in quickly and Jimin got even more annoyed. What were they hiding? ”Shouldn’t you meet V at the studio?” He asked as you jumped up and gave him a quick hug that Jimin barely reciprocated. You acted like you didn’t noticed the tension but your flickering eyes told him you did.

”I forgot my phone”. Jimin hissed and Jungkook just nodded, shrugging his shoulders. You traced his back with your fingers, trying to make the situation less awkward but it didn’t work. Jimin just nodded and disappeared behind the door, not even remembering what he came there for in the first place. Did Jungkook want you? Did you guys hang out regularly? Jungkook wouldn’t do anything like that right? But what were they hiding?

”Jimin?” Jungkook chuckled as he walked into the kitchen. Jimin saw you sitting on the counter, next to Jungkook, still smiling, now over something on his phone. Still so fucking close. You jumped down on the floor like you did hours ago from the bed and Jimin lost it.

”You must be kidding me!” He huffed and threw his phone on the table. Jimin stared at Jungkook who just smiled like he didn’t see that he was out of line. ”What?” He grinned and you swiped your eyes over you clearly pissed off boyfriend.

”I decided to stay…” You muttered quietly but he just huffed. ”I didn’t ask you to!” He didn’t look at you. You looked at Jimin and tried not to get hurt by his tone. ”I guess you asked her to stay huh? So? What did you do?” Jimin hissed, staring at his friend and you inhaled deeply and placed your hand against his chest. But Jimin didn’t care. He moved you out of the way and Jungkook jumped off the counter.

”Ey! Don´t be a dick!” He hissed. Jimin just chuckled and grabbed a bottle of water. ”You had fun? A little massage? Movie? Studio? You asked her out yet?” Jimin huffed and Jungkook just shook his head in disbelief. ”You are so wrong”. He muttered but Jimin didn’t care.

”Jimin…” You mumbled from behind him and crumbled as he just looked at you. ”You know what? Stay! Hang out with Jungkook! I´m going to sleep”. He spat and walked out of the room.

”HEY!” You called after him and grabbed his arm. ”Stop!” He looked down at you and felt how a stone crashed down his stomach. ”You know that I don´t like Jungkook right?” You asked.

”Clearly you do!” Jimin huffed. He couldn’t help it. Seeing you so close bothered him. ”I don´t! It´s not what it looks like! You just walked in at the worst possible time and…” You explained shook you head. ”I love you”. You added and he shook my head. ”You should leave”. He spat and you backed up in surprise. He had never not told you ”I love you” in return. No matter how mad he was, he always told you he loved you. Making sure that you knew it would be fine.

”Wha…?” You murmured and Jimin just sighed. He left you there in the hallway and made sure to lock the door after he closed it.

You jut watched his back as he walked into his room. The sound of his lock told you that he didn’t want you to follow. You sighed and walked back into the kitchen.

”That went good! I suck at surprises I guess”. You huffed and sat down by the table. ”I have to tell him. I can´t do this for another week. I appreciate your help I just…how can he even think that?” You muttered and Jungkook sat down in front of you.

”It´s not that crazy!” He smiled and you frowned. ”I mean…if you weren’t with him I would defiantly hit on you. He knows that! You´re sweet and funny. Extremely good looking and defiantly my type”. He smirked and you got confused. You didn’t want him to tell you this. ”But he met you first so I have nothing to say about that. But don´t worry…I can´t look at you like that. It´s this invisible boundary and he should know at least that. But yeah…if I had someone like you I would be just as jealous”. He added and you blushed. ”You´re like my very pretty sister”. He chuckled and you laughed.

”If he only knew how much I loved him, then this wouldn’t be a problem”. You sighed and he nodded. ”Call him tomorrow and if he´s still grumpy then tell him okay?” He said and you nodded. ”Okay. I´ll go”. You muttered and wished you could go to him. You missed him. His birthday surprise was going downhill very fast. Your phone buzzed in your pocket as Jungkook walked out and you sighed.

I´m sorry baby! Could you come here? I miss you.

You smiled as you saw his text, quickly jumped up from your chair and walked straight to his room. You pulled down the handle. It was still locked. You heard him moving around in there and seconds later he opened up the door with a cautious smile.

”Hey”. You said before he grabbed your waist and pushed you closer. ”You really are an ass, you know that?” You added with a frown. He nodded and you sighed. ”Don´t you trust me? And Jungkook?”

”I trust you. And Jungkook…I know he likes you so let´s not talk about that. I just got jealous and…well, I guess I know that it wouldn’t happen but I…” He murmured and you stroke his cheek.

”It won’t! Never!” You smiled and pushed your lips to his.

#bts #bts jimin #bts taehyung #bts jungkook #bts smut #bts reactions #bts imagines

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hvbris · 1 year

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Simon fluently speaks three languages: Polish, English, and Yiddish. He also speaks a little bit of Hebrew.

#my boy i love him so much already #simon (make sure you kiss your knuckles before you punch me in the face)#(musing)

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imagineclaireandjamie · 7 years

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Flood my Mornings: Fight

This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

See all past installments via Bonnie’s Master List

Previous installment: Wee hours

August, 1951

It was a blissful serendipity, and so rare, so unheard of as to be little short of breathtaking:

....having awakened well before dawn to find myself not only feeling oddly refreshed and rested, but with both children still sound asleep, the entire house to myself, and energy to be at my own personal leisure.

Not that I would have minded if Jamie had been about; quite the contrary, for unoccupied hours together were more rare these days, what with the constant demands of the children and the need for Jamie to keep a regular schedule at the barn. We still utilized Penelope, of course, but mostly to keep Bree occupied during the day, give us all a fighting chance at being well-fed, and allow me to get a bit of sleep. By the time Jamie got home most days, Penelope had gone, meaning that we were both on-duty in those evening hours.

Yes, I would have loved to share the morning stillness with Jamie, and it was still possible, as he could return from his Saturday morning walk at any moment. Still, I was luxuriating in the solitude, soaking it up into my tired limbs like water into parched roots. I kept on pricking up my ears, waiting in dread for a tell-tale wail or, worse yet, a ‘Mummyyyyyy?’ from the other end of the house. None came, which meant that every single minute as I made tea and toast, as I took a hot bath while reading a few chapters of Simone de Beauvoir, was an unexpected gift, filling me up like a helium balloon with contentment and, dare I say it...glee!

As I finished toweling off and slipped into my robe, I was still more ecstatic to learn from the chiming of the hall clock that it was only 6:00. Feeling like I could conquer anything motherhood had to throw at me that day, I was positively striding as I made my way to the kitchen to make another cup of tea, such that I nearly ran headlong into Jamie, who had apparently just come in by the back door. My gasp was a horrific sound, arrowing around the narrow walls.

It wasn’t the simple reflex of being startled, seeing him suddenly when I’d thought myself all alone. No, in my unusually-present state of mind, my eyes had immediately taken in his actual appearance. “What the bloody hell happened to you?” came the urgent whisper painfully from my throat as I stared at him, wide-eyed in alarm.

His skin was beet-red from head to toe, with sweat having soaked through his clothing and saturated his hair. There were runnels flowing freely down his face and neck, and his breathing was so labored that I leapt forward at once to check his heart. He waved me off, and I gasped even louder at seeing his hands. The skin of all his knuckles was raw and bleeding, flayed off in terrible, dirty grazes. “Dear God!! Jamie, were you attacked??” I demanded, my voice raising several octaves in panic. “Did—?”

“No,” he got out, though his chest was still heaving as he gulped air, swaying a bit. “I’m—fine, lass—” I started to protest that he bloody the hell was NOT fine, but he cut me off. “I was only running the trails. Naught to fret over.” He bent to kiss me, then thought better of it, given the sweat, shrugged, and moved past me into the kitchen.

“’Running?’“ I said incredulously, following him. “What, from a BEAR? Jamie, you look—”

“I ken how I look, Sassenach,” he said, rather tersely, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it at the sink. “I went a wee bit overboard wi’ the speed, but I’m fine.”

“I know you didn’t bloody up your hands running, Jamie,” I said, starting to get angry. “Even if you’d tripped and fallen, you’d have skinned the palms, not the knuckles.” He muttered something under his breath in gaelic as he finished gulping. “Well? Were you fighting someone? Did you get in a fight??”

“No,” he said at once, still trying to catch his breath. It wasn’t just the exertion, though. His teeth were slightly gritted and—yes, damn him!— he was avoiding my eye. “Please, just believe me, Claire there’s nothing to—”

“Just believe? When you come home bloodied, James Fraser, clearly being evasive about it,” I said, trying not to raise my voice, “I have absolutely every right to ask and worry. And you not telling me what the devil is going on is—It’s just—”

He held up a hand, and I surprised even myself by falling silent at once. “I’ll tell ye, if ye insist, Sassenach,” he said, sounding defeated. “But will ye give me another several moments to calm my breath?”

I opened my mouth, then nodded, crossing my arms. He drank another glass of water and closed his eyes, breathing deeply, leaning over the sink.

“Will you at least let me bandage your hands?” I said stiffly.

He looked over his shoulder at me in surprise, and after only a moment’s hesitation, smiled faintly and nodded.

I retrieved the First-Aid box in silence and set it on the counter next to the sink. Just as wordlessly, he shook off his hands after rinsing them in cool water and presented them to me. Most of the dirt that had been in the raw flesh had been washed off, but I still pulled out the antiseptic and carefully cleansed the area. He winced, and had to grit his teeth against the stinging onslaught, but he didn’t pull away or cry out.

As I was just beginning the tricky task of fastening the bandages, he very quietly said, “I punched a tree.”

In the immediate split-second following, I very nearly burst out laughing AND unleashed a withering barrage of ‘you WHAT??’ and its subsequent questions and demands. The result of this internal war was stalemate, my face remaining blank as paper as I simply said, “Why?”

Jamie didn’t respond at once, and I was obliged to look up into his face. He, though, was staring down at his feet, clearly not wanting to look at me.

I resumed the bandaging, torn between loving patience and snapping at him to get the bloody hell on with it. I gave him a bit more time before firmly asking again, “Why, Jamie?”

A beat. Then—

“After Culloden....”

Two less likely words to emerge from his mouth in that moment, I couldn’t have fathomed.

We had scarcely spoken of the battle, nor of the two years that followed before he came through the stones. He’d tried, from time to time, in response to careful questions on my part, but one or the other of us would change the subject in the end, the horrors of those memories doing more harm than good in the revisiting. I’d hardly any notion of what those years had been like other than the broad brushstrokes of pain, fear, loneliness, and heartbreak. To hear him freely volunteer the information now...

“I felt the fight within me die, that very day.” He spoke in a near-monotone, the bones and muscles of his face set in a rigidity that terrified me nearly as much as the words themselves. “It wasna only the battle, little of it as I recall; but also the devastation of the battlefield as I lay in fever....hearing the Redcoats shooting the prisoners, my friends.” He spoke slowly, as though forcing himself to give every single experience the respect of full, heartbreaking acknowledgement. “Seeing the bodies heaped high to be burned....the fever burning within my flesh as I longed to be killed alongside them.... Then being brought to Lallybroch; the slow healing as I learned to walk again.... the cave.”

I said nothing as I kept at my work of bandaging him, to give him the privacy to speak, but I very softly ran my thumb across the back of his hand. A gentle pressure warmed me in return. His voice didn’t change, though.

“Between the horrors of war and knowing I’d lost you forever, mo chridhe, any fight within me was gone, immediately.” His voice was steady, but hoarse and low, hardly to be heard. “Every new day was merely another bootprint, stamping it further and further into the ground. Loneliness, still more; hunger, still more; longing and regret, still more, still deeper.”

The morning stillness, so soothing and peaceful a quarter hour ago, now seemed to hiss with ghostly shrieks.

“’Fight’?” I asked carefully as I gave him back his hands, wanting to make sure I understood; and feeling it the only thing right to ask, in that moment.

“The spirit, the— power that turns man into warrior. Rage, I suppose; whatever fire within him that propels him into dangers he ought naturally to fear. I had it once, ken?”

I nodded. I had known him as Red Jamie for longer than I’d known him as Jamie of the twentieth century. I knew how that ‘fight’ within him, as he put it, had enlivened and driven him, for better or worse, along his path of life, from cattle raids to prison breaks to battle charges. I knew the certainty and the safety of that power, as well as the almighty terror it could unleash.

“That power was incarnate within me for so long, being so one with my life as a man that when I felt it snuff out that day, along with the losses I’d suffered already..... I didna ken who I was, Claire, or if I was anything at all. Most days in that cave, when I had nothing save time to think, I was convinced I wasna.”

A flicker of memory stirred, a flash of that that first morning after he’d found me, that same haunted voice.

I havena been a man since you left...before Culloden

“After I found you and Brianna,” he was saying, the slightest spark lightening his voice now, “Every day since then, I’ve been—Christ, so happy, unbearably so; so blessed by joy and plenty that I scarcely gave it a thought, that warrior spirit that used to reside in my body, the man that was capable of such violence. Nor did I miss it,” he said with sudden urgency, meeting my eyes for the first time, his own burning intensely with the need to be believed. “Unlike in the cave, when such fire might have sustained me, the absence of it here, in this life—It was a relief, Claire. I no longer needed it to ken who I was or whether or not I was being a good man, ye see?”

I did see. But I also hadn’t overlooked his use of the past tense. “And now?”

He let out a breath, relieved. “These past few months, even before Ian arrived, I found myself more and more feeling the sparks of that fire again, blazing through my body. I couldna ignore it for long. For a time, I was able to dispatch it by hard work outdoors at the barn—or else by coming to your bed,” he said, a bit sheepishly. “But it’s a bit like your Immunities, I suppose. What might once have cured an illness immediately due to the novelty of the remedy might be insufficient to the same task years later, because the body has adapted to it, making the potency less keenly felt. Did I get that right?” he asked suddenly with a brief tug of a smile.

“Close enough,” I said, returning it, though my belly still seemed full of writhing worms. “So you...punched a tree as a new kind of remedy? Because it’s getting worse?” I personally had suggested that method to him years ago, on the road with the rent party. The thought of him in enough distress and frustration now to necessitate it again was both alarming and, if I were being honest, a bit hurtful.

He nodded, shame clouding his expression again. “Whenever I can, I’ll go running. I’ve seen folk do so for recreation, and thought it might help; which it has. Rather than walking in peaceful contemplation, as I used, I’ll run, as fast as I’m able, getting as exhausted as I possibly can, and it—It helps, usually. Gets it out of my system, as it were. Only today, I’d been running and running, and I could still feel the grip of it upon me, such that once would have stoked me to kill a man with my bare hands, and I—”

He cut off quite abruptly and turned aside, closing his eyes as he leaned his back against the counter, torn between dismay and fury at himself, by the way his mouth and jaw were working. I thought about putting my arms around him, of holding and soothing him, but I knew him well enough to know that it wasn’t yet the time. I leaned against the counter next to him without compelling him to look at me.

“It was a relief to be free of it,” he said again, tightly, “to have moved, or so I thought, beyond it. Now that it’s back... I dinna ken what I’m to do about it.”

“Was today the first time that it—” I groped for an appropriate word. “—overflowed like that?”

“No. Several times a week, I’ll feel my heart quicken and my breath come fast through my nostrils and I feel as though I must do—SOMETHING—or die.” He winced as he unconsciously clenched his battered fists. “Usually I’ll just leave and stand on my own for a time until I feel myself calming, or else I’ll be short wi’ someone in my irritability. I’ve not yet resorted to physical violence, but sometimes I—”

“I’ve never seen that from you at home,” I said softly, meaning to reassure him. “Never.”

“Aye, but I work verra hard to make it so,” he said, a tinge of mournfulness now showing in his voice. “You and the bairns are my life and my joy, and would swear on my mother’s grave that I should deplete all my strength before letting myself be aught but gentle wi’ the three of ye, and yet still there are times when it comes verra close, and I—”

Before I could interject, he swore and threw his hands up in despair. “I mean, have men changed so greatly in these two hundred years that they no longer have such feelings to control? Am I just an animal, then, that I canna—”

“They do,” I said at once. “The world has changed, of course, and it’s no longer a fact of life that men must be physically ready to fight, but certainly, many feel some of that latent drive within them; a greater number than you’d know by looking at them, I think.”

“And what do they do about it?” he asked, looking over at me eagerly, genuinely needing the answer.

“Well....” I sighed, feeling the bleakness of the world suddenly crowding around me. “The worst will make headlines. They’ll murder or violate, or pursue lives of crime; perhaps they’ll become soldiers to do such things under the government’s banner. The more common sort might find simply themselves always angry, with all that energy pent inside them. A good many will drown the feelings in drink, or take that need for physical violence out upon those closest to them—their wives and children, usually.”

I had been talking more or less without thought, letting the speculations roll from my tongue unchecked, fascinated by them even as I formed the words. Coming back to a sharper awareness, though, I looked up at Jamie, who had gone pale. “I swear to ye, Claire,” he said, face hard with resolve and hurt and fear, “I wouldna ever—EVER—”

“I know,” I said at once, almost laughing with the absurdity of it as I came around to stand in front of him and take his face in my hands. “I know that. You made me a promise, remember?”

Attempting to lighten the mood with oddly-fond memories of the one time he had beaten me apparently was not the correct move. He looked still more devastated at the reminder, so before he could speak, I cut him off. “You said it yourself: you are a warrior, and—”

“Were,’ he corrected.

“Are,” I insisted right back. “It’s in your bones and your brain, still, just as surely as your knowledge of languages or chess. It’s part of you; but you’ve never been cruel, Jamie, and I have absolute trust that you’d never allow it to consume you like those types I was blethering on about.”

“Still...” he said with a shame-faced shrug, “I might lash out when I oughtn’t, or say something to the bairns in such a state that—”

“Well that’s just bloody being a parent, isn’t it?” I said with feeling, and he was so shocked that he laughed. “No matter how carefully we try, there will be days when both of us will snap and shout and lash out with our words or need to leave the room to compose ourselves. That’s being a human, not being a man,” I said, my voice dropping suddenly back to tenderness. “I’m not saying I feel the same things as you, but you’re not completely alone in it, either.”

He took my hand and kissed it before laying it back against his cheek, keeping his own atop it.

“I think you should join Charlie’s hurling league.”

“What??” That startled him enough that both our hands dropped.

“I didn’t think of it before, but that’s the positive side of what men nowadays do to cope with their fighting impulses,” I said excitedly. “They’ve got more leisure time than you or your brother-in-law or your father or any of your ancestors had, and so they play athletic games, to run and knock one another about. Gives them a chance to get their rage and energy out, in a way that people enjoy and encourage! So, I think it would be a good idea for you to do likewise!”

“Aye, it’s a thought,” he said, seeming actually to consider before shaking his head with decision. “But no. I appreciate the suggestion, but I’ll be fine.”

“If your idea of ‘fine’ is coming home every weekend with bloodied knuckles, it absolutely is nothing of the sort,” I said dangerously. “Why not join? You adore Charlie and his mates, don’t you? It would give you a lovely chance to—”

“I’ll not give up our spare time together, Sassenach,” he said sincerely, “at the evenings or the Week Ends only to play games with the lads. T’would be— selfish and damnably frivolous. It isna fair to ye, nor the bairns, and—”

I stopped him with a finger over his lips. “It isn’t frivolous. It isn’t unfair to me. It’s an hour or two a week at most, and if it helps you with this, then it’s well worth it for all of us.” He was unconvinced, but I soldiered on. “Besides, when the weather is nice, and when Ian gets a bit older, the children and I can come watch you play! It’ll be good to get out and socialize more.” Slumped as he was against the counter, I was able to thunk my forehead gently against his and give him a playful, wheedling smile. “I want you to try it, love. Please?”

He stayed stonefaced for a few moments, then a slow grin began to spread. “Alright then.”

“Excellent,” I said, kissing him on the mouth. “Something tells me it will be MUCH more fun to punch Irishmen than trees. At least they’ll give you a run for your money!”

#;mod Bonnie #Flood my mornings

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sunroki · 7 years

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Nathair Pt. 6

Nathair means snake in french btw

Masterlist

“What makes a place feel like home? Is it warmth and familiarity? Some idealized, make-believe TV version of the American Dream? Is it love and acceptance? Or is it simple safety?” -Jughead

Lilith is now the leader of the Serpents. These were the first words spoken by Jughead the second he sits on the other side of the plexiglass divider from his father.

“Who the fuck is Lilith?” Forsythe Pendleton Jones the II looks at his son, confused. No one had come in to visit him in a week and a half.

“Wait, has no one come in and told you anything?” Jughead proceeds to regale his father with the epic tale of Lilith Nathair Devereaux, true heir to the Serpent Kingdom (not that it is much of a kingdom). He allows his father to cuss and curse Tallboy’s name before continuing. “Every single member of the Serpent youth has pledged their loyalty to her. The plan is to tell everyone tonight at the Whyte Wyrm, since they’re gathered there for Lili’s initiation.”

“Wait, she’s not even a Serpent, and you and your friends have sworn your loyalty to her? What the hell, Jughead, I thought you were smarter than that?” FP shakes his phone at his son, making Jughead flinch backwards.

“She is a Serpent. She has a jacket. As I said before, she is Blair Devereaux’s great-granddaughter. If that doesn’t make her eligible to be a Serpent, I don’t know what does.” Jughead counters.

“Fine. But if Tallboy is gone, who is going to do the initiation?” FP frowns at his son.

“I am. I’m the second highest, in terms of respect. Well, third, once you get out of here.” He has hope in his eyes as he speaks those last couple words.

“WHAT IS THE FIRST LAW.” Jughead roars at Lilith, sending spit flying from his mouth.

“A SERPENT NEVER SHOWS COWARDICE.” I might, in the face of your spit if you do that again Lilith thinks in disgust as she wipes his saliva off her lips.

Sweet Pea watches in amusement, chuckling to himself at her obvious contempt for the boy in front of her now. He shudders then, thinking of his role in the coming hours, dreading when he had to slam his knuckleduster-wearing fist in to her cheek.

“WHAT IS THE SECOND LAW.”

“IF A SERPENT IS KILLED OR IMPRISONED, THEIR FAMILY IS TAKEN CARE OF. AND STOP SPITTING ON ME.” The other Serpents howl with laughter at the addition to the law, and wear impressed looks, as no one had ever talked back during their initiation.

The ceremony continued in similar fashion, until it was time for the next trail. “Retrieve the knife.”

Sweet Pea, as one of the ones hiding the snake from sight, moves to the side, revealing the hissing rattlesnake curled around a green-handled switchblade. No one dared move a muscle as Lili walks up to the tank. She takes a seep breath, and sticks her hand into the danger zone.

To everyone’s astonishment, she doesn’t reach for the knife at first, but reaches in and pets the snake, letting it slither up her arm to rest across the back of her neck. She takes the knife then, holding it up in triumph. The Serpents erupt into cheers, the volume back up to full.

“Oh my god Lili, I have never seen that before!” Toni rushes up to Lilith, asking questions about how she was able to tame the snake.

“I have always loved snakes, and usually the trick is to just go slow, and let them smell you before you try anything. It also helps that I snuck into Tallboy’s trailer a couple days ago before we knew he was the Black Hood, and let her get used to me.” Lili holds her hand up to the snake, which uncoils from her shoulders and comes to rest wrapped around her wrist. She walks back to the enclosure and lets the snake back onto her rock.

Jughead walks over, and places his hands on Toni and Sweet Pea’s shoulders, signaling that it was time for them to line up for the gauntlet. “Lili, it’s time. Go outside to the back.”

Lili looks through the tunnel of people, catching Sweet Pea’s eye. Good Luck he mouths. Thanks is her reply. Everyone’s eyes are on her as she steels herself and takes a step into the first punch, thrown by Toni. The second punch was one to her solar plexus, the only part of the stomach you can’t clench, which knocks the air out of her.

Sweet Pea watches as the girl that he is not sure he hates anymore gets the shit beat out of her. He watches as Fangs kicks her in the knee, and then punches her in the nose. By the time she reaches him, Lilith is bruised and bloody, but still has not fallen, something even Jughead was not able to do. He clenches his fist as she nears, preparing himself.

“Jus’ ‘o ‘t.” Lili can barely speak through her swollen lips, which he wishes were caused by something far more pleasant. What the fuck man. I’m about to punch her in the face. I cannot be thinking about how badly I want to kiss her. Stop, no I don’t. Sweet Pea curls his fist again, and brings his arm up, catching Lili’s cheek with the edge of his brass knuckles, splitting it open, even more blood pouring down her face. She stumbled backward, but didn’t fall, balancing herself before she raised her fist up above her head. “I ‘id ‘t!“

Toni laughs, comes forward with Lilith’s Serpent jacket, and hands it to Sweet Pea who draped it around Lilith’s shoulders.

“Congrats, now let’s go get you cleaned up.” Sweet Pea steers her into the back room of the Whyte Wyrm and closes the door.

@southside-sinner @serpent-princess @ssouthside-serpentss @becca-in-the-southside @pea-pod-squad @bby-simone @kneesheee @sprinklesandsugarcubes

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crystallinecrimsonmoth · 4 years

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Future Serial Killer [ongoing]

Chapter 15

Carl’s shirt was red.

Everyone had gathered around the courtyard, a crowd of nervous and frightened faces watching as Simon and Dwight dragged out Fry and Mason, their hands tied with rope behind their backs.

‘Get on your fucking knees.’ Negan had hissed at them both, kicking Fry when he didn’t move fast enough.

Carl had held onto the man’s arm while he spoke to the crowd, face buried in his chest as Negan stroked through his hair to keep him calm, letting Carl purr contently into his shirt. The teen was half asleep by the time they got to any punishment, only roused when Negan planted a kiss on his lips and called him a lamb to piss him off.

He had glanced at the crowd of Saviours surrounding them. Some looked like they were going to burst into tears, some looked frightened, some looked bored. He found that he preferred it when they looked balls-out terrified. It was funny.

‘Time to take the stage, little lamb.’ Negan had murmured soft in his ear when Carl turned to look at Fry and Mason.

Mason was shaking, and Carl could sympathise with that. He had just followed the wrong guy into hell. Maybe he wouldn’t be so harsh on him. Fry, on the other hand, was just glaring at Carl. Rude.

He approached both of them, doing well not to stumble over his own feet from the limp that plagued him, and pointed Lucille at Fry’s face.

‘You wanted to kill Negan.’

‘Yes.’ The kneeling man admitted with malice laced into his tone, hard grey eyes staring back at him that made Carl want to rip his throat out – and he did.

Carl had landed one swift blow to the side of Fry’s head before he’d bent down in front of him on his good knee, biting into the man’s throat and tearing the flesh away as his dad had once done years before.

The skin and muscle tore so easily between his teeth, the coppery, evil taste of his blood flowing over his tongue and making him feel like a rabid dog. Carl was hitting him with his bare hands after that, straddling his hips and beating, punching his face until his knuckles were scraped raw and bleeding.

Fry had been limp and dead five minutes before Negan was behind him, bare, muscled arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him up off the dead man’s body.

‘You did well, little lamb, let me take over now.’ The older man insisted but Carl struggled in his grip, gaze set on Mason who was shaking more and looking at Fry’s body fearfully, like he was terrified of the same thing happening to him.

He should be, Carl thought to himself as he kicked and struggled in Negan’s arms, wanting to beat the other one to death as well.

‘Let me go, Negan! I want to kill him!’ He growled, elbowing where he could on Negan’s chest but to no avail.

The man’s grip only got tighter around his waist and his deep voice spoke calmly in his ear, making him shiver.

‘You need to calm down, Carl, you’re going to hurt yourself.’

‘I don’t care, get off of me!’ Carl snapped, scratching at the arms around his body and snarling at Mason who watched in fear.

‘I’ll fucking kill you for trying to hurt him! You’ll regret your whole fucking miserable existence!’ He yelled, ignoring the stares of Ada and Daniel who looked on with worry as Negan lifted him up and carried him back inside, easily keeping hold of the teen since he was smaller and weaker.

‘Put Mason in a cell, I’ll deal with him later!’ Negan’s voice was yelling before the door shut in front of Carl’s eyes, blocking out the light from outside as Negan led Carl back to their shared room.

He didn’t struggle as much on the way up the stairs, not wanting to fall and hurt himself, but he was hitting at Negan’s chest again when they reached flat ground, angry that he didn’t let him finish the job.

Carl was out of control. Negan had barely been able to keep a hold of him when he dragged him inside, the teen’s sneakers scuffing through the courtyard dirt and leaving a trail of dust in their wake.

He hadn’t expected him to rip the guy’s throat out or start hitting him. All he thought he would get was a few swings of Lucille before Carl lost the energy to kill him or decided he didn’t like killing the living. What he certainly didn’t think he would get was a rabid animal using his teeth to tear out Fry’s neck.

Negan wasn’t sure what to do with what he just saw. Carl didn’t even look human in that moment. He was so angry and sad and desperate all at once, every emotion going into the hits he landed on his victim and on Negan. The older man knew he’d have to talk to him about it eventually and figure out what the hell was going on inside his head, but for the moment he just had to get him away from the crowd.

He had no idea if Carl was wound up enough to kill an innocent Saviour as well, and he didn’t want to find out.

Once they were in their bedroom together, Negan dropped Carl onto the mattress and then locked the door behind them, standing against it so the teen would have to go through him if he wanted out again. But Carl sat still now, his breathing so heavy and full that it moved his whole body.

His previously pure white shirt was dark red, soaked by Fry’s spilt and sprayed blood. The teen’s teeth were red with it too, lined by the life that he had ripped from a man’s throat, and his beautiful long locks were drooping with the red that had reached them also.

But Carl still managed to look more like a wounded animal now than a savage monster. Negan noticed his hands were shaking, nails embedded with more blood. There was just blood everywhere. He knew he’d have to change the sheets now but that was far from his main priority right now.

He sat on the edge of the bed beside the teen, listening to him take shaky breaths and putting his larger hands over his small ones, giving them a gentle squeeze.

‘Carl, look at me.’ He whispered but the teen didn’t move, only staring at the hands holding his.

Negan sighed, sitting closer to him, and kissing his forehead where no blood had reached yet. Carl let out a little whimper at the kiss and Negan frowned, pulling him closer and ignoring the blood that would transfer to him. He was covered in enough of it already.

‘Baby, I need you to tell me what happened out there.’ He murmured softly, stroking through his hair despite the blood and letting Carl bury his face in his shoulder.

‘I just… I got so angry. They were going to hurt you, he said he wanted to kill you, I- I couldn’t let that happen and everything turned red and the next thing I remember is you pulling me away from him.’ The soft admission made Negan sigh again and he lifted Carl’s chin gently, stroking away the blood and tears that covered his cheek.

Carl looked so vulnerable, so injured, that it made Negan forget all about the murderous animal he’d seen moments before. He cupped the teen’s cheek and kissed him, slow and soft like he always did.

The kid physically relaxed in his hold, his whole body turning into a limp noodle in his arms as he moved their lips together, letting Carl move his hands up into his dark hair and use him as an anchor for reality. That’s what the kid needed right now, an anchor. Negan had to be bedrock for him to build his foundations on in the Sanctuary. That’s why he must have gotten so upset when Negan was under threat.

The older man pulled away slowly once Carl was calm, looking down at him and smiling, running his thumb across his plump bottom lip.

‘I think we need to shower again, little lamb.’ He chuckled, smirking when Carl blushed under his touch and looked apologetic.

‘I think you’re right, sir.’ Negan was surprised to hear that word come out of the kid’s mouth.

Fuck, that did shit to his mind. But he had to focus.

‘You little brat. You know exactly what you’re saying, don’t you?’

Carl shrugged, blinking innocently at him.

‘Let’s go and shower.’ The slightest giggle left his lips and Negan rolled his eyes, following his blood-soaked boy to the bathroom.

‘Little brat.’

#cegan #future serial killer #chapter 15 #carl/negan #carl x negan #negan x carl

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snowkatze · 7 years

Text

Explosive

Prompt: 23. Do you think we’re bad people? Genre: angst, fluff Word Count: 2447 Summary: Simon and Baz get into a fight at the winter ball. It ends in disaster.

“Hey, Snow,” I smirk, even though it's hard and my jaw is tense. “Where`s Wellbelove?” He stops and I push myself off the wall, because I know that I've got him now.

“Is she in the hospital? Have you broken her toes?” Now he turns around very slowly. I can almost hear the gears working in his brain as he's trying to come up with a good come-back. His suit is a bit to short at the sleeves and his hair looks disheveled, but of course he still looks incredibly handsome. It's quite unfair, if you think about it. And it only makes me angrier to see him like this. It's the overwhelming urge to fix his hair, to take his hand and whirl him through the room that makes my smile forced. It's the wish to be the one whose feet he steps onto that makes my blood boil.

It's foolish, but I can't resist picking on him.

Not even tonight.

Especially not tonight.

This night, the winter ball, is all about romance (Ugh.) and love (Ugh.). And his eyes are sparkling, and he ate six sandwiches from the buffet earlier, and he looks so lost in the big ball room without his friends, and he's the most handsome boy in the room (Aagh). He hasn't left Wellbelove's side all evening (Aagh.). But it's okay, I'm fine. I finally got him alone and I can finally talk to him, if only in biting remarks and insults. Smirking at him is easy, even when my teeth clench and my heart is beating too fast. It's easy to glare at him, as I press my nails into my palm. I am fine. “I'm not that bad a dancer,” he finally scowls and leans forward, eyebrows furrowed. “And – even if – at least I've got a date. I haven't seen you dancing with anyone all night.” As far as I know, they're only here as friends, but I think he still feels something for her. “That's because I choose not to,” I lie, “I could have any girl in this room. But there's just nobody that comes up to my standards.” It's not true. I look at the bread crumb stuck in the corner of his mouth. My standards are incredibly low.

“You know what? I think you're right. But the real reason you don't ask anyone is – is because – because you're a vampire!” “What? That doesn't even make sense, Snow.” “Yes, it does! You – you just don't want to hurt them – so – so you can't let anyone fall in love with you – because then you'd always want to drain them!” “Quite the nice picture you're painting there. You seem to deem me very considerate. Now I just feel like you're complimenting me.”

I relax my hands, and lean back again. “I'm accusing you of being a vampire!” He growls in frustration. It's my favourite sound. I loosen my jaw. “Why do you always have to twist my words – it's not fair!” “Well, the world isn't fair. That's why they let you into this school in the first place. The son of Normals.”

I can see how he almost lunges at me, but then something unexpected happens – he draws back. I cock an eyebrow at him. He's never done that before.

“You know what? I'm not doing this tonight,” he says and turns away. Strange. Snow never backs down from a fight.

“So you've decided to spare us from blowing up the ballroom this year? How nice of you.”

His hands start twitching.

“Shut up,” he whispers with a low voice.

“Why?” I laugh. “Will you go off on me if I don't?” “No,” he whispers.

“You ruin everything, Snow,” I snap. “Everything you touch turns to ashes. And it's only a matter of time until Wellbelove will turn to ashes, too, before she'll crumble underneath your-” His fist is in face and knocking me down before I can finish my sentence. There he is. That's the Snow I know. I push him off me and we roll across the floor. I punch him square across the face and get up again. When he tries to retaliate, I duck and he misses. I feel blood running down my nose. That's just how I wanted my evening to go. A broken nose (again) and a bloody lip, that's my idea of fun. But the pain stops me from thinking about his own pretty nose and lips, so I throw myself at him again, and we stumble back against the buffet. It crashes and the plates and bowls all fall to the floor. I almost expect Snow to scream in shock and kneel down to mourn his beloved sandwiches, but then I remember that he would eat them off the floor.

“Impressive self-control, Snow,” I snarl. “All you ever do is make a mess. Chosen One? Don't make me laugh. The only thing you were chosen for is to destroy.” He leaps at me and throws me to the floor and then I can feel the magic explosion all around us, but his body is pressing me down and his hair is next to my nose.

I hear some students scream and something crashing. The air smells burnt and Snow is shaking against my chest. My entire body hurts, but the only thing I can concentrate on is his chin against my cheekbone.

We lay still for a few moments, maybe minutes.

“Snow?” I whisper. I would push him off, but I'm too exhausted.

“You were right,” he whispers back, but doesn't move and I'm afraid he'll feel my heartbeat.

“Of course I was right,” I say, then pause. “About what?” He rolls of me and sits up.

“Hey,” I hear Bunce say. She just came out of nowhere. “Are you alright? What happened?”

I stare at the ceiling, light-points dancing in front of my view. I don't want to get up. I want to keep lying here, for the rest of eternity, until all pain stops and all the feelings tearing me up inside vanish. But I don't want anyone thinking I need help either, so I stand up and look at the chaos around us. Three students and at least one teacher are having a melt-down. Some got knocked over by the impact. The room is buzzing with noise. Nobody really knows what happened. But I do. This is my fault.

I rush out of the building, because I feel like I'll suffocate. (Maybe that wouldn't be so bad.)

I sit on the steps to the fire emergency entrance that aren't visible from the main entrance, because I can't stand.

I shouldn't have made Snow go off. I shouldn't have let my own bitterness get the best of me. Not with so many people around. I know that I can't hurt Snow. Not with anything I say, not with anything I do. But other people can get hurt. And I can't let that happen.

After a while, I hear someone sitting next to me. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the green of the suit. Snow. Of course. He's the last person I want to see right now. “Do you think we're bad people?” Snow asks, his breath catching in his throat.

“Why would you say that?” “Because – because you were right, everything I touch crashes and burns and – and I can never make anything right, because I never do what I'm supposed to, because the world fucking explodes around me, because I can't control who I hurt, or how many, or how badly, because I'm a fucking mess, and you keep pushing me.”

He keeps talking faster and faster.

“Because you and I are like chemicals that shouldn't be put together, because we'll explode and we both know about it, but we keep doing it, and we don't care about anyone around us, only about ourselves and our stupid little arguments. Only that they are not so stupid, because we're fucking mortal enemies or some shit, as if this were some crappy medieval fantasy novel, and our fights are never little because something always ends up exploding.” “Fuck off, if this were a medieval fantasy novel, I'd be Prince Charming.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

I stay silent. Maybe I owe it to him. “Snow.” I close my eyes for a moment. Then I turn to him, with the faintest smile, and I saviour his appearance.

“You are not a bad person.” “You keep telling me I am.” “I'm just doing that to hurt you, that doesn't mean it's true. The truth is... You're the bravest person I know. And you're trying your best. That's all anyone can do. You are the Chosen One. And I think one day you are going to save the World of Mages. And if it's not from the humdrum, or all evil, or the terrors of society, you are going to save it from me, that's for sure.” “So you think we're not bad people, only you?” I stay silent. “That's bullshit, Baz. You don't get to separate yourself from me! You don't get to decide what's good or evil!” “No, you're right, I can't. But the Universe can. And the Universe made the roles distinctly clear. You are the Chosen One. The hero. And I'm your villain, Snow. I'm from the other side of the war, I'm a vampire, I'm a monster by definition.” “No, you're not.” I look at him and see tears streaming down his face. I almost reach out to touch them. “The Universe decided shit. I'm clearly not the Chosen One. And you're clearly not a monster. There is no black and white. You and I, we're in the same boat.”

I shake my head.

“That in there, that wasn't me or you – that was us. That's what happens when we're together. And I'm starting to think that this is not about us, but about the ones we hurt in our fights.”

“So now you'll just – stop?” “I don't think we can do that. I think we can only coexist in hell, where everything burns.” “So what do you want to do? Just stop talking at all, ignoring each other until the end of school?” “Maybe that's for the best.”

“No.” “Why?”

Because I wouldn't survive that.

“Aren't you tired, too, Baz?” I close my eyes again. I have a headache. Yes. I am tired. I've been tired for years.

“Yes, I am,” I murmur. But then, what were all the years of fighting for? What use were all the years of pretence? I look at him again and for the first time in years I allow myself to look at him properly, the way I want to look at him. I let my gaze soften and I smile at him.

Fuck, he's beautiful. And he's tired of fighting.

I wish I could let my knuckles glide over his cheek, push his hair out of his forehead with my fingertips. I wish he would lean forward until our lips almost touch and whisper: “I don't want to be enemies... I want to be your boyfriend.”

I want him to kiss me.

But even though he just suggested a truce, he's still Simon Snow, and I shouldn't be getting ideas. I remember why I ever fought him in the first place. Because it's really hard not to lean over to him, not to tell him, not to somehow let him know, and he can never know. He's still Simon Snow and I'm still Baz Pitch, and there's no way he could ever understand what he does to me.

“Or...”

Or what? “Or maybe we could... be friends?” I look away, then back at him, then away again. Ha, I want to say, that would never work.

But my mouth doesn't listen to my brain, and so I say: “We can try.”

“But what if everything explodes again?” “What, because we're chemicals that don't go well with each other?” “Yeah.” “Maybe it's just because we have chemistry and we've been doing it wrong the whole time.” A joke. Friends joke. No. Wait. That wasn't friendly.

“Ch-chemistry?” Shit. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. I consider all my options, thinking if there's any way to talk myself out of this, but the only words coming to my mind are: “Tigre, tigre, burning bright.”

Not helpful.

“Y-you mean like... Sexual chemistry?” “No...” I gulp. “More like... romantic...” “What?! You think we have romantic chemistry?!” I should just walk away and go back to our dorm. No, scratch that. I should leave the country.

“Baz... Do you have a crush on me?” I turn my head around quickly and stare into his wide eyes.

“You're a fucking idiot, Snow,” I growl and I watch his face screw up. I suppose there's no point in denying it anymore.

“Of fucking course I have a crush on you. What did you think, that I was the only Mage in the entire universe who doesn't love you?” “Not everyone lov-” “You're an open fire, Snow,” I say, voice rough, and the words are burning in my throat. “And you know... I love fire.” I let a flame dance above my palm.

“I already told you... You're the bravest person I know. The truth is, I don't hate how clumsy you are and how you always stumble over words, I find it adorable. I like how you keep trying, and never give up. Sometimes it seems to me like you're everything good in the world.” And gosh, it feels good to say that out loud.

“So, yeah, I do have a crush on you. But Crowley knows what you think about me...” I stand up, because I just ruined everything Snow was just trying to built between the two of us. (I mean, I knew that that would happen, but not so fast. Dammit, Baz.)

“Perfect,” Simon says, before I can start moving.

“What?” He stands up and takes my hand. I look at it and wonder why it lays there, caressing me softly.

“I think you're perfect,” he whispers.

“You're out of your mind,” I whisper back. I don't wait for him to kiss me. I grab him by his neck, because this is a dream anyways, so I might as well do what I want.

I'm not saying that Snow is my soulmate. But maybe Snow and I are broken pieces, and together... I lean into his soft embrace, and I feel whole.

#carry on fanfiction #snowbaz fanfiction #carry on #snowbaz #simon snow

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concussed-to-pieces · 7 years

Text

ESC

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Baron Corbin/Female Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: I don't know what I'm doing with my life anymore, but I know I ain't apologizin' for nothin'. Tagging @toxiicpop, @oraclegazes and OF COURSE @hardcorewwetrash. Enjoy!

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains brief mentions of ticks and scabies, as well as human muzzling of a non-BDSM variety and allusions to previous abuse.]

Heyman’s Delights was, at its heart, a traveling circus. There were tents, a few acrobats and strongmen, fire-breathers. Paul had been trying for ages to get his hands on something a little more exciting, and it seemed like he’d finally managed it.

For one reason or another, there were people in the world deemed unfit for regular society. Usually displaying extreme aggression or overly predatory tendencies at an early age, they would put an incredible strain on loving parents and concerned siblings until tensions snapped. All roads tended to lead to Heyman’s Delights or other such traveling shows for these individuals.

The thing that boiled your blood was the fact that they were nowhere close to as inhuman as they were made out to be. Most of them could easily be suffering from hormonal imbalances or other undiagnosed issues. But due in part to the media hysteria (there had been an incident involving one such ‘feral’ child getting their friends to remove their school-mandatory muzzle so they could spook the teacher) and also in part to what you could only assume was parents that didn’t want or couldn’t afford another child, people were clamoring left and right to surrender their ‘feral’ children to various state-funded programs.

And if the government wouldn’t take them…might as well make a buck or two getting rid of your problem. If you could live with yourself afterwards.

“Bought them off of another one of those local shows. According to their owner Wolf was nineteen when he came into their possession, government releases them when they’re legal adults and no parent wants their kid back when they're like that. He’s unsure on Beast.” Paul Heyman sighed, a little heavier than you expected. “Vince threw Wolf in for free, said he didn’t need one without the other. But he hasn’t been trained as much as I was led to believe at first and he’s past thirty. This bleeding-heart altruism is punching holes in my pockets faster than I can line them.” He rubbed his temples. “We’ll just have to see what we can do, I suppose.” Recognizing the dismissal, you nodded and stood with the rest of your coworkers.

You had seen the photos of Beast, he appeared to come with a set of fine cauliflower ears. It wasn’t rare to stumble upon underground bare-knuckle rings where the dregs of society would bet money on the so-called ‘ferals’. Common belief was that they were subhuman, more resilient to pain, stronger, stupid. Hyper-aggressive outbursts tended to be calmed via distraction, dangled food or cattle prods the only two options you'd witnessed in person. Thousands of videos existed on the internet of 'ferals' silently devouring cheap microwave burritos or gas station hot dogs, fresh blood still dripping off their faces. Even more videos were shaky camera footage of the abuse, the prods or beatings.

No one seemed to make the connection that since most of them were sold off or surrendered young, they never got the chance to develop like normal children. Instead they were used as amusements, poked and prodded through the bars until a reaction was obtained. Then, John Q. Public would move on to the next thing, heart rate up and laughing with his friends about how he “wasn’t scared at all!”

You had signed on with Heyman a few years back, literally running away to join the circus. You were sick of being in one place, a stuffy room sandwiched between other stuffy rooms in a building that seemed all but abandoned by your landlord. Paul warned you that the work would be hard, the pay would be garbage and that you would more than likely have to sleep in a tent. You’d just nodded and signed your name, happy to accept all those shortcomings in exchange for the variety of a traveling life.

Heyman quickly seemed to realize that you were no quitter. Despite everything he threw at you, you carried on doggedly unloading and loading the trucks town after town. Your persistence had been a thorn in your side at every other job you’d had, but here it appeared to finally be useful. Paul would go to you for tasks that needed to be completed and you saw to it, simple as that.

His new acquisitions needed new housing so you, English and Gotch spent a good portion of the day putting together a sturdy cage for them. According to Heyman, they were currently kept in wooden crates with the barest slats in them for viewing. “I want my beasts to be able to stretch and move!” He instructed the three of you. Gotch just nodded, letting English gush about the genius of Paul Heyman while handing you a scrap of lumber to cover the bars. Aiden English was a kiss-ass through and through but he was also a classically-trained thespian, able to easily adopt any role pushed upon him. Not to mention the singing. Simon Gotch was very much the classic circus strongman. Like something straight from P.T. Barnum’s era, he had the mustache, the one-strap singlet, and the boisterous laugh of a man out of time.

You sat astride the bars of the roof, silently staring at the beams of lumber. “Hey, I was uh…I was thinking, maybe instead of wood, we should have a cloth roof? I mean, the two of them will be boxed up when we travel.” You suggested. “It would let in a little more light for them, and it’s not like we can’t just put a piece of plywood over it if it rains.”

“What, like a sheet?” Paul squinted at the roof for a minute. “I don’t see the harm in it. Saves me from buying another box of screws. The bars are still there.”

From your perch on the roof, you caught sight of a dingy van trundling along the road towards your campsite. There was a small trailer attached to the van. “And here comes the cavalry.” English muttered to Gotch, who nodded grimly. You studiously avoided looking up while Heyman moved to greet the van’s driver and gather up his new prizes. English tossed an old, tattered blue tablecloth to you and you wove it in between the bars of the cage, carefully smoothing out the wrinkles so it would lay flat.

You were in the middle of securing the sheet down to the sides of the cage when there was a loud, high-pitched roar from the trailer. An angry snarl followed, the two ‘ferals’ obviously not pleased with their surroundings. You swallowed hard as the full gravity of your predicament hit you. The whole caravan was being put to the test by the new acquisitions. If either of them got loose or something to that effect...

You squared your shoulders after a minute. You weren’t about to be scared off by a little noise. You had done your research, determined to see them as the people that they were and not the monsters they were always made into.

“Come over here and meet your new charges, boys! You too, sweetheart!” You rolled your eyes at Paul but obediently swung down from the cage and dusted yourself off, following the other two men to stand by Heyman. “This is Mr. Vince McMahon, he’s the gentleman parting with these fine specimens.” Paul continued, flattering the old man who appeared to have the leathery skin of an alligator.

You extended a hand to Mr. McMahon, cringing inwardly when he scooped your palm up and pressed it to his lips. “Enchanté.” His voice reminded you of an alligator as well, raspy. French was obviously not a familiar language to him. He released your hand after what felt like an eternity and you resisted the urge to wipe it off on your dirty overalls while he shook hands with Gotch and English. “It pains me to see these boys go.” He patted the side of the tiny trailer and then flinched back when the whole thing rocked. There was a thud like something had fallen over. “Whups, sounds like they’re roughhousing again. Guess I’d better uh…” Vince fumbled around under the front seat of the van before tugging out a cattle prod. “They were shock-trained, of course.”

“Of course.” Heyman echoed. You caught English and Gotch's worried looks at one another out of the corner of your eye. At least you weren’t the only one sure Paul was in over his head here.

“Sir, if we could…maybe not rile them up just yet?” You said quietly. “My associates and I would like to see the size of them, make sure our enclosure will be sufficient.” That was a bold-faced lie of course, and you felt more than saw English staring at you incredulously.

There was a loud whiffle of breath from the trailer. One of them was scenting the air. You wondered how terrifying this must be for them, trapped in a tight, dark space that moved and rattled uneasily. “Of course, they’re all yours. They’re secured and separated by a wall, naturally.” Vince unlocked the back of the trailer and swing the doors out. “Never know what they might do.” He chuckled, his laughter quickly dying off as the inside of the trailer was revealed.

It appeared that the separating wall had buckled or shifted during the transit. Or was pulled down. The hulking blond Beast barreled towards the open doors from the rear of the trailer. You didn’t even have time to think, body frozen on the spot.

A colorfully-marked arm abruptly hitched around Beast’s midsection, halting him in his tracks bare inches away from you and giving you an up-close look at the blond's strangely-phallic chest tattoo. “Shit, Beast!” Vince shouted, sounding more irritated than scared. “Knock it off!” The blond snapped and thrashed, struggling against the one you could only assume was Wolf. “You want to get zapped again, you piss-poor freak? Get back!” Vince brandished the cattle prod, making Beast snarl loudly in reply. “That’s right, you know what this does! So cool it!”

Wolf took Beast back a step, but then Beast lashed out with a vicious elbow and broke free. You dimly noticed the loose end of his chain trailing along behind him on the floor before Beast sent you crashing to the ground, the back of your head slamming into the dirt with a vicious impact. Your vision swam with reflex tears and you grimaced in pain, scared stiff as Beast pinned you with his body weight and screamed in Vince's direction over your head.

Something suddenly plowed into Beast’s side, throwing the blond off of you. Vince caught Beast in the ribs with the cattle prod, continuing to holler abuse. Wolf stared down at you and you stared back up, wishing you could stop shaking. His hair was matted and overgrown, hanging in his face. All you could make out was a pair of brown eyes studying you warily. You swallowed after a minute and his eyes tracked the motion, watching the way your throat moved before snapping back up to your face. “Hello?” You tried, flinching when a smile flashed through that thick hair.

“H-Hi.” He sounded almost shy, his voice deep and a little shaky. Definitely not what you’d been expecting. He tilted his head and then retreated cautiously back into the trailer, sitting at the edge and watching as Beast ate a few more volts.

You sat up slowly and English was instantly at your side, looking panicked. “Oh my goodness, how are you still conscious?!” He sputtered.

“Just my rotten luck, I guess.” You grunted, rubbing the back of your head. “Jesus.”

“There you are, see? Gentle as a lamb.” Vince panted, standing over the cowering Beast. “Now I’ve got to be going, so if we could move this process along…”

…

Paul had definitely bitten off more than he could chew. All Wolf seemed to want to do was sleep, and Beast delighted in tormenting the other man through the bars of their cage. The original plan had been to display them to the public in an enclosure they could interact with each other in, but Beast ceaselessly savaged Wolf until Paul put a sturdy divider in their cage.

Beast quickly became Heyman’s favorite, due to how he paced and scared off the bravest of souls by screaming and lunging to the bars at the most random of times. He was the picture of crazed animal, all froth and fury. Paul loved it.

Wolf would wake up out of his sleep at mealtimes, usually offering you a grunt, sometimes a “hi” if he was in a generous mood. You stayed to talk at he and Beast as they ate, Beast snarling into his food. You had lost most of your fear from Beast knocking you down, understanding that he had probably just gone for the first shot at freedom that he saw and it was unfortunate circumstance that you stood in his way. You had jokingly appointed yourself as head of feral nutrition, knowing that if you avoided Beast because he had scared you, you would never get past the incident mentally. It helped that there hadn't really been any competition for the position either.

“Hey, I’m sorry about what happened the day you came to be with us, Beast.” You said hesitantly one night. It wasn’t fair that they were kept in tiny cages, even if Beast seemed like the mauling type. You didn't think your own sanity or temper would hold up well under the duress of constant captivity, especially if you were crammed into a sardine can with someone you didn't like.

Wolf looked up at you curiously when you began talking, 'hmm'ing in his throat and then returning to his food.

“Just like everyone else.” Beast had never spoken before. You hadn’t been sure that he could. Tiny blue eyes narrowed at you over his plate. You knew that staring only made the person doing it look stupid, but you couldn’t help it. “You think you’re the first one to sit here an’ fuckin’ talk to me like this? Fuck you.” He muttered. “Fuck your boss too.”

“Brock-” Wolf sounded like he was about to protest but Beast stuck a hand through the bars between them, grabbed a fistful of matted hair and yanked.

“Shut the hell up, freak.”

“Hey, stop it! Why do you always push him around?” You asked indignantly, getting to your feet.

Beast mimicked your motion inside the enclosure, gripping the bars until his knuckles whitened. “He’s weak, that’s why.” He spat. “That’s the only reason I need, asshole.”

“I think I preferred when you were doing your strong-silent act.” You retorted.

“I could have ripped you apart and escaped. But this-” Beast’s face reddened angrily as he searched for the word. “-dumbshit just had to play hero. What, were you worried?” He asked Wolf mockingly.

“Don’t like getting prodded.” Wolf mumbled. “The lightning hurts like tch-zark!” He clicked his teeth and tongue in a weird imitation of a lightning strike. “Scares you too, dick.”

“Fuck you.”

“They don’t use the prods. I…I know you’re not happy, m’ not happy either but at least they’re not hurting us.” Wolf pointed out. “I’ll hurt people if they let me go, that’s what everyone always said. So I’m being good.”

Beast gritted his teeth. “Don’t give a shit what you do, idiot.”

Wolf rolled his eyes and then fixed his attention on you. “Dumb request.” He began slowly. “Need a bath. A-Ask Heyman, maybe we can work something out? A hose, tub?”

You nodded. “Absolutely, I’ll do what I can.”

Wolf smiled briefly. “Thank you. Don’t listen to him.” Beast clocked him upside the head and Wolf grunted. “You talk to us like people. It’s nice.” He continued after shaking off the blow.

“Why wouldn’t I talk to you like…you are people.” You pointed out.

“You know what I mean.” Wolf looked sad and Beast stormed off to the other end of his enclosure, clearly done with the conversation. “Most people act like we’re dumb or like we can’t understand them.”

“I don’t understand any of this garbage.” You tugged at your hair, a little frustrated. “We get told when we're young that if you’re a ‘feral’, it’s obvious because you’re bigger and dumber than the other kids. Like that’s an actual diagnosis, you’re just a crazy, hyper-aggressive child. You’ll try to bite or lash out, your parents will have to give you up because you’re a danger to society. But you guys...” You gestured at Beast. “He sounds almost totally normal. Obviously the whole wild thing is a sulky charade for him.”

“My parents surrendered me when I was six. I tore a piece off the doorframe and then I tried to bite my dad because he came at me with a knife.” Wolf said haltingly. “S’why I don’t talk so good. Nobody outside the complex I was in cared all that much about what we were doing. What mattered was we were away from them.” His voice grew more sure as he spoke. “Sometimes the older guys, y’know, kids that had actually been to school, would teach us. There was this huge kid we called Hacksaw because the story went that he’d ripped clean out of every single thing his parents had secured him in and they’d had no choice but to give him up. He was the teacher most of the time, he had a loud voice and he was bigger.” Wolf grinned. “Dumb as hell though.”

“Was Beast with you there?” You asked, getting an angry huff of ‘no’ out of the pacing blond.

Wolf shook his head. “Met Brock for the first time in McMahon’s pony show.” He glanced over at the other man. “He’s not that bad, except for most of the time. Vince enjoyed having him bust me open when I was misbehaving. I acted like I would bite, started laughing. Vince didn't like that.”

“It was business, dumbshit.” Brock grumbled. “If I went after you, McMahon would ease up.”

“There used to be more at Vince’s. A smaller guy named Neville. Big ears. Then there was Moxley. He'd get the rages. And Samson, played the guitar sometimes. They all escaped one night. Dunno’ what happened to them, they just up and vanished.” Wolf seemed to be sinking back into a funk, slumping down against the bars of his prison.

“Hey, easy. Look, I'll go talk with Paul and get your bath squared away, okay?” You patted his hand through the cage.

“M' name is Baron. What my parents called me, anyhow.” Wolf raised his eyes to yours. “I can't forget that. Please.”

“Okay. Baron.” You said softly.

…

When he was soaking wet Baron appeared decidedly less threatening. “It just grows so fast.” He had mumbled through the muzzle Paul insisted he needed to wear, wincing every time he found another tangle with the old comb. You had given him a trim to the best of your abilities once he was finished washing up and he looked miles better when you were done.

“You have a nose! And it's a nice one, too!” You had said in mock surprise, getting a snort out of Brock while you unbuckled the muzzle and pulled it back through the bars.

Baron had worked his jaw for a minute then graced you with a real smile. “Thanks.”

As you laid in your sleeping bag late that night, your thoughts kept returning to the young man in his cage. His parents had surrendered him at six. Your heart ached. What would it be like to go through most of your life being told over and over that you were the problem?

You were startled out of your musings by a rustling noise and you sat up in your tent when the flap slid open. It was just Adrian, one of the acrobats. He pressed a finger to his lips and you nodded, a little confused as he crowded into your tent. “Had t' talk with you.” His normally cool British accent sounded more clipped for some reason. “I've seen ya' spending time with the ferals.”

“I talk with Brock and Baron, yes.” You winced. “Mostly Baron, Brock isn't much one for conversation.”

“He never was.” Adrian muttered cryptically. “Listen, I don't have a lot of time. I'm not sure how they'd react to seeing me. But if at some point you could maybe...ah, I dunno', let it slip into a conversation that everyone still cares, I'd greatly appreciate it.” Adrian touched your shoulder, his eyes searching your own. “They don't deserve this life. You and I both know this. Can I trust you to deliver the message?”

“Adrian, what...”

“Hey, this is important. They're people, not fucking attractions. You have to promise me.” Adrian pleaded. “Get the message to Baron. Tell him that, tell him three days.”

“Everyone still cares, three days. Got it.” You repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What the heck does that even mean?”

“He'll know.” Adrian hugged you tightly. “I have to go. Don't want Gotch to talk.” He joked, his body language much more tense than you would care for.

Sleep didn’t come easily after Adrian left. You stared up at the ceiling of your tent, thinking. Everyone still cares, three days. It must be some kind of code, you reasoned. What does it mean, though? Why can’t Adrian tell them himself? You scooted down further in your sleeping bag.

When daylight finally began creeping through the fabric of your tent, you quietly eased the zipper open and slunk across the camp to Brock and Baron’s cage.

“Early for breakfast.” Brock commented idly when you were within earshot. You ignored him, moving to Baron and shaking him awake through the bars. Baron grunted and rolled over, yawning widely.

“Hey, listen to me.” You said, keeping your voice soft. Baron nodded sleepily. “Somebody wanted me to tell you this: Everyone still cares, three days.”

Brock’s fingers were around your throat before you realized he was moving, the large man dragging you in to knock your head against the bars of their enclosure. “Brock!” Baron cried. You gasped for breath as Baron tugged and pulled at Brock’s arm. But Brock didn’t even seem to notice. He looked purple with rage.

“Who told you that?” He hissed.

“Brock stop it, you’re gonna’ get us prodded! They can’t breathe!” Baron said frantically. “You have to let them go before something bad happens again!” You made a choking noise and it seemed to whip Baron into a higher frenzy, his fingers clawing at Brock’s arm hard enough to draw blood. “Wolf will bite!” He snapped his teeth loudly, like a warning shot.

Brock just scoffed at him. “Wolf, my ass!”

“Wolf bite!” Baron sank his teeth into Brock’s thigh and jerked his head to the side, making Brock scream angrily and swat at him.

“Hey!” Heyman’s sharp yell interrupted the scuffle. Brock quickly released you and you stumbled back from the cage, wheezing as air flooded your lungs. “What the hell is going on here?!” Baron hadn’t stopped chewing on Brock’s thigh, ignoring the blows that rained down on his head. Brock started slamming his leg against the bars, cracking the metal into the back of Baron’s busy jaw.

You reached back into the cage and touched Baron’s hair. “Baron.” You said shakily. “Hey, Baron. Baron shh, you can stop. It’s okay.”

Baron snarled into Brock’s skin but you kept petting his hair, kept whispering and he finally eased off enough for Brock to pull away. Baron’s chest heaved, blood trickling from the side of his mouth. He still seemed furious, his brows drawn into a tight scowl as he panted for breath and jittered restlessly under your touch.

Heyman approached cautiously once it appeared you had Baron under control. “You mind explaining to me what just happened?” He blustered.

“Heard…heard something. Woke me up.” You lied quickly. “They were fighting so I tried to…tried to stop them.”

“You’re crazy, getting between two ferals?!” Paul was practically shrieking at this point, jabbing a finger at Baron. “Look what he did to Beast! You're wearing a muzzle for the foreseeable future, Wolf!” Baron flung himself against the wall of the cage, yelling nonsense and trying his hardest to get a hold of Heyman. His long arms fell just short though and he finally collapsed in a heap, curling up in the corner. “Now that that's over with.” Paul huffed, looking somewhat shaken.

“Mr. Heyman, please-” You began to protest but Paul carried on over you.

“No, I'm firm on this one! He's a menace and I want him fully muzzled. Liquid diet.” Heyman insisted, smoothing out the remainder of his hair. “That's an order!”

Baron just huddled tighter, flinching away when Brock reached through the bars to harass him.

English and Gotch ended up muzzling him. You couldn't do it.

You loaded the truck by yourself as a trade-off, hefting rolled tents and wheeling boxes up the ramp with a dolly. When it came time to board up the walls of the enclosure for travel Baron didn't so much as look at you, wrapping himself in a hole-riddled blanket.

“Three days.” Brock muttered, bumping his forehead against the planks. “Three fucking days, Baron.”

“Dun' care.” Baron slurred through the muzzle. Gotch had strapped it too tightly around his jaw but he wouldn't let you fix it. “All I do'shurt. Destherve thith.”

“Oh please, you ain't never had a set of balls before. Then they show up and all of a sudden it's 'Wolf bite!'” Brock taunted, slapping his shorts over the bandaged area. “You went for paydirt, you cocksucker.”

“Were gonna' hur'them n' we'd ge' zapped.” Baron shuddered, gripping the blanket tighter and staring at his knees. “S'bad.”

“Brock, stop bothering him, please.” You said softly. Brock snorted but sat down in the opposite corner, tilting his head back and watching while you slid the roof boards into place.

“Three days.”

The trek to the new fairground was a long one. When the group stopped for dinner, you went to remove Baron's muzzle so he could eat. But he flinched away. “Mr. He’m’n said I gotta' wear'it, 'member?” He grunted.

“I don't want you to wear it.” You replied angrily. “You didn't do anything wrong, it's not like you were trying to strangle me!” You raised your voice so Brock would hear you, narrowing your eyes in his direction.

“Dun' wanna' get in trouble.” Drool trickled out of the bottom of the muzzle. “Tha' smells good though. S'it fries? I lo' fries. Oh...shit, ugh, stop.” He tried to wipe off his chin with the bottom of his ragged shirt. “Nooo, c'mon, s'gross.” He groaned.

“Yes it's fries. A burger, too. You want it?” You waved the wrapper in front of his face and watched his pupils dilate. “Gotta' take that off if you want to eat the probably-meat.” You sang.

Baron whined, tugging at the bottom of the muzzle. “Wanna’.”

You reached out and weaseled the buckle loose, quickly pulling the muzzle down over his chin. Baron glanced fearfully over at Brock, who rolled his eyes. “Are you even serious right now? Just eat the fucking burger, idiot.” He grunted, already well on his way through his second sandwich.

You tore chunks off the burger and handed them to Baron. He had a habit of bolting his food if you gave it to him all at once. Brock started watching you feed the other man, his brow furrowed like he was thinking hard. You ignored him and continued to slip one fry at a time through the bars, Baron humming quietly as he ate.

“Why?” Brock muttered finally. You looked up at him. “Why the fuck didn't you say something about me? I know the idiot is your favorite. You could have told your boss I went after you first. Don't tell me you didn't want to get me in trouble or some bullshit.”

“I knew how that would have ended.” You replied simply. “Mr. Heyman is incredibly emotional. He would have flown off the handle. Just like everyone else on this damn planet, he's fine as long as you two are ripping each other apart. But as soon as a 'regular' person gets involved?” You shook your head. “There was no good way to resolve that. So I lied.”

“But-”

“Look, out of all the people I might owe an explanation for something, you are the absolute last on that list.” You snapped, getting to your feet. “If anything, I think you owe me an explanation for losing your mind over some dumb thing that I was told to say. Haven't you ever heard of 'don't shoot the messenger'?”

“Sounds dumb.”

You threw your hands up in exasperation. “Fuck you too, buddy.” Brock just chuckled.

Baron, seeming a bit more at ease now that his stomach was full, waited patiently while you re-buckled his muzzle (correctly this time). He bumped the metal mesh into your forehead, his sleepy smile doing odd things to your stomach. “Thanks for keeping us from getting prodded. This isn't too bad. Sorry I was such a baby about it this morning.”

You felt tears well up in your eyes. “It's not right. I don't want you to wear it, but I don't want you to get in trouble either. I don't know what to do, Baron.” You whispered.

“It's okay.” Baron reached through the bars and awkwardly patted your shoulder. “Don't worry about me. Three days, y'know.”

“What does that even mean, what’s three days?”

“Nothing.” Brock said sharply, shooting Baron a fierce look.

…

You found out what it meant three nights later, when you were woken out of a deep slumber by someone tripping over one of the guy lines on your tent. The muffled swear that followed startled you to fully alert because it was a voice you didn't recognize. Who...? Curiosity won over self-preservation and once the footsteps faded away you quickly slipped out of your tent.

A flash of light from over by Brock and Baron's enclosure caught your attention. There was a quiet clatter, the sound of metal on metal. “Easy now, cool it Brock.” That was Adrian's voice. “Don't botch this, big guy.”

“Great job, getting hired as a fuckin' acrobat.” That voice belonged to the person who had tripped over your tent. “You always were the flexible one, Nev.”

“We'll have plenty of time for you to pat him on the back once I'm free.” Brock growled.

“I can't leave.” Baron mumbled. You had to strain your ears to hear him even as you snuck closer.

“Bar we don't...look man, I know everyone says you're a danger. We got a guy to help with that now. I promise, we're going to get you to some people who can make you safe.” You caught sight of a thinner man with a mop of light, curly hair, shimmying in place beside the cage door. Next to him was Adrian, who had a pack slung over his shoulder. Further off in the shadows you could barely make out a third figure.

Brock slid out through the cage door, taking a deep breath of air. “I'm not waiting around for you to sass Moxley and Mighty Mouse.” He snapped at Baron. You had to snort at the apt nickname for Adrian.

“Fine, go with Samson, Brock.” The man who you assumed was Moxley jerked his chin in the direction of the man on the edge of the parking lot. “We'll catch up.” Brock didn't wait around, bolting for the trees. “Great to see that confinement has only improved his shit attitude.” Moxley grumbled.

“Bar, you can't stay here. Paul will think you had something to do with it.” Adrian pointed out gently.

Baron hung his head. “You remember what I did, Nev. I deserve-”

Moxley undid his muzzle and pulled it off, chucking it to one side. “What any of us woulda' done, stop beatin' y'self up about it.” He scolded.

Baron tugged the cage door half-closed. “No, I'm staying. I can take it.”

“Baron?” You quietly called his name, taking a step forward.

Moxley whirled, his whole body alert. Adrian relaxed when he realized who you were, patting Moxley on the shoulder. “Easy. They're a friend.”

“Skulkin' son'uva, Jesus.” Moxley put a hand on his chest.

“Why won't you go with them?” You asked Baron, who refused to meet your eyes. “Hey...” You pushed the cage door open a little wider so you could enter the cage. “Baron?”

“You don't get it, I'm dangerous.” Baron mumbled. “I'll hurt people.”

“Yeah?” You circled around him, scoffing. “Like when you ripped me to pieces right out of your trailer? Oh yeah, that didn't happen. Like you did when I was cutting your hair? Oh that's right, you didn't. Earlier this week, when I hand-fed you and you graciously let me keep my fingers?” You crossed your arms over your chest. “You're pretty bad at hurting people.”

“You-! You're different, alright?” Baron exploded. “You talked to me, talked to Brock. Even if we didn't talk back. You weren't scared. I wasn't an animal to you.”

“If you go with your friends you don't have to be an animal ever again.” You reasoned with him, a plan coming together in your mind when he shook his head stubbornly. “Listen, I'm at least going to give you a hug, okay? Seeing as how I'm not allowed to be in here with you and Mr. Heyman probably won't be too keen on keeping you around when he wakes up to his Beast gone.” You hugged Baron tightly and he stood there, stock-still like he didn’t know what to do. “Run.” You whispered, and when you pulled away you shoved him backwards with all your strength. He stumbled out of the cage and you quickly shut the door behind him, hearing the lock click with a sound of finality.

“No!” Baron grabbed the bars and shook them in a futile effort. “What the hell are you doing?!” Baron asked incredulously, brushing Neville’s hand off when the smaller man tugged at his shoulder.

“It’s alright, Baron. Go on.” You mustered up a brave smile. “I’m sure I’ll see you again, okay?”

“I’m not leaving you like this.” Baron rested his forehead on the bars. “I don't want to.” His voice cracked.

“You have'ta. There isn’t another option.” Moxley whispered. It seemed the commotion hadn’t gone unnoticed, lights clicking on in the various tents and cars. “We gotta' go, Baron. I toldja', there’s people that can help you where we’re going. If we don’t leave now, the rest of the crew will be caught and I know you don’t want that shit on your conscience.”

You took Baron’s hands and brought them to your lips for a moment, then gently pushed him away. “Go on.” You urged. “I’ll buy you guys some time.”

“We won’t forget this kindness.” Adrian murmured, squeezing your hand while Baron grimaced. “C’mon Bar, we have to move.”

You sank into a crouch as flashlight beams began to crisscross the parking lot. Adrian melted into the shadows with Baron and Moxley in tow. You listened to their retreating footsteps, fighting back the urge to cry. You heard Heyman and Gotch hollering to each other and you squared your shoulders, exhaling in a bracing burst. Any extra seconds you could give the little group to escape would probably be beneficial.

Time to see if you could hold up under stress. If Paul wanted an angry feral, he'd sure as hell get one.

A flashlight shone in your eyes and you snapped your teeth, sticking an arm through the bars to swipe at whoever was holding it. “Whoa! Easy, what the fuck?” Simon backed up out of reach and then shone the light over your head, his face going pale as he took in the lack of residents in the cage. “Oh no. Oh no.” He breathed. You managed to grab his leg and he yelled in fear, flailing and falling over in his effort to escape your grasp. “Help! Help! English they’ve gone feral!”

You continued to snarl and paw at his leg. The longer you kept his attention, the more likely it was that someone else would help him instead of running off into the woods.

“Simon!” Aiden cried, ever the drama king as he valiantly pulled the other man out of reach of your deadly fingers. “What's wrong with you?! Mr. Heyman, come quick!”

…

You hadn't realized how much the muzzle would cut into your jaw if you moved wrong, but you were finding out pretty quickly. You hadn't realized how small the enclosure truly was. You hadn't realized how drastic the emotional and physical toll of being labeled an attraction was. Now you understood why Baron slept all the time, or why Brock would play up to the crowd.

If you didn't scare people away they would mob and heckle until you had to lash out, just to get five minutes of peace. No one wanted to see a 'feral' that looked like it was about to burst into tears. No one wanted to feel sympathy for something like what you were pretending to be.

It was worth it, you thought as you paced and did your best at imitating Brock's infuriated screaming. Their safety depended on you keeping up the act. Paul hadn't been too upset at losing the two 'ferals' or Adrian, quickly realizing that you were a hell of a lot easier to feed and transport than Brock and Baron. Not to mention he could market you as the first 'turned feral', like you'd been transformed into a crazed beast from too much time spent alone with the 'ferals'.

It took a little work, of course. You didn't have the added 'benefits' of rapid hair growth or other such issues to depend on so you ended up improvising with more noises and rumpled hair. You ripped the sheet covering the roof to pieces, scattering it around the cage to give the place a den-like appearance. Your collar was Baron's old one so it was enormous, jingling around your neck when you darted to the bars and swiped viciously at the people who got too close. You didn't talk, flat-out refused honestly, and Paul gave up questioning you after a few tries.

English usually brought your food, pushing it within reach with a stick and then fleeing quickly. Gotch was the one in charge of boarding up the enclosure when the caravan set out and he did it all while watching you nervously.

A weird feeling of loneliness slowly crept in as time marched on. No one attempted to talk to you after Heyman, your days were spent either in the darkness of travel or in the wild hysteria of being a freak. It took its toll on you as fall chilled the air and the leaves changed colors.

Sleep became your solace. In your dreams you were no longer caged; you slept in a soft, comfortable bed instead of a pile of tattered blankets. Baron would come to you, all big brown eyes and gentle noises in his throat as he held you close and kept you warm. Waking up was the worst part of your day. You always woke up tense now, wary and shivering while your breath frosted in the air.

It was hard not to listen to the things people said. The insults they hurled or terrible jokes they made more often than not added a little real fury to your act. It was bad enough that they would say those things to you. You could only imagine what Baron and Brock might have heard in their time as attractions.

Then there was the day where a young man dumped his soda on you. It was already cold out and now you were wet and sticky, on top of everything else. You grabbed him and slammed his head against the bars, screaming in his face like the beast you were supposed to be. You got grim satisfaction from seeing him cry, a grown man reduced to a sniveling mess. But all the satisfaction in the world couldn’t dry you off or make you less sticky.

There was no dinner for you that night because you had acted out. You curled up in your ragged bundle of thin blankets once Simon clumsily muzzled you and tried to ignore the rumbling of your stomach, feeling disgusting and lower than you’d ever been. Tears welled up in your eyes and you cried for the first time in ages, shivering and hiccupping pitifully.

“This ain’t exactly what I had in mind for a darin’ rescue.” Moxley’s rough voice by your head startled you and you barely kept from screaming in surprise. You bolted to the side of the cage and were greeted by the sight of Moxley and Baron.

Baron looked distraught, his fists clenched tight. “Who has the keys?” He asked, his tone harsh. You made a noise in your throat, reaching out desperately to touch him. Baron leaned closer, letting you cup his jaw. “What the hell did they do to you?” He whispered, his own fingers tracing the twisted-up straps of your muzzle.

“Get them out of that fuckin’ shit Corbin. We need the keys.” Moxley said curtly.

Baron slowly loosened the straps around your head, trying not to catch your hair in the process. The leather dragged against the scraped areas on the back of your jaw and you groaned in pain. Large hands ghosted over the abraded skin. “Shit, you’re raw. I’m sorry, would have been more careful.” Baron apologized.

“Heyman.” You rasped, your voice dry from disuse. “Heyman has keys.”

“Well fuck him.” Moxley shrugged, picking something off the bottom of his boot. “What do you think, Baron?”

“He’s mine.” Baron snarled, pushing away from the cage.

Moxley winked at you once Baron had stormed off. “He’s been an absolute wreck since we got word of a ‘turned feral’. Guy was chompin’ at the bit, we all figured it was you but he was losing his damn mind. Should have brought Nev for the door, he didn’t wanna’ wait. Now we gotta’ do this the old-fashioned way.”

You were totally overwhelmed by what was going on, sinking into a kneeling position.

Moxley made a noise of sympathy, petting your sticky hair. “It’s alright. You’re gonna’ be safe now.” He assured you. “We won’t leave you here. He won’t leave you here.” You whimpered and rested your forehead against the bars, barely able to comprehend it. He came back. Moxley seemed to understand your reaction, continuing to just pat your head. “I can’t believe that you’ve been in this cage the whole time. You’ve lived regular, you ain’t like us where you grew up in that shit. How did you even handle it?”

“If I couldn’t talk, they couldn’t ask me questions.” You mumbled. Keys jangled loudly and you turned around, confused at first when you saw Heyman at the cage door. You squinted and realized Baron had a firm grip on his arm, standing behind him in the shadows.

“Open it, fucker.” Baron snarled. Paul looked a little worse for the wear, his striped pajamas mussed and missing a few buttons. You got the feeling Baron hadn’t woken him up gently. “You have three seconds.”

“This is illegal, I’ll have you know.” Paul blustered. “Intimidating a-”

“No, what’s illegal is what I’ll fucking do to you if you don’t open the fucking cage.” Baron interrupted him, his grip tightening. “They’re not a feral, you’ve been keeping them locked up like a damn animal. I fail to see how the fucking law is going to be on your side here. Now open. The. Door.”

“Y-You’re not…” Paul trailed off when you shook your head.

“So if you let them go, we’ll just take them and be on our way. No muss, no fuss.” Moxley made his presence known, ambling to stand by Heyman. “Or…we can do this the hard way.” He had a wicked smile on his face. “Your choice.”

“N-No, I don’t want any trouble. I’ll j-just--” Paul dropped the keys twice in his haste to obey, finally unlocking the cage. “If I had known-”

“-You would have gotten everything you could out of them and then thrown them to the goddamn wolves. Get back into bed.” Baron shoved Heyman in the direction of his trailer. “You never saw us. Breathe a word and we’ll find you.” He threatened.

The night suddenly seemed brighter, the fall air crisp and clean in your lungs. “Can you walk? We have to move.” Moxley said hurriedly. You nodded jerkily, scrubbing your hands over your face to wake yourself up a bit. “Samson is in the next town over, we have shortcuts. Let’s go.”

Fingers twined through your own and you looked down at Baron’s hand, confused. “So we don’t lose you in the woods.” The large man explained, tugging you along behind him.

“Oh.” You hadn’t realized you were crying with relief until your breath hitched in your chest.

Baron grunted when he felt you shiver, quickly stripping off his hoodie and bundling you into it. “Better?” He asked worriedly, tying the hood strings so they held snugly beneath your chin. You nodded, letting him wipe your eyes with one of the sleeves. Baron’s smile still made that odd feeling flare up in your stomach. “Cool.”

“You talk more.” You pointed out as the three of you slipped through the foliage.

“Elias makes me sing with him so I can sound normal.” Baron grumbled while Moxley snickered. “Stupid Samson, forcing me to sing ‘Country Roads’.”

“I bet you sound good.”

“Better than him, anyhow.” Baron pointed to Moxley, who immediately stopped snickering. “Roadkill sings better than him.”

“Damn Corb, why you gotta’ smack-talk the roadkill?”

“Good thing we weren’t going for stealth, idiots.” Said a new voice through the trees.

“Elias! Shit, I must be sprinting, I thought we were still a ways off from the road.” Moxley apologized, pulling bushes to one side so Baron could haul you up an embankment to the road.

“How many times you done this?” The bearded man scolded, pulling open the sliding door of a van parked on the side of the road. “We’re lucky, man. Get in before something dumb happens.”

Baron easily lifted you into the vehicle, climbing in behind you. “Sit down.” He muttered, grunting when you wrapped your arms around him instead. “Oh. What?” He asked curiously, patting your back carefully. “Shh, there there. That’s the thing, right?”

“Yeah, you’re a natural buddy.” Elias laughed from the driver’s seat. “Christ.”

“I thought-”

“Don’t listen to him, man. You’re doing fine. Rub little circles. They’re…it’s--uh, anxiety. Yeah. They need contact right now.” Moxley bluffed, winking at you before strapping on his seat belt.

You flushed as Baron instantly pressed his whole body to your own, arms tightly enfolding you in an embrace. “I’ll help you.” He sounded so determined. “We’re gonna’ get you a shower. A real nice one, with hot water and soap. You’re all sticky, what happened?”

“Baron has volunteered to be your sponsor to help you readjust to normal life. We tried to explain that you weren’t like us but he was…very determined.” Elias said wryly. “So he’ll be sharing his bunk space with you.”

“Gonna’ take care of you like Mox and Nev took care of me.” Baron reassured you.

“Yeah, you’re uh…you’re in good hands.” Moxley seemed to be fighting off laughter. You had the feeling that you were in for a odd time of it, but you were so relieved to be free you couldn’t help giggling hysterically into Baron’s chest.

He came back.

…

Baron was disappointed when you didn’t let him shower with you, he had apparently become very fond of hot showers after years of nothing but sponge baths or dealing with communal bathing areas.

“Neville had to help me wash my hair, I don’t want you to miss anything.” He said worriedly, his shirt already pulled over his head.

You quickly assured him you would be fine. “I’ll let you look me over once I’m clean, deal?” He nodded seriously and proceeded to sit on the floor, inches from the raggedy shower curtain. You coughed. “Um, Baron, I kinda’ need to…”

“Oh!” He shut his eyes, covering them for good measure. “You’re safe. I won’t peek.”

“You’d better not.” You hurriedly peeled your dirty clothes off and got into the shower. As much as you’d like the company while you washed up, you weren’t sure how he viewed you. Were you just someone who had been kind to him? Or were you something more? Either way, it would hardly be fair for you to dump an emotional bombshell on him in the shower.

Your mind wandered, wondering what his hands would feel like on your skin as you scrubbed off the dried soda coating your arms and hair. There was no harm in thinking about it, was there?

Baron gave you your towel once you were done, waiting until you stepped out of the shower to get to his feet. He began carefully checking you over, clicking his tongue sympathetically at the raw-rubbed areas on your neck and behind your jaw. Baron then traced his fingers around your hairline. “Ticks.” He said by way of explanation when you gave him a confused look. “Because you’ve been sleeping outside.” Your whole body shuddered involuntarily. “Nev says to check the hairline, they hide behind the ears, armpits.” Baron paused for a minute. “Groin. Any um…any crevices, really.” He mumbled, taking a step back and clearing his throat. “So I’ll just…go. And get your…um…clothes, yeah, and you can give yourself a once-over. Moxley says I need to give you your privacy.”

You ripped the towel off once he’d left, panicking. You hadn’t noticed anything while you were showering, but you’d also been distracted. You ran your hands over your thighs, relieved when you felt no lurking intruders. You went up your stomach, checking your sides. You cupped your breasts and were about to move on, then…

In retrospect you realized that maybe screaming wasn’t the best course of action as it summoned Baron with alarming speed. “What?!” He took in the sight of you standing there naked, and carefully put down the bundle of clothes he’d been carrying. “You found one?” His voice was weirdly calm.

You just nodded, your lower lip starting to quiver.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He soothed. “Where is it?” You gestured at the side of your right breast, where the fiendish bloodsucker had taken up residence. Baron muttered something that sounded like of course, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling momentarily. “Alright, can I touch you? I’ve got one of those tick pullers on my keys.” He pulled your towel up and draped it over your shoulder, like he was attempting to preserve your modesty. “You don’t need to cry, s’okay. I’ll take it off and Regal can fix you up with meds if you get sick. Brock had a bunch of ticks on his butt, he got really sick but he’s fine now.”

You laughed through your tears at the mental image of Brock enduring someone pulling ticks off of his rear. You were incredibly embarrassed at your body’s response to Baron touching your chest, his motions all business as he carefully cupped your breast and held the skin tight so he could use the small tool. It still somehow stirred a reaction in your belly, even with you quietly freaking out about Lyme disease or a thousand other issues you could get from the little bastard embedded in your skin.

“Got it. Okay. You should wash that with soap and then get dressed. I’ll put this little fuck in a baggy, we’ll head to Regal.” Baron’s voice was still strangely calm, the low sound grounding you.

“Thank you. M’sorry.” You managed to hiccup. “So gross.”

Baron burst out laughing, surprising the hell out of you. “You had one tick-” He sputtered finally. “If you’ve got a strong stomach, you oughta’ ask Regal how many times they had to delouse me. He wanted to shave my head it was so bad.” Baron continued to snicker, making your indignant knee-jerk reaction peter out.

“Oh excuse me for not being graced by the scabies fairy.” You retorted while quickly pulling on your clothes.

“I’d cry if you’d had those.” Baron said bluntly. “Doc Regal gave us his monthly presentation for newbies on all the shit he’s seen and I about lost my lunch.”

…

“He’s quite smitten with you, you know.” William Regal said offhandedly as he counted medications and jotted something down on his notepad.

“Excuse me?” You asked, flustered.

The doctor (“How many times do I have to tell you Baron, I’m a pharmacist.”) looked up at you, one eyebrow raised. “Come now, you can’t be serious.” His tone was chiding. “You haven’t noticed?”

“W-Well-” You twiddled your fingers and Regal rolled his eyes.

“He was only here for a few days before he came to me about the odd dreams he had. You were a rather large part of them. He was having difficulty establishing a foothold in reality when it came to your place in his dreams.” Regal folded his hands, his face Bond-villain severe. “Baron grew very attached to you during his brief period with Heyman’s Delights. He says you were the only person who would even interact with he and Brock. He mentioned an incident when Brock lashed out at you and he bit Brock ‘with everything he had’ because you were in danger.”

“I just stroked his hair and tried to talk quiet to him. I didn’t want him to get hurt.” You recalled.

“It apparently made a lasting impression. His dreams, as with most so-called ‘ferals’ when they gain freedom, were of a sexual nature. But he mentioned the petting happened almost every time, like you were soothing him back to sleep. He found it calming but he had a difficult time waking from something like that.” William shrugged.

You wished you could vanish into the floor, your body hot and cold all at once. Baron chose that moment to make his appearance, knocking on the door before pushing it open. “Hey.” He greeted you warmly. “All set with the doc? I have your bunk made up.”

Regal exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “Baron-”

“Sorry, sorry! You all set with the pharmacist?” Baron rephrased his question. “I didn’t even know that was a word until last month, you’d think he would cut me some slack.” He stage-whispered to you as he ushered you out of the makeshift office. “So you’re gonna’ be in the bunk next to me in the orange trailer. Orange trailer is the one that’s mine. Neville said I could have it if I fixed the roof, and that wasn’t even a big deal.” Baron continued proudly, “Moxley says I’m great at fixing things, he comes to me with trailers all the time and I get them squared away.”

“You do upholstery too?” You teased.

“No, Mr. Styles is the sheriff around here. He upholds the law and a whole bunch of other things. I just fix stuff.” Baron didn’t seem to understand why you were laughing so hard, grinning uncertainly. “I um. I have a couple of documentaries we can watch, if you feel up to it. Not much in the way of entertainment around here but I guess that’s why we move so much.”

“Documentaries?”

“Yeah! Elias found me some old wolf ones. He says most of the information is inacc…in…uh, not right anymore, but I just like watching the wolves.”

The VCR made a terrifying noise when Baron fed it the tape later on, squealing and sputtering for a moment before the grainy footage began. You sat up and watched with Baron for a little while, his rapt expression one of the most adorable things you’d ever witnessed.

You reached out and began to stroke his hair. He didn’t even seem to notice at first, his attention entirely on the documentary. Little noises bubbled from his throat every time one of the wolves howled. You slipped behind him and tugged him back against you, Baron moving absently as he remained glued to the television. You dug your fingers into his scalp and that he noticed, if the whimper of “ah!” was any indicator. You continued your ministrations and his head lolled back on your shoulder “What are you doin’?” He asked thickly. “I love petting. Gonna' make me get hard.”

“Oh?” You dragged your fingers down through his hair, relishing the deep groan that came from his chest. “What would I have to do if I get you hard?”

Baron stared up at you, his brow furrowed. “Well, you wouldn't have to do anythin'.” He said finally. “If...I mean, if we're talking about what I'd want you to do, I'd...um, I'd like it if you'd...if you'd pet me. Below the belt.” His voice had dropped to an embarrassed mumble. “On my cock.”

You slid a hand down his torso and started playing with the zipper on his jeans.

Baron swallowed, covering your hand with his own after a second and rolling his cock up against your palm. “Do you feel me through that?” He asked, moaning softly when you nodded. “M' hard, you did that because you like me, right? Like how I like you. So you did what you know I like?” You nuzzled your face into his neck and pressed yourself tightly to his back, nodding shyly. Your fingers pulled down his zipper and Baron whined, muscles in his thighs flexing nervously. “Yes.” He gasped when you wrapped your hand around his cock. “Oh! Fuck--”

“Regal said you had dreams about me.” You whispered, loving the cute flush that quickly reddened his neck. “Good dreams.”

“Y-Yeah.” Baron admitted, cradling your face against his own while his cock twitched in your hand. “Just look at me. Want you, want to touch you all over. Make you happy.” He took a deep breath, seeming like he was gathering up his courage. “Sit on me and I can touch you if you want?” He said in a rush. “Please?” The begging note in his voice was what did it for you. You licked his ear playfully and he shivered, growling when you continued to mouth over the sensitive skin. “Ah, fuck, please-”

You slid out from behind him and he quickly grabbed you around the waist, easily settling you into his lap. His cock rubbed against the damp spot on your pajama pants and you blushed when Baron pressed two fingers to the area, teasing your clit.

“Like that?” He asked softly, “You feel good here, right?” His other hand slipped into your pajama bottoms to cup your ass, urging you to roll against his cock. “Here, right here. With me.” You dug your fingers into his hair again and pulled, making him snarl loudly. “Ah, can't do that, not fair. I'll fuck you sideways.” Baron warned, chuckling when you repeated the motion. “I'll do it. Better watch it.”

“Yeah yeah, big talk.” You stuck your tongue out at him and were surprised when he leaned in and captured it. Baron kissed with his teeth more than his lips, nipping at your tongue and licking hungrily into your mouth like he was devouring you. You grabbed at the neck of his shirt as he prodded his cock against you over and over, dry-humping you roughly. “B-Baron please--”

“Inside? Didn't know if you...” Baron paused as you stood up to drop your pajama bottoms and kick them over the side of his bunk. “I...Oh.”

“Please?” Now it was your turn to beg, sinking back into his lap and rubbing your soaking wet pussy over his cock.

Baron's eyes narrowing was the only warning you got before he lifted you bodily and pressed your back to the wall. “Yes.” His teeth snapped loudly at the end of the word, hard cock prodding up against you. “You're wet for me, you're wet for me and you're going to have me, you already do but now you can have all of me.” He said firmly, his forehead touching yours as he slowly entered you. “Told you I'd fuck you sideways.”

“I dunno' if this--counts as--sideways.” You managed to gasp.

Baron spread your legs a little wider, his pace erratic as he fucked you. He kept making sounds that went straight to your groin, helpless whimpers and growls pouring out of him when you pulled his hair and scratched down his back. “More.” It was a demand, it was a plea, gritted between his teeth as he thrust furiously into you. “Touch me, touch me, touch me God dammit-” He swore, words finally seeming to fail him as you swept his hair to the side and started nipping his shoulder.

The noises he carried on with wreaked havoc on your arousal, low-frequency rumbling in his chest seeming to roll through your whole body. You tensed up and Baron choked out a breath, obviously relishing the new sensation as he picked up his pace. “Coming-” You sobbed, gripping his shoulders tightly.

Baron's words came flooding back. “Yes do it do it want it-” He rambled, breaking his rhythm to sheathe his cock fully then move you back to his bunk. “No more sideways fucking, want you to come, want you to come.” He urged, smoothing the hair back from your face and pinning your hips down with his own. “Come for me come for me come for me-” You arched up beneath him as you came apart and Baron's forehead pressed to the hollow of your throat, your skin muffling his cry of “good!” when he came a second later. “Good.” He sighed again, his breath washing over your throat. “Good.”

You nodded tiredly in agreement, starting to comb through his hair with your fingers.

“Ugh, so good.” Baron groaned, nuzzling the thrumming pulse point beneath your ear. “Yes, yes.”

“Shh, I know.” You kissed his forehead, loving the way he stretched and preened over you before settling onto his side.

“Come here.” Baron demanded, pulling you back into his arms. You laid your cheek on the tattooed heart, feeling the lightning trip of his heartbeat slowly start to even back out. After a second Baron started stroking over your hair hesitantly, like he wasn't sure if you liked it or not. “You make me feel so good.” He said softly. “Not just this stuff. Always.”

“Yeah?” You tilted your head up to look at him and he nodded solemnly. “I'm glad, then.”

“I hope you'll stay. Y'know, with us. Me.” He mumbled when you were almost asleep, his thumb sliding over the raw patch behind your jaw. “Me an' Nev an' Mox an' 'Lias, we got a lot of work t' do...”

Part Two

#Baron Corbin #baron corbin smut #baron corbin/female reader #feral!Baron #thirst party saturday #this somehow got really long #wwe #wrestlers without the wrestling #Wrestle!AU: Feral Peril #behold all my weaknesses in one post #enjoy!#Baron's Bitches #(in case any of you were interested)

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tinylilemrys · 7 years

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Read it on AO3

Alec's first thought upon seeing the flowers is panic (Who left these? How did they get in here? Why would the intruder leave flowers of all things?), but when he turns off his Shadowhunter brain long enough to take a look at the card, he's pleasantly surprised to find that the mysterious flowers are from Magnus. It's the most thoughtful, beautiful gift anyone has ever given him.

Unfortunately, because the universe is cruel, he’s also deathly allergic to them.

Alec knows he’s supposed to be working. He knows that as the new Head of the Institute he’s supposed to be setting an example of productivity and dedication to the task at hand.

But the vase of flowers he finds sitting on his desk that morning throws him completely off-kilter.

His first thought upon seeing them is panic (Who left these? How did they get in here? Why would the intruder leave flowers of all things?), but he turns off his Shadowhunter brain long enough to take a look at the card and is pleasantly surprised to find that it’s from Magnus.

Hey you.

I hope you don’t mind the Downworlder intrusion. I was in and out in the blink of an eye. These are just to say that you’re on my mind. In fact, you’re somewhat of a permanent feature there now.

I love you.

- M x

P.S. Dinner at my place, 7pm? Dessert and entertainment to follow? ;)

It’s impossible to stop the enormous grin that has taken over his features.

Alec has never imagined himself to be a romantic person, either through knowing himself too well or not knowing himself well enough, but the card and the sight of the bold, multi-coloured blooms in the varnished dark wood vase fill him with such a sudden rush of giddy happiness that he has to concede that maybe he is as ridiculous as Clary or Simon.

As he closes his eyes for a moment to take in the myriad of scents, he concedes that maybe being ridiculous is just a side-effect of being in love with Magnus Bane.

Pushing through the sudden desire to blow off the mountain of paperwork on his desk to spend the day in his boyfriend’s warm and brightly lit apartment (he’s never been a fan of the dark and dank rooms of the Institute), Alec sits down and dutifully begins reading through the tedious reports on the Institute’s various research efforts and the Clave’s damage control after Valentine’s latest (and hopefully final) attack. Unbidden, his eyes keep darting back up to the flowers and though he tries to convince himself that it’s because their bright colours and sweet perfume are a distraction, he can’t deny that the real reason is that he’s struggling to believe that they’re really there. That he’s actually been sent flowers and that he has it in neat black-and-white script that at this moment, somewhere in New York, his favourite person in the world is thinking about him.

After making sure that there is no one outside his office who might see, Alec takes a photo of them and slides his phone into his pocket guiltily as if he used it to commit a crime rather than the completely reasonable activity of taking a photo of the beautiful flowers he’d been given by his boyfriend.

The headache starts about five reports in and grows steadily worse. He tries to shake it off, to pretend it’s not there, but it pounds behind his eyes, pulling his focus and making him read the same line about three or four times. It’s probably just tension, he tells himself, and gets up from his desk to stretch. Strangely, he stumbles as he makes his way to the other side of the room and his head feels like it’s been stuffed with thick fabric.

When his throat begins to feel tight and nose begins burning, Alec knows that something is really wrong. He pulls his Stele from his belt and tries to inscribe the Iratze rune, but his hand is shaking too much to trace it accurately. Instead, he begins stumbling towards the infirmary, wondering how on earth he’s going to make it there in the state he’s in.

Like a godsend though, Isabelle finds him about halfway up the hallway. He only vaguely registers her asking him what’s wrong in a panicky voice.

“Dunno. Infirmary,” he rasps, gesturing vaguely to the other end of the hallway.

“I’ve got you.” She throws his arm around her shoulder, taking most of his weight and the two of them stagger down the hallway together. Even with Isabelle moving Alec along as fast as she can, it takes them twice as long to get to the Infirmary than it usually would and Alec’s vision is starting to go hazy as breathing becomes more difficult.

They’re barely through the door when Isabelle starts explaining the situation to a nurse attending to a bed on the other side of the room. The nurse, Sister Rea, immediately shoulders Alec’s other arm and leads him to the nearest bed.

“It looks like an allergic reaction. Nothing out of the ordinary, but we’ll need to act quickly.” She makes her way to a cabinet on the far side of the room and moments later, there’s a sharp prick in Alec’s arm. It’s not long after that that he feels his airways open and as he takes a few deep breaths, he feels his head clear. “I’ll still need to administer more medication, and you best believe you’re on bed rest for the rest of the day, head of the institute or not, but you’ll be glad to hear that you shouldn’t suffer any lasting effects.”

Sister Rea makes her way back to the cabinet, presumably to prepare Alec’s second dose.

“By the angel, Alexander Lightwood, you scared me,” Isabelle says, punching the shoulder that hasn’t been injected. “What the hell did you do to yourself?”

“I don’t know,” says Alec, truthfully. “I was just getting through my reports when I started feeling weird. It came completely out of nowhere.”

“And you can’t remember eating or drinking anything different to what you usually do this morning?”

“I had the same breakfast you did.”

“That’s really strange,” says Isabelle, perching on the edge of Alec’s bed. “There wasn’t anything weird about the reports? No traces of foreign substances on them or anything? I know that a few of the Downworlder reports sometimes come with …interesting side effects.”

“No, there was nothing like that. It was just another boring Tuesday,” Alec replies. Then sudden realisation hits him. “Unless…”

“What?”

“There were… uh, there were flowers on my desk this morning.”

Alec regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. Izzy’s eyes glitter with humour and interest and he can feel the colour flooding into his cheeks.

“From Magnus?” she grins.

As Alec’s blush deepens, Isabelle laughs and shoves his shoulder.

“So you’re not a complete hardass! I knew there was a gooey sentimental centre in there somewhere!”

“Don’t be a pain, Izzy.” Alec rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling now too.

“So tell me everything,” says Isabelle. “Was it a big bouquet? Was there a note? What kind did he get you?”

“I don’t know – the colourful kind that smells nice,” shrugs Alec. “I was too surprised by their presence to analyse and catalogue each plant.”

“You’re no fun,” she pouts. “You don’t even have a vague idea of what they were?”

“I’m pretty sure that there were… hold on, I’m being dumb.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, opens his photos and hands it to Isabelle.

“Yeah, I can see what your problem might be,” smiles Isabelle, pointing to the offending flowers. “Tulips. They’re absolutely beautiful, and these red ones mean a declaration of love, but I’m deathly allergic to them and I’m pretty sure that’s what happened to you too. Many horrific first dates have taught me to be upfront about that.”

“Huh. Well I guess you learn something new every day,” shrugs Alec. As Isabelle hands him back his phone, he looks at the photo again. Red tulips mean a declaration of love. He knows Magnus loves him – he wrote that on the card – but there’s something wonderful in the thought that Magnus chose these flowers specifically to say it again. “You really think he was trying to say that? With the tulips I mean.”

“Sure,” says Isabelle. “Magnus doesn’t strike me as the type of person who does things unintentionally and all the other flowers he’s chosen seem to add up. See, the yellow ones mean ‘there is sunshine in your smile’, the stock flowers mean ‘you will always be beautiful to me’, these ones – the yellow lilies – mean that he feels like he’s walking on air when he’s with you and the ferns mean magic and fascination. Put that all together and it comes out as a pretty strong message: the boy is crazy about you.”

Alec’s heart is beating so loudly that he’s sure his sister can hear it. These flowers are the most beautiful, thoughtful gift he’s ever been given and because the universe is cruel, he’s allergic to them.

“I’m going to need to give you another jab,” says the nurse, returning with a large needle. “This one knocks you out pretty quickly though, so you might want to get comfy.”

Isabelle slides off the bed and gives Alec a small peck on his forehead.

“I’ll let Magnus know you say thanks,” she assures him. “You just focus on getting better.”

“Thanks, Izzy,” he says, his face screwing up in momentary pain as the needle goes into his arm.

He’s asleep before she leaves the room.

***

Alec wakes up warm and comfortable to the sensation of circles being softly traced onto his knuckles.

“Izzy?” he asks, slowly opening his eyes and shutting them again against the harsh light.

“Would you be disappointed if it turned out to be me instead?” says an amused voice from next to him.

Magnus.

Alec gives the hand tracing his knuckles a squeeze and makes a more concentrated effort to open his eyes.

“Two Downworlder invasions in one day?” he smirks sleepily up at his boyfriend. “People might talk.”

“People do precious little else,” laughs Magnus, leaning over to kiss Alec. Pressing another softer kiss to his forehead, he adds, “Sorry for nearly killing you this morning.”

“Don’t be sorry, you didn’t know.” Alec sits up and gestures for Magnus to join him on the bed. As Magnus obediently settles down against Alec’s chest, Alec kisses his hair. “They were beautiful and I don’t know how I’m ever going to thank you enough.”

“This is a good start.” Magnus runs a gentle hand up and down Alec’s knee and lower thigh. “I don’t know if you know what I was saying with them, but I meant all of it.”

“Izzy helped me with the flower meanings,” says Alec, wrapping an arm around Magnus and threading their fingers together, “and I don’t have a creative way to say it back, but you too. All of it. The sunshine and walking on air and that you’ll always be beautiful to me. You’re just… you’re everything. I love you.”

“I love you too, Alexander.”

They lie like that for a long time: Magnus’ warm frame pressed against Alec’s chest and their breathing rising and falling together. Alec loses himself in the pure bliss of it and almost falls asleep until he jerks awake in realisation.

“Magnus, the dinner –“

“Can be put off until another time. You’re convalescing.”

“I’m sure I’ll be able to convalesce far better with you in your comfortable king-sized bed than in this cramped and noisy thing,” says Alec, bouncing the bed with a loud metallic squeak for emphasis. He leans forward and kisses the edge of Magnus’ ear just below the ornate silver dragon that curls around it and whispers, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Gladly,” smirks Magnus, hopping gracefully up from the bed and stretching out a hand for Alec to take. From the catlike gleam in the warlock’s eyes, Alec gets the feeling that convalescing is the last thing that will be on their minds when they arrive home.

#malec #malec fanfiction #malec fanfic #malec fic #just falling deeper into the rabbit hole

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lady-pei · 7 years

Text

interim (chapter: 1 of 2)

Here we are, just 1 day left until AA S4! I received this ask the day of the season 3 finale and have been working on it ever since. So, if you’re still around nonny, thank you so much for being patient with me. I hope this was worth the wait. (Read on AO3)

Sometimes, after particularly rough battles, Steve likes to remember how easily he used to bruise as a child. It didn’t take much back then—even a short-lived game of hide-and-seek would result in a cut or a scrape here and there.

My baby, his Ma had said once as she pressed a bag of frozen peas to his freshly purpled kneecap. She was smiling, though her forehead was puckered with concern. Be more careful, I only have one son you know.

Bucky an’ I were just playing, Steve had said, and whimpered as his Ma tried to straighten his leg. Mama, it hurts.

I know darling, she had said, and briefly lifted the peas away to press her lips to his skin. It’s okay. Sometimes, it’s gotta hurt before it gets better.

Without Tony, the days at the new Avengers base pass slowly.

There are, of course, bright spots. Attilan’s reconstruction is a healthy two weeks ahead of schedule, thanks to the combined efforts of Inhumans and Avengers alike. Sam, Scott, and T’Challa have worked together to rebuild and modify Tony’s old Ultron detector, and each clean scan is a small but lovely blessing. Most importantly, thanks to Sam’s tireless efforts, Tony gains more and more presence in the Avengers base each day, having wrested basic remote access of all the facility’s tech in the span of a single week.

Still, most days, Steve feels Tony’s absence like a raw and gaping wound. The interdimensional connection is limited at best, nonexistent at worst, and Tony’s voice is often drowned under heavy static. Even if they could find a way to stabilize the connection, most of what Steve wants to say is too vulnerable and intimate to broadcast over the facility’s main intercom.

Instead, Steve does what he does best: he moves on. At the very least, he tries to; he eats, he trains, he leads the team. The other Avengers pass him like ghosts, simultaneously tethered and alienated by the collective heaviness of losing a teammate. On good nights, when he manages to sleep, Steve is careful to stay on one side of the bed, as if leaving a space for where Tony’s body would have been. On even better nights, those few and far in between, he dreams in violet—of a quicksilver grin, an extended hand, and a shining figure soaring through the sky.

“You there, Cap?” Natasha asks one morning as she digs through the fridge for protein shake. Steve starts, dropping his haphazardly assembled sesame bagel. It lands back on his plate with a smack and leaves a smear of almond butter on the ceramic edge.

“Sorry, what’s that?” he says, and their eyes connect over the top of the fridge door. Steve wonders what Natasha sees—if perhaps she can tell that he didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, or that he had eventually locked himself in the training room and punched robots until his knuckles had bled and the sun had crawled up into the sky.

“Just wondering how you’re doing,” she answers, and closes the fridge door. She comes around the breakfast bar, her shake tucked in the crook of her elbow—coconut vanilla, Tony’s least favorite—and lays a hand gently on Steve’s wrist.

The rips on his knuckles had healed a mere 15 minutes after he’d walked out of the gym that morning, but Natasha’s touch makes him flinch regardless.

“I miss him too,” she says quietly, her gaze solid and steady, and as the first aborted sound claws its way out of Steve’s throat, she sets her breakfast aside and graciously presses her face against Steve’s shoulder so he can cry without her seeing.

One evening, about three weeks into Tony’s interdimensional quarantine, Sam hands Steve a silver earpiece.

“Is something wrong with my comm?” Steve asks, puzzled, and fishes the Avengers comm out of his ear. “It was still working earlier today.”

“Don’t worry Cap, it’s not that,” Sam says, and places the new earpiece in Steve’s palm. “This one’s just for you. A private channel. From Tony.”

At once, the tiny piece of plastic in his hand becomes infinitely precious. Steve closes his fingers around the earpiece automatically. “He made this?” he chokes out.

“Technically, I made it,” Sam says. His smile is equally bright and weary. “Tony just gave me the instructions.”

This isn’t goodbye forever, Steve remembers Tony saying as they stood reaching for each other across an invisible barrier. I’ll be back.

Even trapped dimensions away from home, Tony always found a way back to him.

“Of course, there are still bugs to work out,” Sam blurts, as if unnerved by Steve’s lack of response. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Theoretically, it should work better than the main comm, but Tony said himself that he’s not sure—”

“Thank you,” Steve says, and Sam’s jaw clicks shut. “Really Sam. I’m…”

He shakes his head. Lifts a hand and places it on Sam’s shoulder. Squeezes. “Thank you,” he says again. “I mean it. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

Sam glows.

Steve stumbles to his room, clutching the earpiece to his chest.

Like the other Avengers, Steve hadn’t found the energy or heart to decorate his space since moving in, so his room contains only the bare SHIELD essentials: a twin bed, a desk, a set of drawers, a single lamp.

The only thing Steve owns here is his sketchbook. He’s barely a few pages deep, having lost his original one to Ultron after he destroyed Avengers Tower. There were many other things Steve lost that day, but none of them seem to matter as much as his artwork; if he closes his eyes, he can still see his paintings hanging on the wall, a procession of figures in motion—Natasha, with her brilliant red hair swelling behind her. Clint and Hulk, smiling widely and knocking elbows. Sam in midflight, his glassy wings outstretched. Thor, with Mjolnir at his fingertips, swathed in electric blue. Tony in his lab, gesturing wildly at JARVIS. Tony in the armor, his face hidden behind red and gold plating. Tony smiling as he sleeps, the arc reactor glowing like a star from the center of his chest.

Steve’s lost a lot in his life, but that doesn’t mean it gets any easier.

But Tony’s not lost, a small voice says from the corner of Steve’s mind, and he curls around that voice like it’s a flickering ember. He’s just stuck. And when something is stuck, you find a way to unstick it.

Moving his sketchbook to the floor, Steve sinks onto the bed, turning the new comm between his fingers. There’s a dial on the side with three pictorial settings: a moon, a sun, and a shaded oval. A small bulb, barely the size of a pinprick, protrudes from the center of the dial, dark and dormant. Steve makes a mental note to thank Sam again for his craftsmanship. Even with Tony’s verbal instruction, making something this small and intricate must have taken a lot of skill and a lot of time.

Heaving a shuddering breath, Steve moves the dial from the moon to the sun. The bulb on the side winks to life with a bright green glow. Shaking, he tucks the comm into his ear, and is unsurprised to find that it fits snug and perfect, as if it was made to be there.

“Tony?” he whispers.

White noise. Steve strains to catch any other semblance of sound—a voice, a hum, even a breath—but there’s nothing.

Steve sighs. Sam had said that there were still bugs to work out.

It’s all right, he thinks. He can wait. He once waited 70 years for the right person. He can wait again.

With the comm still nestled in his ear, Steve reclines on the bed and picks his sketchbook off the floor. Flips open to a fresh page and begins outlining the curve of Tony’s wrist.

He waits.

“Tony.”

“Hrm.”

“Tony, the movie’s over.”

Steve feels his sternum vibrate as Tony hums sleepily into his chest. They’ve sunk so far into the couch that Steve wonders if they’ve made a permanent groove. On screen, the credits for “The Graduate” roll lazily from bottom to top, the soft, melancholic voices of Simon and Garfunkel playing in tandem.

Tony had fallen asleep halfway through the movie, curled up with one hand tucked under Steve’s shirt, fingers splayed against his chest. He’s warm and pliant all over, and Steve can feel the cool press of Tony’s wedding ring against his left pec. It had been a relatively peaceful week, so they had taken to wearing their rings as a quiet indulgence around the Tower.

As gently as he can manage, Steve fits a hand over Tony’s cheek and tips forward so Tony’s head slides off his chest and onto his palm.

“You’ll get a crick in your neck if we stay here,” he murmurs, and sneaks a butterfly kiss on Tony’s sleep-soft mouth. “C’mon Shellhead, let’s go to bed.”

“Don’t wanna move,” Tony grumbles on an exhale, though he nuzzles further into Steve’s palm, and Steve feels his heart grow three sizes.

Years ago, before the ice, and even after, he would have never guessed that love could be like this—as quiet as it is overwhelming, understated and inexorable in equal parts, like feeling the sun warm the earth after rain, or falling asleep under a sky full of stars.

Heaving a sigh, Steve forces himself off the couch, gathering Tony in his arms as he goes. Tony flails, his eyes snapping open as they flick to Steve’s face in surprise. For a moment, it seems as though he might protest, but then Tony just loops an arm around Steve’s neck and tucks a kiss under his jaw.

“Gonna carry me over the threshold, Cap?” he asks, smiling, and Steve loves him so much he feels himself trembling with it.

“You got to do it the first time,” he says instead, and brings them both back to bed.

Steve’s in the process of drawing Tony’s nose when he hears it.

There’s a faint clicking noise coming from the comm in Steve’s ear, as if someone were trying to light an old gas stove. Steve drops his sketchbook to the side and sits up on his knees, one hand cupped around his ear.

“Tony?” he calls, his chest tight. The clicking continues. “Tony?” he repeats, louder this time. “Iron Man, come in, do you copy?”

The clicking morphs into a steadier crackle, then a low hum, and—

“Cap? You there? Can you hear me?”

Tony.

“Tony,” Steve says in a rush, and his heart is pounding so hard he can feel it in his ears. “Tony, yes, I can hear you, it’s me, it’s me—”

“Fucking finally,” Tony says, and god, Steve wants to cry. “I saw the moment you turned your comm on, but the signal was so faint I couldn’t hear anything.” There’s a series of clicks and beeps, like Tony’s rearranging something on an interface. “I’m thinking the device just needed time to warm up, but it really shouldn’t have taken so many tries to zero in on your frequency—have I mentioned how much I hate magic?”

“Once or twice,” Steve chokes out, and it should be ridiculous how overwhelmed he suddenly feels; it’s not like this is the first time he’s heard Tony’s voice since he was trapped in Strange’s pocket dimension, and yet—

“God, I miss you,” he settles on at last, because it’s true and because the thought hasn’t left him alone since they left Tony behind.

Tony chuckles, the sound short-lived and fragile. “I’m…” he starts, and Steve hears him swallow. Can almost imagine him scrubbing a hand over his face. “Steve. Not a day goes by here where I don’t think about you.”

And I you, Steve thinks, but the words catch in his throat. “Tell me you’re okay,” he says instead, because that’s more important, that’s all that matters. “Tell me that there’s something I can do.”

Tony pauses, long enough that Steve begins to worry that the connection has broken again. “I don’t know how long I’ve been here,” he says quietly, “and part of me is afraid to find out. Time passes so differently. Like I’m in a dream without a beginning or an end.” He sighs. “I’ve been taking apart the suit. It’s grounding in a way, you know? Gives me a sense that there’s something to look forward to.”

“And Ultron?” Steve asks, because he hasn’t had a dreamless sleep in weeks, because too often he lies in bed haunted by images of Ultron growing like a cancer in the pit of Tony’s chest—

A body even more indestructible than vibranium, Ultron had said, his metallic voice saturated in malice. Because you will never destroy it.

“Deactivated, as far as I can tell,” Tony says, and Steve presses a hand into his eyes until he sees bright spots. “Whatever Strange did, it’s still working. Ultron’s in statis and stuck here with me for the time being.” He huffs a laugh. “At least we know for sure he isn’t terrorizing anyone on Earth. Maybe it’s better this way.”

“Don’t say that,” Steve snaps, and cringes at the way the words come out of his mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I’m just—” He’s suddenly exhausted, as if all his sleepless nights have finally caught up to him.

“Hey,” Tony says, and his voice is gentle and coaxing in a way that’s almost foreign. “You okay Cap?”

Steve swallows, shakes his head even though he knows Tony can’t see. “It’s not the same here without you,” he admits, and hates himself a little for it. Tony shouldn’t have to worry just because Steve is having trouble adjusting to his absence. “Never mind. It’s been a long day.”

“I can guess,” Tony says, and the words are bittersweet. “You should go to bed, Cap. A little birdy told me that you haven’t been sleeping very well.” A pause. “A little spider too.”

But I’m not ready to say goodbye, Steve thinks. They’d only just started talking. There was still so much he wanted to say.

Instead, he hears himself laugh, weak and forced. “I’m gonna have to tell them to mind their own business,” he says. Please don’t leave.

“Hey, someone’s gotta look out for you while I’m not there,” Tony says, and Steve aches. As much as he doesn’t want to hang up, he is tired. He wonders if it’s psychosomatic, if his body recognizes the closeness of Tony’s voice and has relaxed because of it. He’s right here, his mind supplies. It’s okay. You can rest now.

Mindful of the comm in his ear, Steve strips down to his boxers and crawls under the covers, flicking the bedside lamp off as he goes. He curls on his side. “Tomorrow,” he promises. “We’ll talk again tomorrow. I just need a few hours of sleep.”

Tony hums, the sound a low rumble in Steve’s ear. “Goodnight Steve,” he says softly, and when Steve closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that Tony’s lying right beside him, warm and solid and thrumming with life.

“We’ll bring you home Tony, I swear it,” he says urgently, because he has no choice but to believe it. “Just hang in there. I’m not leaving you behind.”

Tony doesn’t answer for a long time, though there’s a heaviness to the silence that makes Steve wonder if he’s missing out on something. Just as he’s about to ask, Tony voice cuts back in, low and hoarse.

“Steve…you know I love you, right? So much.”

Steve throat constricts. He is suddenly reminded of their wedding night, of Tony’s hand gripping his and the words they pressed into each other’s skin: I do, I do, I do.

“I love you too,” he says, and then the silence deepens as Tony goes offline on his end. Steve pulls the comm out of his ear and thumbs over the bulb of green light in the center, still shining.

Soon, he thinks, and fits the comm back in. He sleeps.

#chapter 2 to come soon (hopefully!)#stevetony #stony #Avengers Assemble #aas4countdown #pei watches aa #lady pei answers #i realized that i've never actually written a stevetony fic despite being in the fandom for god knows how long #what a milestone huh?#sometimes i write

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