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torscrawls · 24 days

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A Ghost by Any Other Name

Danny tries to discreetly combat the ghosts suddenly showing up in Gotham without anyone finding out his secret, find out exactly why the ghosts have decided to follow him like lost ducklings after his narrow escape from his hometown, keep under the radar of both the Bats and his parents, not melt any more than he already has, and not worry his new and innocent friend Tim. Who knew that running away from home would be this stressful?

Wordcount: 1,620

Chapter 1/10

Can be read on AO3!

This fic has art from the wonderful and talented Luca!

---

Tim was just exiting his favorite coffee-shop when he was suddenly tackled by a shouting woman. “My baby! There you are!”

He watched his innocent cup of quintuple-shot espresso sail through the air and splatter across the sidewalk at the same time as he registered her muscular arms and the clear press of several weapons strapped to her body. Not a normal civilian then.

Right. Priorities.

The woman kept her strangle-hold on him as she continued, “Thank goodness you finally managed to get away from that terrible ghost!”

Tim twisted to get his attacker off him. Then he noticed that he wasn’t held in any of the multitude of restraining holds that he had been trained to escape. No, it was something a lot stranger than that. It was a hug.

“I think you have the wrong person,” he managed to get out as he tried to ease her off him, finally registering her earlier words and mentally readjusting the scenario towards a case of misunderstanding rather than an attack. Hopefully. It wouldn’t be the first time a villain took a roundabout way of getting to him, even if he had to say a hug was quite a nice way of going about it.

And that was the moment he noticed the frankly ridiculously big man bounding towards them with a wide smile and tears streaming down his face. He wasn’t slowing down. Oh shit.

He patted the woman on the back to get her attention since she seemed completely unaware of their impending doom. “Um…”

She only squeezed him harder and said, “God! It’s been so long! We were so worried!”

Tim’s bad feeling turned into dread. “… We?”

Then the man slammed into both of them with a wail of, “Danno!”

The air rushed out of Tim as he was squashed between the two strangers. He might have been robbed of his morning coffee but he couldn’t deny that he was wide awake by now. Cass would be proud, and laugh her ass off. Tim vowed to never let her know about this.

After what felt like an eternity and what was surely a few cracked ribs, the woman disentangled herself from the hug with practiced ease that would put Catwoman to shame. She somehow managed to get the man to let Tim go and after a few seconds of struggling to breathe, Tim managed to wheeze out, “What's a Danno?!”

Then he was staring down the barrel of a gun. He tried to quell his instinct to kick it out of the woman’s hands, but it was the middle of the morning rush, and they were standing on a fairly well trafficked sidewalk, where even if people were smart enough to give the gun-wielding-maniacs—ergo, possible villains—a wide berth, it didn't mean they weren't staring.

Tim slowly raised his hands in a disarming gesture as he thought of a way to get out of this. So far they hadn’t made any demands. They also hadn’t harmed him (except his coffee and his wounded pride). Tim just wished he knew what this was about. So far he had been hugged twice, then had a gun aimed at his face. A gun that glowed green, emitted a worryingly high-pitched whine, and was very clearly home-made. Wonderful.

As Tim looked between the woman and the man he noted how both of their expressions had gone from relief and love to cold and hateful in the blink of an eye. He tensed, ready to disarm her, no matter the people around them. He refused to get himself shot before lunch.

The woman’s hands were steady—even though Tim noted that one of her hands were wrapped in bandages, and how both she and the man looked like they hadn’t slept in days—and her voice was flat as she said, “Phantom might still be overshadowing him.”

Tim frowned as both of them looked intensely into his eyes and after a few tense seconds the woman gave a satisfied nod. “The ghost is gone. You're safe now.”

She lowered the gun but Tim’s frown only deepened. “Ghost? What ghost?”

The man and woman exchanged looks which only served to confuse him even more.

“Honey,” the woman said in a soft voice, holstering her gun before placing a hand on Tim’s arm. He shook her off. “Honey, you were kidnapped by Phantom. It overshadowed you. You’ve been missing for a long time! That's probably why you can't remember anything.”

The man nodded along. “We’ve followed you to several cities. You must be exhausted!”

They seemed genuinely distraught by what they were saying but that didn't change the fact that they were absolutely insane.

Tim shook his head. “Look, you’re clearly confused. I’m not—”

He didn’t get to finish before the big man patted Tim on the shoulder with enough force to make him stumble. “Come on, now. It’s time to go home!”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Tim bit out, his patience running out. He was almost certainly late to his meeting by now, he didn’t have his coffee, and these two seemed allergic to making any kind of sense. “Who the fuck even are you?”

“Language young man!” The woman with the gun admonished him at the same time as the hulking man shook his head with a disapproving, “Is that any way to address your folks?”

“My what?!”

These people were absolutely crazy. He already had one unstable parent which was more than enough, thank you very much. He had to get away from them. He took a few steps backwards. The big man stepped with him.

“Son. We know you must be scared, but—”

“Why would you think I'm your son?!” And what kind of parents would be so ready to pull a gun on their child?

The man slammed a meaty fist into his other hand. “Is this something Phantom put you up to? Oh, when I get my hands on that ghost I’ll—”

The woman grabbed Tim’s arm in a startlingly strong grip. “Are you sure you’re okay, honey? Did that pesky ghost mess with your head?”

“I’m not your son!” Tim exclaimed with increasing desperation. He slapped her hand away. “And stop touching me!”

At this she paused, wide eyes fixed on him, before they narrowed sharply.

The man’s eyes fixed on the side of his neck as he slowly said, “What happened to your scar…?”

The woman finally drew back from him. “Daniel would never hit—”

“Wait a minute…” the man said as he pointed an accusatory finger at Tim. “You're not Daniel!”

Tim groaned as he dragged a hand through his hair. “That's what I've been saying the whole time!”

“Oh!” The woman tilted her head with a calculating look in her eyes that made a shiver of discomfort crawl up Tim’s spine. “But you really do look similar. You both have dark hair and blue eyes.”

Tim waited for more attributes that he shared with this mysterious Daniel, but nothing else came. That was why they had mistaken him for their son? His hair and eye color? …Shouldn’t they be a bit more familiar with what their own son looked like?

The man rubbed at his shin. “Did we have another son?”

“Ha!” the woman laughed, “Of course not, honey. We wouldn’t forget that!”

Tim wasn’t so sure, but he didn’t want to risk starting another argument with these people. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and awkwardly said, “So, I have to get going. It was… interesting meeting you.”

“Yes! Right! We need to keep looking!” The man straightened up and then screamed at the sky, “Don’t worry, son! We’re coming for you!”

Tim winced, both at the volume and at tomorrow’s headlines which he could already see in his mind’s eye. ‘Wayne Enterprise’s young CEO Tim Wayne caught roughhousing in the streets’. His family would not let him live this down for weeks.

“So sorry for the inconvenience,” the woman said as she lowered goggles over her eyes and took out what looked like some sort of tracking device from somewhere on her jumpsuit. She didn’t sound sorry at all. She continued under her breath, “Phantom should still be in the city… We won't let it get away again.”

And Tim was fairly certain that they should be more focused on finding their apparently missing son than hunting down some ghost, but who was he to judge? And he really didn’t want to get involved in this situation any more than he already had.

The man didn’t even try to apologize as he, once again, slapped Tim on the shoulder with enough force to make him stagger. “It was nice meeting you, young man! And remember; the only good ghost is a dead one!”

“Aren’t all ghosts dead…?”

That made the man boom out a laugh loud enough to make Tim wince. “I like your humor! If you ever get into any trouble with the undead just give us a call!”

Tim didn’t even know their names, but didn’t have time to ask before the woman exclaimed something about a reading and they both took off down the street on a run.

Whoever their missing son was, Tim hoped he stayed far away from them.

His eyes landed on his spilled coffee and Tim heaved a sigh as he turned back towards the coffee-shop. He would have to call in late, but he refused to face any more of this day without caffeine.

He had more important things to focus on than Bruce getting some competition in the adoption-department. Oh, well. He probably wouldn't see them again.

At least he could console himself with the fact that ghosts aren't real.

#dp x dc #Invisobang 2024 #Danny Phantom Big Bang #Invisobang #danny phantom #dp #danny phantom fic #dp fanfic #dp fic #phic #my writing #this is gonna be a wild ride

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starzwithapen · 10 months

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⋅•⋅⊰∙∘˗ˏˋ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ˎˊ˗∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

JOHN DORY / READER ☆ START A LOVE TRAIN

જ⁀➴.𖥔 ݁ ˖༉‧₊˚.

☆Summary: John Dory's first meeting with Rhonda and her owner, you!

☆Content: reader is gender neutral, first meeting!! Gonna make a part 2 exploring their relationship more :3

☆a/n: I FUCKING HATE HIM [affectionate] my first worrkk pls leave feedback if youd like it helps a ton!! :3

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘˗ˏˋ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ˎˊ˗∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The day John Dory met you and Rhonda was simultaneously one of the worst and best days of his life.

He'd been hiking- nothing out of the ordinary for him, maybe one venomous spider he'd had to fight off, but so far so good! The sting of the cold air against his cheeks quelled his thoughts, made him feel accomplished, in a way.

But he must've been distracted- he was a little more careless than usual, overestimating his own strength and struggling to pull himself upwards, his legs dangling over the edge- he could feel a tick of nerves in the back of his mind, but pfftt, John Dory's got this! He's done this a million times-

Next thing he knows, the rock holding his legs up collapses, and down he goes with it, tumbling over harsh terrain while the wind rushing past his ears drowns out his yelling.

After many very painful seconds of straight up rolling down this cliff, John Dory groans in pain, dusting himself off and pushing himself upwards, except- oh, shit, okay, ow, something’s very wrong with his ankle.

He hisses and grabs onto the skin, pulling his goggles up to inspect it- it appears swollen, and he realises with a frustrated groan that he'd managed to twist his ankle miles away from the nearest safe-house.

Well- looks like he'll have to camp outside for the night, wouldn't be the first nor last time, but it'll be significantly more difficult with a leg that refuses to cooperate with you.

He rushes through setting up camp, wanting to just sleep the pain off till his foot got better, but just as he sets his head down on the pile-of-leaves-that-vaguely-resemble-a-pillow, he hears distant rustling.

That's not odd- it'd be weirder for the forest to be quiet, if anything, animals are always trudging along no matter the time of day- what's odd is how loud the sound is, feet papping against the floor in heavy strides, coming closer and closer towards him.

John Dory sits up in a flash, suddenly regretting how shittily he'd camouflaged his camp- his eyes widen towards the oncoming noise, having just enough time to snatch a stick and hold it out threateningly, though his hands shake and tremble.

“Hey! I have a- uh, a really sharp stick, and I'm not afraid to use iiIIITTT-”

The stick goes flying out of his grasp, and he gets the breath absolutely slammed out of him as something huge jumps onto him, rumbling atop him and- eugh, was it licking him?! Was this how he died, after all these years?! Eaten alive by a-

“Down, girl- stop that, you're scaring him!” the thing finally lets up on trying to swallow him whole, standing back on its hind-legs and cooing at you excitedly, and it's then that he notices you.

“Gods, I'm really sorry- she's not usually like this-” you reach over with a grimace to wipe the wet mess of saliva and glitter off his cheeks with your sleeve, and all JD can do is stare at you, star-struck. One minute he was facing his impending doom, and now he was facing the prettiest person he'd ever set his eyes on, and though he's certain it's night time he feels as though you're shining the sun's rays straight at him.

You smile nervously and pat his attacker's leg, “She wasn't actually going to eat you- or at least I don't think she was? You can never quite tell with Rhonda.”

Okay, John Dory had lived on his own amongst nothing but the trees and mountains for years, so excuse him for not being particularly eloquent when all he blurts out is “John.”

You and Rhonda blink at him comically for a moment, and he feels his cheeks flush under his fur-lined vest. No one's ever caught him off gaurd like this before.

“That's…not my name, but good guess anyways.” You check over him as if he's concussed, and he tries not to frown at the scrunch in your nose as you take in his camp.

“It's my name- John Dory.” He flashes you a charming smile, though he assumes the effects are dampened by the mess of glitter and dirt still smeared across his face, “and can I get yours, or can I just call you mine?”

Silence stretches on between you both, his smile getting more strained by the minute- why hadn't that worked? That always worked, at least when Spruce did it! You were supposed to be- swooning, or something! Not looking at him like he's sprouted a second head!

You cut through the tension with a gasp, and he follows your gaze down to his badly-damaged leg, now with extra bloodied scrapes, “Oh god, that looks rough- did Rhonda do this?” He doesn't have time to tell you that no, actually, it wasn't your fault, when you turn around and scold your…armadillo? He feels his lips quirk up- you looked pretty cute like that, like a disgruntled parent.

“Well, you can come inside and I'll wrap it up for you- you shouldn't leave it out in the open like that.” You wave him over, grabbing onto his hand to pull him into the door, and he feels his skin burn pleasantly where you both touch.

And that's how it starts. JD walks inside the armadillo bus, Rhonda, marvelling at the warmth. Though you hadn't given him your name yet, he felt as though he could trust you- you seemed like someone who values honor and helping others, however bluntly or awkwardly you may go about it.

You wrap his leg with gauze and a healing salve, and he fills the room with chatter- it'd been so long since he'd last seen another soul, he didn't realise just how…lonely he'd felt. You don't speak much of yourself, probably staying cautious, but you do seem curious about his stories, and the twinkle in your eye urges him to speak with a little more pomp than usual.

Your voice turns more concerned as you ask what he'd been doing camping out in the open like that- he'd told you of the trail he planned to follow, though he'd skipped the part where he fell off-course. He tells you of how he'd wanted to end up somewhere warmer by the time winter really hit, sighing to himself. “I'll just have to stock up on fire-wood, maybe invest in a flame-thrower.”

“I mean….we can take you there.” You offer in a quiet voice, your gaze stubbornly set on the floor, “It's still a pretty long drive, but better than 2 months walking on a sprained ankle, especially with how gnarly it looks.”

John Dory's conflicted- the offer sounds heavenly. He pictures waking up to your warmth day by day, helping you gather breakfast, travelling with a companion, for once, but….he'd left to the middle of nowhere for a reason. He wanted to distance himself from his old habits, his old expectations of himself and others.

Though….you seemed to be just as- if not more- capable than him. He wouldn't need to be a pillar for you to lean all your weight against, nor the pressure that turns coal into shining diamond- you two could simply…have each other's backs. Maybe…maybe this could work out, at least for a little while.

John Dory tilts his head up and takes one look at your welcoming smile to make up his mind.

"Can't say no to your pretty face, now can I?"

This time you snicker behind your hand at his awful flirting, but he catches it just in time- and he knows this'll be the start of something great.

#john dory x reader #trolls #trolls x reader #trolls john dory x reader #x reader #ok sorry I dont like putting stuff in main tags </3 thats it for tags #starzwrites #PLS LEAVE FEEDBACK IT HELPS A LOT !!#i hope this was enjoyable even tho it was shorter than I wanted :[ had to split into 2 parts ....

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khuzena · 6 months

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Your Guardian Angel

Sunday x g/n!reader

Summary: oh guardian angel, my sweet guardian angel. Save me, Save me. If you can't, what're you truly for? When your angel loves you, when he betrays destiny for you; only for his wings to be chipped at the expense of a helpless attempt.

Cw. Very angsty, falling in love (but it's forbidden), religious references (specifically Christian topics) AU where ppl can talk to their angels lol, mentions of self harm but no actual scene with it!!!, no bandaid can fix the emotional wound after reading this. SOME fluff, no comfort like usual. 🫨🫨🫨 YOU DIE!

A/n: I'm on fire (like literally. It's 36° here.)

Your knees burn as you stare up at the altar displayed in front you, you wonder if the aeons would be kind enough to finally send you your guardian angel.

“Please,” you begged, wishing any god to heed your call, “Just this once I'll ask.”

“Send me someone kind, someone to protect me.”

That day, fate was generous enough to grant you your angel.

A chill ran down your spine, rubbing your eyes for good measure to make sure you weren't dreaming.

“You called?”

You gulp nervously, the being's halo blinding you.

One, he reached his hand out to you, his smile all you needed to feel okay.

Your guardian angel accompanies you whenever you go out to buy groceries, when your fingers trace along the unhealthy snack bar, he's quick to tut and swat your hand away.

“That's unhealthy, dear.”

“But—”

“Just this once?”

He shook his head no, feeling distraught, you devised a plan to grab a pack of double chocolate cookies; much to his dismay.

Who did you think you were fooling?

“Dear, I said no.”

You sighed, “Just one?”

Out of all the humans on the list, why'd he pick you? But when you smile at him so brightly, out of every human he's ever guided, he's still unsure of his answer—

Your shoulders slump, “Pretty please?”

He exhales an exasperated sigh, letting you win over him just this once.

“Fine.”

— Maybe he is, Maybe he isn't.

There were times nightmares were unkind and brutal that you'd wake up in cold sweat. Your mind flashing you memories of the past you wished to lock away, you'd pray again.

“Dear, wake up,” that familiar soothing voice ringing in your ears.

Where? The shackles of that dream still bruise you harshly, yet your loving guardian angel is there to soothe your scars.

“It's okay.”

It's not okay, you know.

No words were exchanged when he took your hand in his, his honey eyes seeing through you, “Just breathe.”

Your tears found solace in his shoulder as he patted your back, letting you cry it all out, “It hurts, Sunday.”

“I know,” his gloved hand wiping your tears gently, “I know.”

Like a child, for many dreadful nightmares to come, you cry and cry for him to relieve you of this pain. You needn't to get on your knees and ask the aeons for comfort. All you need to do is shed a single tear and he'll kiss them away.

Two, your oh so sweet guardian angel, he drives them all away.

Years pass and you've grown used to your guardian angel, you'd find him taking the form of an owl.

Like one time, you were in class— culinary class to be specific. Who knows what aeon decided to ruin your day and made you trip on a puddle of leftover batter on the tiled floor.

“Eek—!”

You'd think you'd hit head first but something held you up, when you turned around, there was no one there.

The owl perched on the branch just outside the window, shook its head in dismay, once again, you don't die today.

He may save you from all catastrophes but he cannot save you from impending doom.

As an angel, by all means, he has every right to read your destiny; woven by lord Xipe, of course.

Eyes narrowing at the scroll, your life ends early when you get roped into an unforeseen accident at a public event.

“Sunday, dear. 5 days until your host departs,” his beloved lord's voice echoing the room as they loom over his shoulder to watch your end unfold.

“We should find you a new human.”

Sunday trembled at the sight, a memory he wishes to never replay again. You were in an event and some drunkard decides to shoot it all up, bullets ablaze as you get caught in the crossfire.

“I…”

I mustn't disobey lord Xipe.

“Yes, lord Xipe,” he gave a weak smile to his god, your death still replaying.

How could he be fine?

When you tell him of your dreams, how you'd leave this wretched city, leave penacony and write your own fate; when destiny had already set yours in stone.

“Do you think I'll become big in the industry?”

The sunset falls upon you too and he doesn't have it in him to tell you what's bound to happen to you, “Yes.”

“You sound hesitant.”

“I'm just thinking.”

It wasn't often you see Sunday like… this.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, “It's nothing.”

You two have been together long enough that it only takes you a second to realise the shift in the atmosphere, “Whatever, I'm going to be successful and we'll travel.”

He wonders if you noticed the way his wings are stiffening at your words, he may be an angel, “Sure,” but he is a liar first.

He doesn't want to think about it, he doesn't want to remember.

Your curious eyes never leave him, he wishes it did. He wishes he never got too attached.

That disgustingly sweet smile of yours, you'll never know that it made home in his head.

“Here,” he wore the rosary in your hand, it felt comforting feeling his gloved hand against your skin, “What is this for?”

He still doesn't have the courage to look you in the eye knowing 3 days from now they'd be devoid of light, “For protection, to show devotion to our god.”

You let out a hum of approval, admiring the beads.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes”

“I'm glad.”

Fleeting moments like these don't last. But when he musters up the courage to look you in the eyes again; he wishes that Lord Xipe was loving enough that this moment would.

Destiny is a strange thing. It gives you time to dream but never enough time to do.

Just where the hell were you?

Sunday panics as he flies over the crowd, exactly a minute before your death.

Lord Xipe must be cruel, watching from the stars as he scurries in the mortal realm like a rat to save a mere mortal like you.

“Sunday?”

‘Bang.’

You hear gunshots piercing the skies and those beside you.

“What's happening—”

“Just shut up,” angels were not allowed to be this crude but for your sake, he covered your eyes as he led the two of you behind a pillar.

Your gut instinct tells you to run but you've grown to trust him enough with your life. How could you not when he gently wraps his arms around your trembling figure?

“S-sun… day…,” you cried, feeling something piercing your stomach.

But how? He… he saved you didn't he?

“Stay calm,” he scolds you as if he wasn't scrambling around his options on how to save you, “Please.”

He prays, “Lord Xipe, please.”

But songs stay unsung, prayers remain unheard.

He cries to the sky as crimson stains his gloves, his holy tears cannot patch your wounds. His prayers cannot fix you. If he had known, he would not have sung those odes to lord Xipe, if only he had known his god's mercy was nothing but just strings of fallacies.

“Lord Xipe!”

An agonising scream that transcends the barrier of heaven and earth, yet his beloved god turned their back on him.

Your eyes shut then he felt the hand that intertwined with him go limp, “Lord Xipe.”

In desperate sobs, “Please.”

No amount of begging would bring you back, just like his sister, Robin, you are dead, you are gone.

Not being able to save you— he's betrayed you.

He kissed your cheek before letting death take you.

My God, why have you forsaken me?

He has no time to mourn, “It burns,” under the scrutinising gaze of the divine, his wings turn charcoal black.

Lord Xipe is all forgiving yet they have abandoned him for something so little.

A god so forgiving, yet when Sunday looks down at his hands, only a shade of balsam and black stare back at him.

There is no redemption for his sin, there is no redemption for either of you.

You can no longer dream, he can no longer dream with you.

His halo crumbles into ash and an undeniably painful grief fills him, “Lord xipe.”

His radiant halo no more, only to be replaced by the glow of the sunset like a crown of thorns.

He cries again, his god is gone and you are too.

Note: forgive me if its kinda shit, i really can't think of an angst idea for sunday that isn't yandere since im not rlly big about yan tropes anddd not proofread. I hope y'all enjoyed it tho, i just needed to get this idea out of my brain. Sunday is vv manipulative but i js wanted to write a ver of him thats just gentle ISTFGGGGGG

Written by @khuzena. Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. ♡

#what have i done #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr fluff #hsr x reader #sunday x reader #sunday fluff #hsr sunday #hsr angst #hsr sunday x reader #honkai star rail sunday #honkai star rail sunday x reader

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sluttysnowangel666 · 2 months

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The Song of Blackwoods & Brackens: Chapter 15

masterlist

Chapter 15: The Battle of the Burning Mill

cw: graphic depictions of war

𐂃 𐂃 𐂃 𐂃

I didn't know how I got there. All I knew was that these moments were about to be my last.

Everything had happened so quickly. The situation spiraled out of control before I even realized it was occurring.

Smoke was everywhere, bodies were everywhere. I couldn't walk without stepping on someone. I knew I was going to die. I could barely walk, could barely see.

I could live with dying. I made my bed, I'm ready to lie in it.

He and I were doomed from the start. I loved him; It ruined my life.

———

"I wish I could keep my hands off of you." Benjicot says, kissing my forehead repeatedly.

"Touch me all you want, Benji. We've got a month of time to make up for." He smiles, continuing to plant gentle kisses on me.

He holds me close, our bodies still wet and cold from the water. "Does something trouble you?" He asks.

I sigh, "How could you tell?" I pause for a moment. "I just... I curse the Gods for making me as they did."

"What do you mean?"

"A Bracken." I say, saddened. "A Bracken woman."

I turn to face him before continuing, "I want to love you freely with no consequence. I want to stay in bed all day and eat cake with you. I want my brother to love me, despite what I'm doing to our house, to my duty."

"Fuck duty." He says.

"I wish we could just run away together. Live here, hunt, fight, fuck, build our land, maybe our own new house... A family."

"What would you name our house?" He asks.

"Brackwood." I jest, and he laughs.

"You truly do something strange to my heart, my lady." He says. "I think we should return. Midday is nearly upon us."

He pulls me up. We dress and begin our walk back. I don't know why, but I feel an impending sense of doom.

We make it back to the edge of the woods, when Benjicot pulls me in for a tight kiss.

"I love you, my lady." He whispers into my lips. "I've loved you since the day I met you."

"I love you in return, Lord Blackwood."

We part, painfully, like getting a limb cut off during a fight.

I make my way back to the castle, and my heart sinks at the sight before me.

My brother's horse, my uncles carriage, and... a Lannister carriage.

"Oh, no. Oh, Gods no." I whisper to myself. I turn to run, but I turn right into the arms of my uncle.

I gasp in shock, I try to break from his arms but he has me tight.

"Uncle-"

"Be quiet!" He yells. I immediately burst into tears. My uncle curses and drags me into Stone Hedge as I cry and fight and drag my feet.

He covers my mouth to keep the Lannister lords from hearing me sob as we pass the council chambers. He opens my door and shoves me inside to the floor.

"I've had enough of this. You will get out of your brother's clothes this instant or I will cut them off you myself, get you in that bloody dress, and let that Lannister wed and bed you here and now!"

"You wouldn't dare!" I scream at him through tears. He unsheathes his sword.

"Is this how you dare treat the Lady of House Bracken?" I yell as he yanks me by my arm, using his sword to rip through the fabric of the back of my tunic. "Your own brother's daughter?"

He turns me around, forcing me to look upon the most angriest stare I'd ever seen from his eyes. He raises his hand, and lands a cold, harsh slap across my cheeks. I fall to the floor, holding my cut cheek from his ring in pain. "You are to never speak to me of my brother again, or I will have your head. Fuck the Lannister alliance, I will behead you myself."

He waits, but when I say nothing he exits my chambers; My cheek bloody, my clothes ripped, everything perfect beginning to fall apart.

My sadness began to grow into anger. I was so stupid. I did this to myself. It was mine own fault for falling in love with him. I should've just left when I had the chance,

married the Lannister. I hated this place, I hated my brother for never caring, my uncle for the same, the servants, the handmaidens, the other lords. All they did was watch and let it happen.

I stood up and stormed outside, but the guard my uncle placed outside my door grabbed my wrist.

"Let me go. This will be your only warning."

He laughed. "Your uncle said you weren't to leave this room... He said I could use any force I wanted to keep you here."

I unsheathed my sword. He was quick, but I was quicker. With one shove I slammed my sword into his stomach. He fell to his knees, the blood eliciting gurgling, choking sounds as he began to drown in his own blood.

He fell on his face, dead.

I had killed my first man.

While I didn't know it yet, I would kill hundreds more in less than an hour.

I went outside, straight to the boundary stones. My tunic was almost ripped entirely, revealing my whole backside, but I didn't care. I was fuming with so much anger, fear, adrenaline. Nothing would stop me. I was going slightly mad.

I began moving the stones, one by one, by myself. Nothing was about to get in my way.

"Aeron!" I turn and look, to see some Bracken men walking towards me. "You moving the bloody stones again?" They ask laughing.

"Yes." Is all I respond. They begin to help, and I don't make any attempt to stop them. Within 10 minutes, there's a small enough clearing for the cattle to walk through. I chase them with my sword, herding them to the Blackwood land.

Twenty minutes pass of me sitting with the men along the stones, talking.

"Can you even get that thing up?" One of them asks about my sword.

"Well enough for killing Blackwoods." I say, and they laugh.

And then the sweetest voice, like a siren song to my ears, yells in anger.

"BRACKEN!"

I turn and look, unphased. I knew it would be him to come. No one else got more upset over the stones being moved than he did.

His eyes soften. He looks me up, confused at my disheveled appearance. He continues anyway, angry even more so now that he knows I messed with the stones.

"Put the boundary stones back." He says, stern, but not harsh. His way of warning me.

"We didn't move them!" I say, marching towards him.

"Oh, did they move themselves then? Just rolled their way over so Bracken cows can fill their bellies on Blackwood grass?"

"The assize of Riverrun-"

"Fuck the assize," He says, exasperated. "and fuck you. This is our land."

I look at the men behind him, weighing my options, then I look back to him.

"It's Bracken land." His eyes fume with anger, yet he's utterly confused if this is a jest. Was I alright? Everything had been such a dream this morning. He wondered what the bloody hell happened between then and now.

I ignore the snarl on his face and turn to walk away. "Babe killer." I mutter, loud enough for him to hear.

"What did you say?!" He knows it's no longer a jest now. I'm, for some reason, being serious. What he can't figure out is why. He's concerned, yet angry with my blatant disrespect. I stop, nodding my head. Will I do it? Do I dare begin this game?

I turn.

"Your false Queen Rhaenyra is a kinslayer."

He hides the shock in his eyes. Benjicot was fading, and Bloody Ben was returning. He's done with this bullshit game. If I'm willing to roll the dice, he's willing to take the gamble.

"Your uncle declared for Aegon... Did he?" He steps towards me. I say nothing. "Well, then. Let me tell you Aegon Targaryen is no true king."

He steps closer, mere inches away from my face. "Just as you... are no true knight."

I'm fuming, as is he. "You're both craven..." A shove to my chest, "Little..." another. "Cunts!" A final harsh shove, pushing me back into one of the Bracken men.

I unsheathe my sword, aiming it towards him.

He laughs, a frightening laugh, filled with anger and resentment. His lips curl into a smile and he glides his tongue over this teeth. "You wouldn't dare."

Is it a threat, or a plead not to do it?

"Y/N..." He whispers a quiet plea so only I can hear. The clarity began to hit me, the way he said my name like that. I had lost myself for a moment.

I lowered my sword, but it was too late.

One of the men behind me swung at one of the Bracken men, and from there it turned into a ballroom blitz.

The men around us began fighting, swinging their swords. The sound of the metal clashing was deafening.

Someone went to swing their sword at Benji, and I reflected it with my own. The man pushed me aside, shoving me into the boundary stone. I hit my head hard, immediately going dizzy. I touched the warm liquid seeping down my face, and turned to see Benji had struck down the man who pushed me.

He came to me, pulling me on my feet. "We have to go now."

More and more fights began breaking out. For every Blackwood that showed up, another Bracken did as well. The field was becoming surrounded with men, horses were whining, trying to avoid the cross fire. My uncle and brother run up, swords unsheathed, Lannister men hot on their heels.

"Go, now!" Benji yells at me, his voice is fuzzy due to the ringing in my ears.

"I won't leave your side." I yell.

"Y/N, no one is surviving this, go!" He shoves me behind him as my uncle approaches.

"Y/N?" Aeron asks, "What the hell are you doing?"

The fighting around us doesn't cease, in fact it grows, spreading like wildfyre.

"Aeron-"

"Your sister has been ruling in your stead, pretending to be you, Aeron." My uncle yells over the fighting. Aeron grows angry. He unsheathes his sword, going to step around Benji.

"Don't touch her." Benji warns, shoving Aeron back. Aeron stares, shocked.

"What in the Gods names have you done, Y/N?" My uncle asks, immediately understanding everything that has happened while he's been gone.

"Aeron." My uncle starts, "Bring me her head."

"Aeron, my blood, please." I beg.

He sighs, sadly. His voice cracks at his words, "I hope you'll forgive me, sister."

I shove past Benji, sword in my hand, raising it to fight my brother.

"Y/N!" Benji yells, preparing to swing at Aaron.

"Benji, stay back!" I command him. He's terrified to follow that order, but he does.

"Brother, listen to me-"

"How could you betray our family?" He sobs, our swords clashing together.

"We never were a family!" I yell in anger. "You don't know what he's done to me! You never cared! But, I still love you, brother! Please stop this." I cry.

Aeron brings his sword down, slicing it right down my eye.

I fall to the ground, screaming in agony. Blood poured down my face. I was blind. My brother, my twin, had cut out my eye.

Time slowed, yet the next events transpired so fast.

I looked up with my good eye, my brother standing over me, Benjicot with his sword slowly raising, ready to shove it into Arron's back.

My brother cocks his sword back, ready to take my head clean off. I take my hand off my eye, picking up my sword with both hands. It nearly slips from all the blood.

I shove it into my brother's stomach.

The world goes silent. Everyone watches. I just killed the heir to Stone Hedge.

I sob, and pull out my sword. His hands move to his stomach, and he falls to his knees in front of me.

"My blood." I sob, cradling his head in my hands. "I'm so sorry."

"Sister..." His bloody hand reaches up to cradle my bloody cheek. "I am sorry... Sorry I wasn't... a better brother."

He coughs, spitting up blood. I pull him into my lap, sobbing. "We... were born into this world, my sister, but we were never meant to die together."

He closes his eyes, and they never reopen. I sob, cradling his body to my chest. I kiss his head. My childhood best friend, the one I played with, who raised me until my Uncle took him under his possessive control.

"You dare mourn him, when this is your bloody fault. You killed the heir, you whore. You're no true Bracken."

I look up at my uncle, my chest rising and falling with intense anger. Tears fall from my eye.

Benji stares at me, fearful of the woman he loved turning into a mad man before him.

I stand, my brother's body lying at my feet. The fighting continues.

"Kill them all!" I cry out, "Kill every fucking Bracken and Lannister until their line is dead!"

"Get back, Y/N!" Benjicot yells, shoving my arm down to keep me from raising my sword.

"Stand back, My Lord!" A Lannister yells, standing in front of my uncle with his sword drawn.

Bodies start dropping like flies, and in the chaos I lose sight of my uncle. Benji fights behind me the whole time, both of us protecting each other's backs.

I suffer a severe blow to my leg, the gash is deep, making it near impossible to walk on.

"My Lady, you must go immediately." Benjicot says, holding me up to keep me from falling.

"Find my fucking uncle." I mumble.

"It's over! You must go! I will finish this for you, that I swear, My Lady."

I shove him off me, balancing on my good leg. "Don't lose sight of who you are, Y/N. Go now, before it's too late."

"My brother is gone. I will kill my uncle, even if it kills me."

"Then I'm sorry for what I'm about to do." Benji says, holding his sword towards me.

"Why are you protecting him?!" I yell.

"I'm protecting you! Don't be a fool! I will not lose you!"

"Do what you must." I say, raising my sword back. He sighs. I give him one last look, blood covers him from head to toe.

"Don't. Don't make me do this." He begs.

"I always knew you were a cunt, Blackwood." I say. He cries, red tears falling down his cheeks.

"Please. I'm begging."

I swing my sword at him, but he blocks it. The unfortunate part for him is he trained me. I know his moves. I know how to best him.

We fight. I fume with rage, he cries in sadness, both of us mourning who we were just a day ago.

I swing, but he knocks my sword out of my hand and sneaks upon me from the right, where my eye no longer could see him. He grabs my wrist, and I gasp.

"I'm sorry, Y/N."

Everything goes dark.

#hotd #benji blackwood #benjicot blackwood #davos blackwood #hotd season 2 #house blackwood #bloody ben #benjicot blackwood x reader #benjicot x reader #house bracken #team black #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #hotd x reader #aeron bracken

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kalims · 9 months

Note

Oh my goddess, orders are open! Ahem, ANYWAYS— I wonder if I could have an Idia with a fem or gn s/o who is introverted and generally closed-faced, being a sweetheart and even shy with him, pretty please?

• Remember to drink water and take care of yourself correctly, kisses <3

– Mel 🌙🩵✨

dress,

premise.

idia forever thought his cause of death would be the permanent termination of his end game account—which in theory, is now proven wrong at the existence of a brand new thing that just might obliterate his heart.

note. thank you mel <3 you too. i, for one will gladly accept kisses from u and idia (he's downbad here LOL)

idia is having a strangely, familiar sensation.

for example—the fact that his heart is palpitating so fast is making him afraid that he'll get the same sense of doom he frequently gets whenever this happens. like when he's the one that the professor chooses to answer a question up front. just his luck cause it absolutely sucks in real life just as much as his chances of winning that rare character.

but no, there isn't an impending sense of doom that sends him to the edge. no cold sweat forming on the skin of his neck, nor does it protrude from his clammy hands. it's weird, he feels warm rather than the cold it usually accompanies.

he needs to visit a doctor.

he gulps thickly. sending a lightning fast glance at your direction then averting it even faster. oh my god, your hand just brushed against his.. was it intentional? no, no—it mustn't be. you wouldn't waste your time doing that.

but you might even look more tenser than he is.

despite the attempt at flushing down the tightness in his throat, his words still break off into a croaky stammer that just sends his face into a grimace because, did he sound like that? "I'm.. I'm really sorry, you didn't have to do this," he says, looking away with those eyes that just screams a mixture of 'I hate it all.' and 'I'm so scared.'

his eyes in comparison to yours, dull significantly in terms of greatness. cause as rare as it is for your eyes to meet, he'll always marvel at the lush hue your eyes are colored with—and god, your lashes. so pretty, so, so pretty.

he sulks. he doesn't deserve this.

"it's alright," you answer in response, voice quiet but it's the only thing he ever hears despite the myriad of people quite nearly squishing the both of you. the crowd is large, and noisy. so he isn't sure why he's suddenly the greatest listener when you speak. "I'm glad you thought of... inviting me along, I know you're quite passionate about it."

passionate is not a strong enough word, it could be an incorrect word to use even. he supposes it's just a nice feeling to excel—be good at something.

but with how hot his heart is probably burning, maybe passionate really is the right word.

for you that is.

most likely idia's ideal type of player two <3 someone he can keep up with, not too fast and certainly not too slow. but either way, he’s probably having a heart attack at whatever you do. literally just sleeping? his heart… playing with him? please match avatars at once or he will combust. (and yes, he is hinting even though you already match everywhere else. had a house in a game, got married in a game.)

don’t even pull out the fact he buys you the currency to match and you feel bad cause he thinks it’s too cute. you need to stop or else he will buy you more.

speaking of more in game terms, he surprisingly garners a lot of attention online maybe because he’s endgame in every single account he’s made and many people like money so… there are many attempts at ‘rizzing’ him up but in the end he’s provoking them to screenshot it and report them as online daters.

^ says THE online dater.

still reports people if they flirt with you, but compared to his. not only is it a file for online dating he somehow dug up the dirt, the monstrous things they did like… 3 years ago and now they’re gonna get suspended. It’s concerning since he was talking with you animatedly during it and he somehow also exposed them all in 10 minutes.

did the see you again trend in secrecy cause he would rather leap down a hole to hell than let people see it. In any case… if it isn’t obvious he’s the lala, you the okok.

deluded himself, is convinced that he’s actually the nonchalant, ‘cool’ one but all he is, is a literal puddle. is still solid when standing but will be putty in your hands in SECONDS.

idia is secretly really proud of himself whilst being like: how did i even pull them. cause when he looks at your face when you’re talking to other people. he’s actually kind of scared cause it’s a really wondrous thing you never once looked at him like that… (please save his mind too. he’s trying to convince himself that you must be like this, soft person he knows to other people too and not just him because that’s just crazy right haha.. hahahaha…)

the type to tell you to stand back during raids, challenges, boss fights, etc… that all you need to do is be there, and that he’ll solo it for you and you can claim your rewards even though he gave you the rarest, strongest equipment in respective games which won’t be much use at this point cause he insists he do it for you, and sulks all day if you don’t let him.

stay at home couple >>>

will order every single thing you crave during those times he’s too shy to consider date nights, and you too so it’s like an unspoken thing. he honestly plays better when you’re inside his room, even if it’s just laying on his messy bed scrolling on your phone or munching on something.

it’s just complete, comfortable silence.

except for the time one of you accidentally makes an indirect flirty comment and now the room could be considered a sauna from the literal steam only two people emitted.

really, really, really, REALLY, likes it when your head is on his shoulder.

“─ean.. no one really asked for it, the nerf was completely unnecessary and─” the words poured out of his mouth, something uncontrollable that he couldn’t stop. there is something about you that just kicks down the layer of anxiety on him. comfortable might be the right word, even if you don’t talk that much (which is surprising cause he ends up being the talkative one and you always assure him that you like to listen.) somehow the thought: am i too annoying? doesn’t really pop up like usual.

in fact, he’s excited to ramble all about it. excited to hear your thoughtful hums, excited to see your attentive eyes on him since the first word he’s said─but it isn’t. because he looks up and you’re blinking haphazardly, thrice in a second and before he panics to shut his mouth he feels the soft slump of your head against the curve of his shoulder.

oh my god, oh my god, oh my g─

if idia had half of his mind he would scream instinctively at the weight he isn’t really accustomed to feel. actually, even if he did have his entire brain connected, and his thoughts coherent he still would. but he bites the inside of his cheek cause despite the chaos that just erupted in his mind which is somehow simultaneously blank, and swirling.

and he remembers midst his confusion that you are,

asleep.

you’re asleep on his shoulder

you’re asleep.

asleep on his shoulder.

on. his. shoulder.

he resorts to the screech in his head.

his shoulder─is so terribly stiff right now to the point where he thinks that sleeping on a hard, wooden surface would be surely more comfortable rather than where your head lays. he makes an effort to relax his muscles, tell himself that it’s only you and that there’s nothing wrong but there is something wrong because it’s you! idia dares to sneak a peek at you and your closed lids only confirm your unconscious state.

and careful with each nudge his movement makes sends to your head. idia can’t resist the hands that creep up his face and bury it, to hope all the embarrassment and whatever he’s feeling right now absorbs it right out of his face because god. he knows he looks like he just ate 10 bowls of lilia’s cooking.

he would scream, he really would. a second thought but you’re on his shoulder!

you, who rarely touches him too much.

on him.

him, who gets too flustered to be touched by you.

so he feels pretty obligated to just suck it up cause he’s enjoying the moment even if you aren’t conscious right now and he sure as hell is going to, for as long as he can.

idia releases a deep sigh, long and wistful because he’s gonna die before you even wake up.

#ㅤ◜◡◝ . . signed !#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #twst fluff #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #idia x reader #x gn reader

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falling-star-cygnus · 2 months

Note

If you're still looking for billy angst ideas I got something what if he got heavily injured got close to powering off and muttered something like "I don't wanna die." Or something like that

Or he actually did die/power off but by some miracle powered on again and then insert everyone's reactions

I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE -> the way i shot up out of my bed and ran to my computer to write this is genuinely insane considering my athleticism abilities [which is to say none]

i don't get a lot of asks, so when i do it always makes me kick my lil feetsies

TRIGGER WARNINGS: robot dismemberment, murder [implied], brief suicide idealization [doesn't finish the thought], kidnapping [i don't write it but he's clearly not there willingly], dehumanization [referring to Billy as an 'it' in a derogatory sense]

"Nicole."

She chokes on nothing but air and nearly drops her phone in the process. What the hell, why did Anby feel the need to do this her. Appearing from the shadows like some sort of cheesy apparition was only funny when other people got spooked! She'd been texting the Proxy!

Anby, at least, waits for her older sister to settle down again before continuing:

"Where's Billy?"

Why would I know!? Nicole narrows her eyes at the smaller girl, pursing her lips in thinly veiled indignance. It wasn't her job to track her teammate's whereabouts off of missions. Or even on missions. They were capable people.

"Huh? I don't know. Why?"

Something about Anby's appearance throws her off.

Her white bangs are looser, tickling her chin and shoulder and out of that itty bitty braid that kept it out of her face. Come to think of it, Nicole hadn't seen her with that braid since yesterday morning...

Weird.

"I wanted him to redo my hair," she answers, placid as ever as she rolls the little green cap between her fingers, "Nekomata hasn't seen him either."

"Oh- Well, I can redo it for you, Anb-" "No thanks, I know how to do it."

Nicole can feel a vein twitching somewhere in her forehead. She loved her sister, she loved her sister, she loved her sister, she loved-

"Then why ask."

There's a sort of tentative silence that follows as the smaller girl fidgets, almost suffocating and sticky and wrong- Anby was uneasy about something... and that never boded well.

"...he's been sad lately. Like a dog that can't go outside when it rains."

Odd comparison, but I suppose it's fitting.

Nicole hadn't noticed anything particularly different about the android. He had been a little less energetic, maybe, more content to just... sit quietly in the company of the other Hares..

Oh god, he'd totally been acting like a sad dog.

"I thought doing my hair again might cheer him up," Anby continues, like she hadn't just made the older Demara feel slightly guilty for not noticing sooner. They all lived together.

"When was the last time you saw him?" Nicole decides to ask, despite the cloying sense of dread settling in her stomach like cement. "Did he go somewhere recently?"

A voice throws in her two cents in her other ear, "I saw him heading out yesterday, around 12!"

"Ack- Nekomata!"

Why was everyone trying to give her a heart attack today!?

"Oops.. Sorry, Nicole! But Billy promised he'd bring me back mackerel! And then he never came back."

"Billy wouldn't break a promise."

The sword wielder says it matter-of-factly, in the same tone she would use to insist that a boss theme was about to play. Or like how someone would say the sky is blue.

She wasn't wrong, though, Billy didn't break promises. Not the ones he makes to them.

An awful feeling of impending doom washes over the three.

Nicole clears her throat. Time to be the boss:

"Let's think about this, did he mention where he was going at all? Or when he'd be back?"

They all check their messages. Nothing.

Call history. Blank.

…emails? All spam.

Of course.

Don't panic, Nicole reminds herself, He could just be... hanging with Wise! Or that wolf guy.. uh.. Von something?

Anby was getting antsier with each failed clue, her fingers twitching and curling into intermittent fists by her sides. Nekomata was trying to act unaffected, but her ears were tilted back just slightly too far.

"Urgh... OK!" the two smallest members of the Hares jolt at the sudden exclamation, but the boss is too busy dialing Billy's cell number to care, "if he won't come to us, we'll go to him!"

The number rings, and rings, and rings- the android always answered on the fifth- and rings, and rings, and-

Click.

"Well, well~ You sure called faster than I expected. Has it even been 24 hours yet?"

That... was not Billy.

-><-. . .-><-

He didn't know how this happened.

Or- scratch that, he did, but... why? He thought-

"I thought we were friends," the android shouts to the retreating figure, his arms captured by two giant mechanical palms "Really? I mean- seriously? Oh, that's hilarious. And sad." Billy can feel his energy draining, but he doesn't go quick enough to miss the final parting words. "You're the least missed Hare, man, and the cat's only been there a week."

Was that.. true?

No. Nekomata had- Nicole cared- Anby would miss..

him.

Would they? He was still trying to formally befriend the Thiren girl, Anby could do her own hair now, and the Boss- would she even notice?

If he wasn't so sure coming online would cause a spike of pain to ram through his throat, he'd shake the thought away. Nicole would notice! At mission time... probably. Or when she needed him.

How long would that be, though?

Unfortunately, Billy's not allowed to spiral any further when an insistent tap-tap-tap scratches at his face plate. He fizzles into painful consciousness with a groan-

With a groan.

With-

...why wasn't he making any noise?

Any attempts made to speak- to vocalize this awful sparking in his throat- end in silence. Billy 's eyes widen, and from his peripheral he can catch the odd glimpse of wiring sticking out under his chin.

...No- no, no, no- no no.

Raucous laughter breaches his sensors, and suddenly his face is pulled up to see the same man that had betrayed him- grinning and amused.

"What's the matter, android," he jeers, releasing his face to drop something on the ground, "Cat got your tongue?"

That 'something' bounces once before landing in a sizzling, unassuming lump right before Billy's glitching eyes.

...his voice box.

-><- . . . -><-

Anby snatches the phone out of Nicole's hand.

"Where's Billy," she demands, shocking the other two Hares silent

She can't bring herself to care at the moment, the way rage is boiling under her skin. Her voice has never been particularly emotive, neither has her face, this she knew intrinsically. A fact of her life that she didn't care to fix.

But Billy was her friend.

Billy understood her. He did her hair whenever she asked, tried to protect her when she didn't need it- not because he didn't think Anby was capable but because he wanted to. Billy explained things she didn't want to, gave her an in to conversations-

"You really care about this thing?" "Billy's not a thing. Where is he." Anby would not ask a third time.

The voice on the other end snickers, amused for some unfathomable reason. And it's like Nicole can sense her impending neurosis, because she pries her phone out of the smaller girl's hand.

"We won't ask again," she emphasizes, fully in Boss mode now, "Why do you have Billy's phone?"

"Calm your tits, ladies."

Nekomata hastily pries the phone out Nicole's hand before it can be crushed.

"What I mean is- relax! Look.. if it'll make you feel better, I'll return it to you. Er- it's parts anyway. Hah!"

It. He was calling Billy... an it.

Something dark poisons the room.

"Just kidding! Anyway- Keep better track of your things, Hares! Finders keepers, you know?"

Click.

...

"Anby. Nekomata."

The girls stand at attention, awaiting the instructions sure to follow their stormy faced Boss.

"We're going to Random Play."

-><- . . . -><-

...everything hurt.

His throat, what was left of his right arm, what was left of his left leg, his torso where red wire hung out like streamers.. The traitor- because it brought some sort of vindicative relief to call his tormentor that- hadn't been joking about selling him for parts. At all.

Pieces of prior 'conversations' looped themselves over and over again like a broken record- a snake eating it's own tail- and at this point Billy couldn't tell if it was his own busted thoughts or if the man had taken his mind too.

"Wow~ an android with a pain threshold.. that's rare. You can feel all of this then?" Billy, of course, couldn't answer with any more than a twitch as pliers hacked away at his wiring. "Bet we'll get a pretty penny off you then."

"I don't really get the point of androids, you know? This tech could be so much better utilized for prosthetics."

"Called your buddies earlier." That had sparked the most reaction out of him so far, that got him to raise his head with worried eyes. "Oh-ho! What'd you get excited for? They're not looking for you."

His voice box still sat on the ground in front of him, mocking as it hissed out sparks from time to time. At least that could still make a sound.

Were the Hares... really not coming for him? Would there be anything left to find if they did?

Billy could hardly open his eyes as it was, even if the Hares could find him in this Hollow- would they even want him around if he couldn't do anything?

Maybe... it would be better if he just-

The metal doors screech open again.

-><- . . . -><-

The tacky feeling of blood, whether caked under her nails or smeared over her cheek, would normally bother her.

This she wears as a badge of honor.

They had been lucky, all things considered, to have connections to the former Phaethon siblings. It still took too long, in Anby's opinion, but Belle and Wise had found the seller that had listed- for a lack of better phrasing- Billy's parts.

"'Ethically sourced' my fine ass!" Nicole had shouted at the monitor, barely restraining herself from grabbing it and shaking.

Anby flicks her blade to the side, watching disinterestedly as blood splatters against the scorched pavement.

"Alright, you guys," Belle- in Eous' body- piped up, "Billy should be behind this door."

What's left of him, goes painfully unsaid.

None of them want to open the door, not when it could confirm a truth they've blatantly ignored the possibility of. Billy could be nothing but wires and lost data behind these doors.

Schrödinger's Android.

Anby takes the plunge and shoulders the creaky metal open.

At first, she's worried that they had the wrong warehouse. The inside is dark- quiet- and she can't immediately see anything with the rubble blocking the way further inside.

That was fine, Nekomata was the only Hare that could marginally compete with her in speed anyway. Sooner than she could really blink- or think about it- the smaller Demara finds herself atop the rubble pile.

There he is.

Billy is in the center of the warehouse, powered off and forced to his remaining knee by robot palms clamped around what's left of his limbs. The wires in his torso hang out like entrails, frayed and stripped at the ends and wrong.

Anby trips over herself to get to him, uncharacteristically uncoordinated as she finally- finally reunites with the android.

"Billy," she breathes out, watery and insistent as she presses her bloodied hands to his cold face, "Billy, wake up. We're here."

Please wake up, please don't let this be for nothing-

Familiar, warm, yellow eyes finally flicker open. It's a struggle, both to watch and to experience probably, as the Hares' big brother reluctantly comes back online.

Reluctantly. Billy shouldn't be reluctant.

There's no talking, no glitchy recall of her name, not even a whisper of pain- or any sound- as his eyes widen disbelievingly at her. Billy shouldn't be quiet.

This was wrong.

Something sparks in the corner of Anby's eye, and the realization that comes with it makes her wish she had done more than dull her blade. Billy's voice box, crudely ripped out and left in plain sight...

"Anby, did you find him?"

The android's warm yellow eyes somehow widen even further at the sound of Nicole's voice and Nekomata's footsteps. When the two come into view, the faceplate under the smaller Demara's hands trembles.

Anby recounts what she learned, making sure to keep her hands on Billy at all times as the reunited Hares' get their metal teammate free. Obviously, he can't walk- he can barely support himself- and they should really wait to celebrate until they're out of the Hollow, but...

"Billlly," Nicole all but sobs as she pulls the android into a hug he can't reciprocate, "you idiot. We were worried sick about you! You're never leaving the base without telling one of us ever again!"

Nekomata joins in from behind, wrapping her thin arms with exceeding amounts of care around Billy's torn neck. She doesn't say anything, but the way the Thiren girl buries her face into his synthetic hair says enough.

Anby hadn't re-braided her fringe since noting his disappearance and the loose hair sticks uncomfortably to the blood on her cheek as she bullies her way under his remaining arm. Belle stands off just slightly to the side, touched by the family reunion but unwilling to interfere with the tender moment.

The Cunning Hares' had missed their resident big brother deeply; now that he was back, they weren't ever letting him go again.

AND THERE SHE IS!! FINITO, EL FIN, FINIE! sorry if the ending was kinda rushed, but i hope you enjoyed! lmk what you thought and, of course, if there's anything else you want to see me write or elaborate on!

#i honestly think about anby and billy's friendship SO much #cut out some bits bc this was getting too long for tumblr #zzz #zzzero #billy kid zzz #zenless zone zero #billy kid #cunning hares #zzz nicole #anby demara #nekomata #nicole demara #found family #nekomiya mana #zzz billy #zzz fanfic #the ramblings of a fallen star

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buckyarchives · 2 years

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Metal arms and short skirts | Bucky Barnes. {4.}

summary: waltzing in as the new head of the Avenger's medical division, impressing everyone, and... scaring Bucky with your incredibly short skirts. while Bucky's having a hard time looking at his arm as anything other than a deadly weapon, and you're more than happy to help him.

word count: 7.4k

author note: the way this chapter originally was 11k words… i had to cut it down a little and also kinda end it mid chapter and pick up next update? so it may seem like it ends weird? idk. also unfortunately Vivienne Westwood’s death was recently so i thought of to use her dress in the chapter to honor her :) enjoy reading. not beta’d (please i needs a beta reader) important! opening my inbox for drabble request since this series is coming to an end soon

warning: bucky’s self loathing (like usual tbh.), people being mean to bucky (making remarks about his trauma, specifically brain damage), creepy and annoying men.

outfit reference here

read on AO3 | masterlist

Bucky is convinced his life is just one sick joke, and whoever finds this funny— deserves death. his legs bounced wildly, eyes frantically checking the watch on his wrist. it was Steve’s, very expensive, not Bucky's type. the ticking was starting to annoy him, bucky wanted to smash it, then he wouldn't know how late you are.

the navy blue suit, Steve gave him that too, said it brings out his eyes. god- bucky was practically sweating through it, the night hasn’t started yet and he feels like he needs to change. he was overthinking, everyone keeps telling him. but there was a plan, 5 pm and after work, the common room down the hall to your lab. maybe it was just nerves, but it still didn’t excuse the impending doom settling in the bottom of bucky's stomach.

“James, it’s been 10 minutes,” Natasha spoke, dressed in a long black dress. she sat on the floor before a couch, wanda held a curling wand in Natasha's hair as she sat above her. bucky had tried to distract himself by watching the curls form, it was quite fascinating if he wasn’t so distant.

“she is probably just fashionably late, it would make sense,” Wanda said— which felt true. but you’ve never once been late because of your appearance before, bucky can't even think of a time you’ve been late for any reason.

frustrated, Bucky abruptly got up and ran a hand through his hair, beginning to pace. “hey! I am not going to reapply all the gel!” Wanda shouts and bucky's flinches, putting both of his hands to his side like a child obeying their mother.

“what if she doesn't want to be seen with me, you know- like, like that? what if after yesterday she changed her mind, oh my god. Nat, I can't do this.” Bucky rattled on. Natasha rolled her eyes to the back of her head.

“Stop with the what if” Natasha groaned, “she is not even that late.”

“Have you even tried to text her?” Wanda mentions.

Bucky stops pacing.

“you haven’t even called her?'' Natasha looks at Bucky like he's stupid, he feels stupid. “do you know who you are? what if something happened to her that would make her late?”

Bucky's face dropped, oh my god, what if something happened? Bucky doesn't feel stupid, he is stupid. he is the fucking winter soldier, and you’ve been out with him, something could totally happen to you. Bucky's breath hitched before he felt like he was choking on it, was this a panic attack? he can’t call you while having a panic attack, but you could be in danger.

Almost instantly, Bucky grabs his phone on the coffee table. his fingers stumble as he looks for your number, but just as his fingers hover over your name. a loud, annoying ring comes from Natasha’s phone. Bucky's head perks up so do all the heads in the room.

Natasha's eyebrows furrow, looking down at her phone. Wanda follows suit as she looks over her shoulder. “it’s Y/N?”

“pick up!” Wanda shouts.

Natasha taps on the phone, “hey, you oka-“

“no!” you shout from the other line, a matching panic in your voice. “no, I am not! I’ve cycled through like 12 dresses and I have like 3 more but I swear, I’m going to go to Versace or Mytheresa— I will fucking call Valentino right now if I have to.”

faintly, everyone heard the sound of fabric rustling, your heels echoing as you paced through your room, and your heavy breathing. panicking about your outfit.

“Hey, hey, y/n calm down.'' Natasha hushed, your faint rattling didn't stop as you continued on talking about some black dress that made you look bloated. “you don’t need to impulse spend 8k on a dress, don’t make a big deal out of this, you’ll look perfect.”

“But Bucky! What if he doesn't like it, or thinks I look fat, or if I'm trying too hard! or too little? ugh!” you groaned, screamed, and rattled. Bucky had half the mind to shout through the phone that he’d think you're perfect however you showed up. but Natasha knew him well and sent a glare that told him not to.

“I just- just, Natasha… I really like him, I don't want to mess this up.” you sighed in defeat. Bucky's heart surged out of his chest, his face felt hot. He just wanted to cradle you close and tell you everything was okay.

“y/n.” Natasha started, her voice stern. “what are you doing right now.”

the other line went silent for a moment. bucky can imagine your thinking face, eyes narrowed, and tugging your lip under your teeth. a sigh escapes your mouth. “I'm on the floor in my closet, trying not to back out or cry.”

“Just don’t back out, okay? I'll be over to help you, sounds good?”

a small sniffle that broke bucky’s heart, “yes.”

“Okay, don’t die of panicking.” Natasha finished, hanging up the phone with a sigh.

Bucky sank down onto the couch, raking his hand through his hair again despite Wanda's protest. letting out a heavy exhale.

you were safe, that’s really what matters. but you were also on the brink of crying, probably tearing through your closet like a mad woman just to appease bucky’s opinions. He felt like a dick.

Natasha sat still, staring at Bucky like she knew more, knew better. Bucky couldn’t read her.

“Are you going?” he said weakly.

“No,” Natasha said plainly, making her way towards Bucky and dragging him to his feet by his suit— before straightening Bucky out. from his suit to his hair, even smoothing the small nervous wrinkles on his forehead.

Natasha always felt like a sister to Bucky in this way. helping him, worrying for him, supporting him, and seemingly reluctantly saving him with Steve couldn't. They shared many painful experiences that brought them close. Natasha was always there for bucky.

“you are.”

“What?!”

Bucky stood dumbfounded, “you’re going to go over there. get her out of her head, pick a dress that makes her look like a fucking goddess, maybe one that matches yours. and make her feel beautiful.”

“I can’t-“

“Shut up, Barnes,” Wanda interjects, the same determination on her face as Natasha's. there was no way he was getting out of this. “go, or I'll make you.”

Bucky watched as Wanda conjured up the red ball of pure power in her hands, an empty threat; they already talked about using her powers for this reason. but enough to scare the shit out of Bucky and make him nod violently. almost to convince himself that he could go.

“go get your girl.” Natasha encouraged.

******

Somewhere between throwing dresses around and banging your head on your walk-in closet walls, you decided that it didn't matter that you weren't mid-age yet, this was a mid-life crisis. Never in your life have you second-guessed your judgment on what to wear, not even in the eyes of the greatest designers the world knows.

But here you sat, verge of tear on your floor. Piles building up around you of dresses, shoes, tights, et cetera, et cetera. You were practically drowning in silk, crepe, and chiffon. Moments ago you really had a dress, it fit perfectly and made your complexion glow, but then the thought of what Bucky would think made you spiral.

Honestly, you knew deep, deep down that he wouldn't care. A day ago he saw you covered in Sam Wilson's blood, so there was really only going up from there. You knew he was a good guy, not one to point out fat rolls on your back or if your stomach was bloated. But the female experience constantly sabotaged those positive thoughts and brought out the ‘what ifs’.

Natasha wasn't much help on the phone. She just spared you from spending your paycheck on another Valentino dress and told you to calm down. She'd be over in a few, you trusted her taste enough, at least you'd have a second opinion. she always looked good, but it was easy for her.

You didn’t think of yourself as an envious person, especially the looks or body category but it was hard in this fragile state of mind to not long for a widows physic.

The loud and echoing noise of your doorbell shook you from your thoughts, you had been spacing out. Throwing on the first piece of fabric you saw on the floor, a large dress shit? Sure, whatever, it was just Natasha. Another loud ring.

“Gimme a moment, Nat!” you shouted, seeing a flash of yourself in a full-sized mirror. you look pathetic, with black tights, a dress shirt, and hair lazily put in a claw. You were already late, how worse could it get?

Spoiler. Much worse. very, very worse.

Opening your front door abruptly, a spew of apologies and worries left your mouth before you could notice the lack of red hair. Eyes wide and mouth gaped, Bucky stood before you. And like the fucking pathetic idiot you are, before Bucky could get a word out, you slammed the door in his face with a high-pitched yelp. A hand flew to cover your mouth, to contain the groans and curse words directed at Natasha. Because of-fucking-course she’d do this.

A wave of guilt and mostly embarrassment washed over you before you could kick yourself more - you opened the door, again.

“I'm so sorry, bucky! I didn't mean to do that– you just surprised me.” the words stumbled over themself, a stuttering mess. You were an udder wreck, this is so embarrassing, you thought. Your voice rose a few octaves, almost certain your makeup had smudged off by now. “Wha- what are you doing here?”

“Nat sent me,” he spoke plainly, standing dumbfounded in your apartment hallway.

“Of course she did.” you cursed and gritted under your breath, words coming out harsher than intended. An unsure face washed over Bucky and he took a tiny step back.

“I can go if you’re uncomfortable.'' Bucky sounded small, it broke your heart.

“No! Please don’t, I'm just freaking out right now– not sure why.” you definitely knew why. Stopping in the middle of your sentence once you notice Bucky's attire. Experiencing whiplash at the sight of the slick, noticeably expensive navy suit he wore. You practically did a double take, blinking like an idiot as you looked him up and down. “Wow! You look great, like really great.”

“And you look…” Bucky's eye trailed up your body, his eyes landing on your face. “Perfect, as always.”

Maybe it was the stress, or nerves, but you were a flustered mess. Complements, embarrassment, running around crying– you shouldn't even try to imagine what you looked like.

“I just threw this on, I…” you noticed the way Bucky began fidgeting and shifting his feet, standing awkwardly with his gaze finding the apartment behind you. “I'm sorry! Come in, come in.”

Moving out of the way for Bucky and letting him in, his eyes travel to every corner, eyes wide in awe. Your apartment was more of the ‘rich, new york snob, with high ceilings and large windows.’ but it was still you and Bucky was taking it in.

Bucky hummed, finishing his look over of the front room and turning back to face you. Fuck, he looked so good, from head to toe, his hair was a little messy and you could see gel residue that made you want to pounce and fix it.

And you were so– a mess.

“I'm sorry for my appearance, I've been panicking and I'm so late, I didn't mean to make you late or worry. Gosh, my makeup is probably messy and–”

Bucky found himself right in front of you, tearing you from your rambling as he grabbed your face. Cradling your jaw in his palms as your eyes met his, wide and frantic. “Doll, stop apologizing, please. You'd done nothing wrong, you look perfect. Everything’s okay.'' Bucky spoke slowly, sure of himself and successfully bringing you back down. You breathed and nodded.

“Now, let me help you get dressed.”

You could kiss him right now if you had a slight nerve. Where did your confidence go all of a sudden?

Bucky must have read your mind, slightly. Pressing a kiss to your crown that made you lean into his hands, worries slowly leaving and almost forgetting about that stupid dress and gala.

Grabbing Bucky's hand with a giddy smile, pulling him into your room slash tornado mess of fabrics. And it showed on Bucky's face, a large huff left his mouth as he stopped in your doorway, eyes exaggeratedly wide..

Maybe it was just growing up in the depression era, and also being just straight-up poor, but the amount of fabric on the floor felt infinite and slightly unnecessary to Bucky. He knew you were a science prodigy and had been paid highly for your research and machines, even more, evident after seeing your place. He's never known luxury and pleasure like this.

“Why do you have so many dresses?”

Shrugging, “fashion is like art to me, and so in some ways, i'm just collecting art. I also have a horrible spending problem, but that's a conversation for another time I think.”

“What are the options?” Bucky asked.

“Uhh,” you stumbled around your room and threw a few dressed around. “Versace, very nice. Christian Dior, is expensive, also nice. Dolce and Gabbana…”

Bucky lazily caught the very expensive dresses you threw around like nothing, peaking into your large walk-in closet. As if your personality summed up into a room, colorful and expensive textiles piled up. Bucky was positive the room was usually clean and organized to the tee. You kept yelling out random French or Italian names Bucky had no knowledge of.

“Okay, slow down. I can speak like twenty-two languages but high fashion is not one of them.” Bucky stopped your rambling, pulling up a long, blood-red gown to your body. “What's wrong with this one, this is pretty.”

You looked at Bucky as if he grew three heads, “way too long, I’d trip over myself all night, and if I’m going with you– red and blue? I know your cap's best friend but come on now, Buck.”

“Okay.” Bucky sighed, picking up a black slim dress. Even imagining you in this one made a pink tint rise to his face. “And this one?”

“Makes me look like a bloated ballon,” you said plainly.

Now Bucky was looking at you like an idiot. “Stop it with that, you’re perfect.”

“Gee thanks, but that doesn't help right now.” you snapped, instantly recoiling at your harsh tone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Bucky just smiled, his charming and stupidly sweet smile that makes your knees weak. Wrapping his hands gently around your shoulder and staring intently into your eyes. “Baby, calm down.”

You breathed, tried to at least. The sweet name also made you choke but besides that, Bucky's smooth voice distracted you. “I’m calm.”

“Good.” Bucky nodded, his eyes glancing to the far corner of your closet. A certain light in his eyes showed before his gaze came back to your face. “What about that one?”

Bucky pointed to a certain very special, navy blue dress. Your eyes were wide as you looked between Bucky and the dress. As the silky fabric hung from the hanger, you only took it out of the “vault” to look at it, and didn't even think to try it on. Just wanted to relish in the beauty of it.

“I- no, I can't wear that.” you studdered.

Bucky knew nothing of fashion. What looked good, what was in season, or what was acceptable in the fashion industry. All he knew was the dress looked expensive, matching his and even the thought of you in it made bucky want to fall to his knees. He wasn't leaving this apartment without you in it, to hell any stupid excuse you gave.

“Why not?” he said, stepping carefully over the clothes littered beneath him and picking up the dress. Putting it up to your body, it looked perfect.

“James Buchanan. This was personally gifted to me by Vivienne Westwood. I can’t just wear this.” you shouted.

“I don't know who that is or what that means, put it on.” he shoved the dress in your hands.

“Buck-”

“Please, for me?”

Blinking like an idiot in front of Bucky. You couldn't protest anymore, Bucky was more stubborn than you, and you soon realized he probably wasn’t gonna let you out door without at least seeing it on. You held the dress in your hands, running the fabric under your fingers, huffing dramatically. “Fine, I’ll be in the bathroom, wait here”

Your steps cascaded as you left for the bathroom connected to your room, Bucky awkwardly settled himself on the edge of your bed. Beginning to fidget with the hem of his coat jacket as he waited nervously.

Meanwhile, cursing to yourself in the bathroom as you slipped the dress on it. This dress was gravely special to you, because on your off times and not nose deep in the labs, you'd spent them at fashion events and runways.

Meeting Vivienne was one of the best memories of your life, (next to offering Bucky a new arm) and you'd almost dropped dead when a box decked with the familiar orb logo showed up in front of your door. You had only worn it twice - in your bedroom, too scared and almost feeling unworthy to wear such a thing.

Bucky Barnes sure was special for getting you to go to a stark party with it on.

grunts came from the bathroom as you struggled to slip it on, the zipper reached your middle back and out of reach. Slowly unlocking the door, Bucky's head whipped in your direction. And god, suddenly he couldn't breathe. Even as you clumsily shimmied toward Bucky with your arms awkwardly holding the back up, he thought you looked like the most beautiful girl in the world.

“Buck, can you? The zipper, please?” you turned around and showed the back. Bucky couldn't move for a moment, utterly stunned by your presence. You whispered his name again to catch his attention. Then he stumbled to his feet like a flustered 15-year-old boy. He sure felt like one.

“Yeah. sorry, doll. I got it,” he spoke. You tensed up when Bucky's warm hands touched your bare shoulders. His hands held you like you were glass, slowly zipping the dress up fully. But you didn’t turn around yet, facing him now just felt wrong. You could feel Bucky's breath as his hand trailed across your shoulder blades, Bucky felt goosebumps slowly rise to your skin, and all self-control was gone.

Bucky leaned down and placed a small peck on the crook of your neck, he didn’t even know what he was doing but you practically shuddered under his touch. A chill shot through you and your knees went weak. And then another kiss, and another, and another. His lips slowly made their way up your neck, and one of his hands rested on your waist now.

“You're breathtaking, doll. I’m serious, I've never seen someone so beautiful in my life.” bucky whispered close to your ear, hot breath on your skin that made you ache. His featherlike kisses made you ache, he was so gentle and careful like you’d break under him. You ached for more.

Ever so swiftly, you turned to face bucky. Your hands latched to his neck, “kiss me like you mean it, Barnes.”

In a single instant, bucky’s lips crashed to yours as if his life depended on it, like he couldn't breathe without you. Your back arches into him as he pulled you closer, tongue swiping across his as he let you in. bodies pressed against each other, clinging, aching. More, more, more.

“Bucky…” you wined against his lips, and Bucky quickly pondered if this gala was even worth it. You both were already late, anyways. He hummed sweetly against your lips, your knees hit the edge of your bed and with a surprised yelp, bucky fell atop you on the bed. Kiss unbroken, but you smiled and felt bucky smile into the kiss, following him.

Your hand tangled in his long hair, successfully messing it up farther than it was before. Buckys pulled away just enough to look you in the eye, adoration you found and almost melted. The ends of bucky’s lip quirked up into his infamous dorky smile you only saw on a few special occasions.

“We’re already late…” he whispers so softly.

“Yeah.” you can only mutter out in a daze, falling surrender under bucky’s gaze. Your fingers still tangled in bucky’s brunette hair, getting your nails deep and scratching at his scalp. A quiet pleasured groan escapes his lips. “I messed up your hair.”

Bucky chuckles, “it's okay.”

Tugging your lower lip under your teeth, smiling widely as an idea pops into your head. “Get up, come with me.”

you usher him off you, playfully grabbing at his hands and stumbling over your clothes with bucky following close behind you. leading him into your bathroom and in front of the mirror.

Bucky stood much taller than you, especially without heels. Bucky chuckled as you dragged a small step stool and stepped up behind him. He speaks through a grin, “What are you doing?”

“I messed up your hair, but to be honest– whoever did it added too much gel so I’m going to fix it,” you spoke, grabbing a brush and spray bottle and beginning to spritz his hair in the water. Bucky seemed more than content with your hands raking through his locks.

First parting his hair in half, pulling the top half into a bun, and let the rest fall down. Cocking your head at the sight, he always looked good but not this hairstyle for a gala. Bucky's face crunched up too and you took that as a big no. you just left the hair to fall down naturally, being so used to the regular middle part, you thought to grab the comb and give him a side part.

“What do you think about this?” you asked, brushing the hair out.

Bucky hummed, “Different.”

“Bad or…?”

“No.” bucky smiles, then you realize he's not even looking at himself, his eyes are trained on you. “I like it.”

Leaning down to kiss the top of his head, bucky grew flustered. Jumping down from your stool and kicking it away. Grumbling under your breath, “I gotta get my height back.”

And with that, you grabbed a pair of black heels and before you could go to slip them on, bucky swiped them from your hands and wordlessly knelt down and grabbed your leg. Halfway convinced you were dead and gone to heaven before going along and letting bucky slip the heels on your feet.

Bucky’s eyes gaze slowly up your legs, and body and found your eyes. Your breath hitched as his hand begin to slowly travel up your calve, thigh, and waist. Not taking a moment before his lips were on yours again, the kiss was sweeter now, so sweet you felt your teeth rot.

But then it grew wild, and needy when bucky’s hand squeezed at your waist and thigh. Pushing yourself against his body like a puzzle piece, kissing him was so natural to you, like a motion you were meant to do your whole life. Nipping at Bucky’s lower lip, earning a hungry groan from the soldier.

Both his hands found themselves on your thighs, catching you by surprise when he lifts you up to sit on the counter. Giving himself a better angle to push you flush against him, feeling pleasure shoot through you when your hips met his waist. you knew where this would go if you even got a taste though– and you both were already incredibly late. At this point, you wondered if you'd even go.

“Bucky, I'm serious, we gotta go…” you wine against his lips, Bucky chased after your touch but you pulled away.

A dramatic groan escaped his lips, his head falling in the nook of your shoulder. “I know, I know.”

You hopped off the counter, half mindedly grabbing a Vivienne Westwood pearls to finish the look, because god forbid your outfit to be boring. Bucky watched you with adoration as you both walked hand in hand, leading him out of your apartment. One last glance was spared at your mess of a bedroom, you sighed and told yourself you'd clean it later.

Bucky called over a cab and you two headed off to the Stark tower. One quiet and comfortable ride, bucky’s hand stayed placed on your thigh, your head fell onto his shoulder as your gaze landed on the passing new york streets. A small hum escaped your lips, Bucky squeezed your thigh gently and soon enough you were in front of the huge and practically sparkling tower.

The press and flashing paparazzi that found word of the gala yet were not invited littered around, most were gone as you were at least 40 minutes late. Sometimes you forgot these people you worked with were essentially celebrities in the public eye, they had PR teams and brand deals. You'd see tabloids with iron man's names or magazines in the streets talking about Captain America’s new love interest.

And apparently, Bucky Barnes was no different.

“Bucky Barnes! Winter soldier sir! Is this your new girlfriend!” a young man shouted from behind the barricade, a couple of flashes of cameras. You’d expect your pictures on some website with some arbitrary statement about you and Bucky soon. Even so, this man seemed much nicer than the overbearing fangirls of Steve or scum of the earth reporters yelling bottom-line misogynist comments towards Natasha or Wanda.

Bucky kept his head down as you wrapped an arm around his shoulder and forearm, he wasn't one for crowds or simply people who only knew him for what the media portrayed him as.

“You’re okay.” was all you spoke into his ear as you made your way into the doors, being hit with the cool air of the building. Your arms loosened around Bucky now you were in the somewhat safe zone, but his arm snaked around your waist as you walked into the more crowded area.

“Holy shit, I don't know which one to call the arm candy.” Sam's voice yelled from behind you. Being met with Sam in a nice black suit, along with Wanda in a sparkly red dress and Clint in an all-black suit as well.

Everyone looked amazing, it was rare to see them out of kevlar and super suits, or raggedy clothes thrown on after feeling like shit from tough missions.

“And Sam, wow! You clean up nice!” you complimented him.

“You look good, man.” Bucky said, a small smile on his face.

“You too, buck,” Sam said, nodding towards his new hair. “I like the hair, suits you, I still think you need to shave your beard.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, along with a small quirk at the end of his lips as he playfully smacked his shoulder. “Whatever.”

The small chatter continued, a glimpse of the inside of the loud ballroom as guests came and went. Bucky seemed to warm up to everyone more, a smile gracing his lips that made him look at least two decades younger. Soon a smooth and low voice was heard behind you.

“Sometimes I wonder if you are in the wrong profession, you know?” Natasha said, her vibrant red hair pinned up and wearing a beautiful black, slim dress, with two small cutouts on by her waist. You couldn't help but think it was a nod to looking more like the iconic widow hourglass she wore on her belt.

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly, “really?”

“Look at yourself, model material in front of me.” Natasha's eyes scanned up your body, a small smirk on your lips.

“You should thank Bucky.” you smiled, eyes glancing towards the man as he conversed with Sam and Steve. He looked genuinely happy and comfortable, a part of you swelled with pride for him. “He convinced me to wear this.”

“And thank god for that.” she laughed. “Also, I think Tony and Bruce were looking for you.”

It took just that for you to excuse yourself from the group, and give Bucky a comforting squeeze as your heels echoed and left the small gathering of avengers. Going to search for Bruce and Tony, apparently to speak about some new projects and talk with some foreign scientists looking for collaborations.

Meanwhile, the cap quartet was left sitting lazily around hallway couches and successfully avoiding the overbearing and bluntly disrespectful politicians and reporters, fans even. Natasha snuck close to Bucky and next to Sam as they spoke about nonsense or missions.

“You make her feel beautiful?” Natasha spoke, nursing a drink in her hands despite the fact she had only taken 2 sips in the past 20 minutes.

Bucky's mind went back to the bathroom counter or the edge of your bed, the way his heart raced and cock twitched as his hands roamed your body. when your breath hitched as he bent down before you and trailed his palms up your legs, and pressed himself against your core. Bucky hummed, trying to cover up the pink-tinted ears at the more than erotic memory,

“yeah, yeah, I think so.”

******

“I’m really glad this collaboration is going through, I’m hoping we get some really good things done soon.” Miles franco's upbeat and excited voice spoke.

your heels echoed in the hallway, just leaving a semi-empty meeting room with Bruce, Tony, and Pepper. Miles was a scientist and developer with new ideas and resources for some big projects Tony’s been wanting to start. He spoke kindly and had confidence in him that made you feel secure in working with him.

After a text from Bucky that the group had gone into the ballroom to actually do what they were there for, you excused yourself while Bruce continued to look over the contract you’d be signing in a few days, and Tony and Pepper went off to… you’d rather not think about it. Miles kindly offered to walk you back, as long as you introduced him to Natasha. with a smile and laugh you began to walk back.

“I am too, I’m also just glad to be back and working in one place.” you laughed, referring to your last few years of constant traveling, researching, and volunteering. meeting as many high-level and reputable people to kick start a better career. “Tony’s been very good to be over the past month.”

Miles clicked this tongue, making a tsk sound as his steps faltered. He wore a smirk that didn’t match his friendly smile from earlier, like something hidden beneath his conventionally attractive smile and dimples. Once you stopped, he began to close the gap between the two of you, shaking his head.

“You know, you don’t need Tony.” Miles' voice sounded coy, cocky. As if he knew better and had to teach you some lesson.

“Pardon?”

he chuckled, “you're smart, sexy, young, and know your way around a room. in a few years you’ll be running laps around both Tony and Bruce, they’re holding you back by making you work under them.”

you blinked, almost flinching from the sudden change in tone. “they aren’t making me do anything, and we’re partners if anything”

Miles flashed his smile again as he stepped closer and tried to reach for your hand, you smoothly avoided his touch, but he was practically in your face now.

“you know what I mean.” he sighed, “you could be so much more, making millions and having anything your heart desires. make a deal with me, I can give that to you.”

“I’m content with what I have now, thank you. and I’m definitely not making a deal with someone who insults my colleagues— my friends.” you snarled, trying to remain as professional as you could. not wanting to drag out any hostility from the man before you, the hallway was far away from the main ballroom and empty.

you were mentally done with the conversation, wanting away from Mile’s hot breath and uncomfortable stares (you were sure he was staring down your dress as he crept closer). Turning your back on the man, steps speeding up from before as you fumed with anger.

a low chuckle was heard from behind you, making your skin crawl. “fuck, that man really has you dickmatized or something.”

okay, what the fuck?

stopping dead in your tracks, gasping under your breath as your whipped your head back around. face scrunched in anger— stop, you have to tell yourself. He’s trying to make you mad, calm down.

“Excuse me, what now?”

“Barnes. You don’t think everyone knows by now? I’m positive he’s the only reason you're still at that shitty compound, working with those super freaks. you could be so much more if it wasn’t for him.”

Breathe in— breathe out.

trying to settle the rage settling low in your stomach, slowly rising to your chest. trying not to make your voice shake as you responded. “Bucky has absolutely nothing to do with my job.”

another low laugh. God, this man was fucking evil.

“Come on! you’re fucking amazing and potentially one of the smartest people on earth, that guy doesn’t deserve you! I’m sure with the amount of brain damage the commies gave him he can’t even count to 10.” Miles frustrated, closing the gap once again, you felt stuck in place. “face it, he’s a fucking nut who only knows how to handle a gun like a mad man, a ticking time bomb.”

your fist clenched until your nails dug into your palm, blood trickling down your hand. Your breath was unsteady with rage, but you couldn’t move— you felt frozen under his disgusting gaze. Mile's hand moved to grab at your waist and pull you close, you jerked back.

heavy exhales, your voice raised slightly - keep it professional - you must have been shaking. “don’t insult my- my boyfriend’s intelligence, you are not even an ounce of the man he is. and do not even try to touch me again.”

Miles rolled his eyes, trying to step closer again if possible. “come one, don’t be like that babe-“

“and consider your part in this collaboration gone. you will not be making any more money or deals with Stark industries from now on.” your voice settled, you sounded stern and strong. holding your head high as you held back from screaming in his face.

Mile’s features dropped, the cocky smirk faded and he looked weak – desperate and small. “you don’t have the right to do that.”

now, you got in his face. “yes, Miles. yes, I do.”

he genuinely looked scared and pride warmed in your chest. getting one last ‘fuck you’ in as you very harshly slammed your heel on his foot. he groaned and curled into himself, you hoped to draw blood there. you were wearing stilettos.

picking up your pace as you fled from him, head still held high but you felt shaky. this wasn’t the first time you’d experienced sexual harassment or insults and you were sure it wasn’t going to be the last but the meer mention of Bucky shook you, the insult towards Bruce and Tony. the way he felt like he held something over your head and felt obligated to touch you. your skin crawled.

you were left in a daze, finding your way back to the ballroom, warm lights and loud chatter everywhere. instantly hiding from the crowded areas and searching for Bucky. you edged with anxiety.

Breathe in— breathe out.

Bucky stood near the bar, nursing a drink that probably had zero effect on him. you sped over to him and pushed out a smile.

“Buck! sorry, I got caught up!” you spoke as you approached him. Bucky’s eyes lit up lighter than any light in the room, making you feel warm and comfortable again.

“Hey, doll.” Bucky smiled, reaching to wrap his arm around your waist. “don’t worry, how’d the talk go?”

you opened your mouth to speak of the contract and project, finding a way to leave the hallway interaction out. but Bucky interrupted you abruptly, worry fell onto his features as he brought your hand into his.

“Sweetheart, what is this? are you okay?” he looked down at your bleeding palm, small cuts the size of your nails and the tips and cuticle of your nails stained red.

“It's nothing.” you shrugged it off and slipped your hand away from his grasp.

“No.” Bucky spoke, stern and clear. Grabbing your hand back and running his fingers along the small cuts. “It's not. What happened?”

You sighed heavily, avoiding eye contact but Bucky knew much better. He grabbed your chin between his thumb and index, your eyes still gazed down.

“Baby.” bucky whispered.

“Seriously, Bucky, it's nothing. I just had a frustrating person in that meeting, didn’t even realize I was doing it.” you rattled, grasping for an excuse without having to lie to the man.

Bucky sighed, pulling you away to the side with no word. Wetting an entirely too expensive Stark napkin with alcohol and wiping at your plams, stinging slightly. Bucky worked so gently, his hand wrapped around your forearm made you feel warm.

“I've seen you handle Stark at his lowest moment, bark off assholes like it's nothing. It is obviously not nothing, doll”

You wouldn't win this, not with the most stubborn man in front of you. You watched as he smoothed his thumb over your hand.

“this guy…” Bucky listened intently, his full attention on you and adoration yet, worry dripped from his features. “The collaborator from France, he said some rude things about Tony, Bruce and, uh… you. He tried to sweet talk me into leaving Stark industrie. Kept calling me all these objectifying names, he’s a dick I can’t believe I was excited about this project.”

Bucky's back straightened and his jaw clenched. He looked around the room, almost to find the man responsible. It was Bucky's turn to clench his first, knuckles turning white.

“and you?” was all Bucky could manage to mumbled out.

“I told him off and smashed his foot with my heel, and I'm making Tony diminish the contract.” you replied.

“Good.” Bucky nodded, snarling under his breath. “deserves a lot more than that.”

“I’m okay, seriously. just shook me up for a moment.” you reassure the man, because there was no way he was letting go of this. you took Bucky’s hand and dragged him towards the dance floor. “now dance with me, sergeant.”

the bright, boyish smile reluctantly returned to his face. hands almost instantly falling at your side and pulling you flush again this chest. you chased into the touch, grinning.

And that's how you and Bucky spent the next few moments, soft live music played in the background, other couples and friends swayed around you two. Bucky would quietly hum along to the music sometimes, your head rested on his chest and you'd feel the soft vibrations from him. You'd never understand how safe and secure you could feel in someone's arms, the idea sounded so out of reach and impossible only a few months ago. God knows you had never even thought to make time to explore that idea, but here it was, coming to you without even realizing it. It felt so natural now.

Bucky's hand smoothed on the exposed skin on your back and arms, he breathed freely, not feeling tense or on edge like most of his life. And for the first time since the alps, Bucky felt soft inside– in a sense. Bucky didn't feel dangerous, like he would break the person that he held in his arms. He didn't feel like an animal, a machine, or a murderer. Bucky smelled the lavender conditioner in your hair, the expensive smelling perfume on you. Bucky felt like a man in love with a girl, he is one.

Oh god, Bucky Barnes is in love. A feeling he has not felt since maybe 1942? when he took that red headed girl to coney island, but even that could never compare to the feelings swelling in his chest now. Being in love was scary– so, so scary. But with you warm and smiling in his arms, it was hard for Bucky to think of anything else.

“Bucky.” you wined, Bucky pulled away just enough to see your face. Your eyelids flutter in tiredness, a haze filtered across your eyeballs. “Are you obliged to stay for anything?”

“Not that I know of, doll. You want to get out of here?” Bucky spoke so smoothly, so flirtatious. He felt younger and more confident.

You nodded lazily, and Bucky looked around to see the crowd had begun to disperse. People hung round and talked, most were slightly tipsy. The craze of politicians and reporters settled. Bucky's hand smooth from your shoulder to your hand, ready to pull you into him and guide you home.

But his hands grazed the small cuts on your palm, he tensed. Gladly, you didn't notice. Bucky had one more thing to do before he left.

“Sweetheart, I have to go ask Steve something real quick, meet me in the lobby and i'll take you home?”

“Everything okay?” you asked, Bucky hoped you didn’t pick up on his… scheming. Flashing a smile, “of course, I’ll be quick.”

Nodding again, your heels echoed away from Bucky, the dress train cascading behind you beautifully. You reminded Bucky of some sort of angel.

A slight scowl fell upon Bucky's face as his blue eyes searched the ground, he found Steve with ease. Bucky had some sort of sixth sense when it came to finding Steve, ever since they were just two pre-teens getting lost in the city, Bucky was always the one having to search and rescue him from large crowds. The added height now just made it even easier.

His steps were heavy and with purpose, finally approaching the blonde. Standing close to Sam, Bruce and Clint. Good.

“Hey, buck. Where did your girl go?” Steve asked, all eyes now on him as he joined the small circle. Bucky's ears tinted pink towards the mention of you being his - he hoped you'd want that.

“We’re about to leave, she's getting tired.” Bucky replied. Steve opened his mouth to respond, small talk maybe, or a short goodbye and a pat on the back but Bucky was already onto other things.

Bucky turned to the timid scientist, getting Bruce’s attention. “Hey, banner! Who was the guy that y/n was with earlier? Looked french.”

Somewhat of a rhetorical question, Bucky kinda knew of the guy, he knew enough from what he heard from you. Steve was watching from the side with realization soon growing on his face, but he didn't speak a word.

“He's a scientist that Tony and I were wanting to collaborate with, I think he is still here if you're looking for him. At the bar I think.” Bruce replied.

“Great, thank you.” Bucky forced out a half hearted smile and began to turn away from the group. Steve grabbed onto his shoulder before he could heave.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked, he knew Bucky better than most and recognized the off look in his eyes. Steve grew concerned.

Bucky looked at the others in the group, pulling Steve close and hoped none of them picked up the words he whispered into his ear. “Some punk tried to come onto her like a creeper, shook her up real good, talked badly about the team and kept trying to come onto her.”

“And you plan to do what?” Steve knew the answer to his own question.

Bucky gave Steve a knowing look. Bucky was clearly growing annoyed and Steve could tell when he started talking like it was the 40s again, strong Brooklyn accent coming out with it. “Gonna teach the fella’ a lesson.”

Steve exhaled, slowly letting go of Bucky's shoulder. his eyes fell onto the bar as he found the man. steve didn’t object.

It’ll be okay if he is a little late, right?

tag list: @matchat3a @sebsgirl71479 @heavenswrld @ivywasmaroon @nt-multi-fandom @michaefuckinglangdon @fand0mskullfa1ry @lilliarussell @athenabarnes @almosttoopizza @genlovesdcb @i-l-y-3000 @timotheesrealgf

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #marvel #marvel fanfiction #bucky fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky imagine #fic rec #fic update

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atlas-likes-writing · 9 months

Text

Death in the Family

Characters: Jason Todd/Red Hood, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Bruce Wayne/Batman

Summary: The world is falling. Dick and Jason are trapped under the rubble of a now-destroyed building. It takes everything to escape.

Word Count: 2325

Tags: Angst, whump, gore, graphic depictions of injuries, death/deaths in the past, swearing (but nobody actually gives a shit about that), mentions of explosions, angst with a sad ending.

Authors Note: Is the pacing goofy? Yes. Do I care? No. I will be paying in advance for everyone's therapy bills regardless. This fic was inspired by the movie "Fall" on Netflix! Let me know if you want me to tag you in my fics!

Masterlist | AO3

@qcomicsy

It’s as if the world is falling. Everything feels so heavy. An uncomfortable weight lies on his chest. Moving doesn’t help. It instead makes it worse. A disgusting feeling of wetness coats the side of his face. Is it sweat? Tears? He can’t tell. His body is heavy. His eyelids are heavy. Maybe he should just stay there. Slip into sleep again. Maybe then that weighted feeling will leave him.

“-Bird!”

A tiny voice sounds out in the dim. That’s peculiar. What’s the importance of a bird right now? He’ll figure that out when he wakes up. He’s too tired to care right now.

“Jaybird!”

The voice is clearer now. Louder, but not to the point of deafness. Loud in the way your parents are loud when they yell at you from downstairs to tell you that dinner is ready. It’s distant. Muffled. Like someone has put earmuffs over his ears.

“For goodness' sake, Jason! Wake up!”

That’s what got his eyes to snap open. When he does, he’s met with almost pitch black. His arms are pinned to the ground beneath him by sharp stones. No, not stones. Boulders. His left arm has clearly snapped at the force of them falling on top of him. The dull throb that emanates from the now useless limb is soon to crescendo, but for now that’s all it is; a dull throb. It’s now Jason realises that the uncomfortable weight isn’t just the feeling of impending doom as he originally thought. It’s a slab of concrete. Thick and jagged and it’s digging into his torso, surely leaving bruises in its wake.

He begins to panic when the dust begins to settle on his eyelids. How long had he been down there? He shifts around, attempting to move any of the debris that fell on him. Immediate regret shoots through him; as does a sharp, blinding pain in his leg. He cries out. The sound of it is gravelly and clogged as if something is stuck in his esophagus. The dust around him coats everything. His skin, his helmet (which he now realises is broken), his tattered costume; everything. It sticks to the interior of his throat and makes speech scratchy.

“Nightwing?” he calls out to the darkness, “What happened? Dick? Are you there?”

“I’m here, Jason. Had me worried for a second there,” the voice of his brother breaks through the cracks between the rock. Relief floods through the younger man.

“Oh, thank the gods,” he responds. “Where are you? Are you injured?”

“I’m fine, Jaybird. Only a couple scratches. You’re the priority right now. Keep talking to me, okay? Do you remember what happened?”

What did happen? The vigilante ignores the pounding in his head in an attempt to recall the happenings of the past thirty minutes. His mind is filled with the images of a battle with the Joker. Jason broke down at the sight of him, and his distraction resulted in the C4 at the base of the high-rise building to explode, falling directly on top of them as a result. The two men are lucky to be alive. It’s a miracle Dick scraped away with only a few bruises and scratches.

Yeah, Dick is apparently far luckier than Jason right now.

“The fucking Joker,” Jason spits. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Let’s focus on getting out of here first, eh? We don’t know if the rest of the family are trapped under here as well.”

Dick’s defusal works. Jason breathes in deeply to calm his nerves. His eyesight begins to adjust to the darkness, and he can make out his surroundings more clearly.

“Right. Yeah. You’re right. Where are you? I can’t see you anywhere.”

“I’m next to you, Jason. Through this gap in the rock,” Dick replies. At his words, Jason tilts his head as far as his predicament will allow him (which, predictably, is not very far), and the eyes of his brother shine out in the dim between two large rocks that separate them. They’re bright and unmoving and make Jason relax a little. They always seem to have that effect. The constancy of them always ooze safety and competence no matter the situation. He’s Nightwing. His gaze can make even Batman feel safe. All it takes is a meaningful look and Jason feels calmer almost immediately.

The younger man moves his head back to its original position, looking up at the debris instead of to the side. He closes his eyes, before throwing his head back onto the ground in frustration.

“Fuck! This is my fault,�� he exclaims.

“We both know that’s bullshit,” Dick replies. Jason fights the urge to tut at him mockingly for his colourful language. “That man beat you to half-to-death and then caused the building you were in to explode. Nobody is blaming you for acting the way you did. This is not your fault. Stop blaming yoursel-"

“People could be dead, Dick.”

That shuts him up.

The two brothers lie there in silence for a while before Jason speaks up again.

“We should be dead, Dick.”

“How come?”

“What are the chances of us making it this far? You’ve been a vigilante since you were what, eight? You’ve been in the game almost as long as Bruce, and yet here you are.”

Dick remains quiet. Jason continues.

“Me? I did die. Quite horrifically, might I add. Yet here I am.” Jason opens his eyes and turns back to his brother. “Why am I not dead?”

“Because it wasn’t your time.”

“Then when is my time?”

“Not right now, if you’re wondering.”

Now it’s Jason’s turn to be silent.

“You have your whole life ahead of you,” Dick states, “Now is not the time for you to talk like you want to give up.”

“I’m legally classified as dead, Dick. There is a gravestone in the gardens of the Manor with my name on it. I’m already halfway there.”

“And? You’re alive right now, right? Is that not excuse to keep on living?”

Jason sighs, a heavy exhaustion settling like bricks on his body.

“Fuck you, man.”

“What for?”

“For being right.”

Dick’s eyes remain trained him, steady and still. It’s almost unsettling. The older of the two speaks up, this time with humour in his voice.

“I’m always right,” he says, a smile evident in his voice despite the fact that Jason can’t see the lower portion of his face. The younger brother chuckles, the sound scratchy and harsh.

“Now that’s bullshit.”

The silence that follows is comfortable despite their surroundings. Jason closes his eyes, a faint smile on his face. He could fall asleep here and be perfectly content with it. A heaviness presses on his eyes as he begins to drift off.

“Jason! Don’t close your eyes.” For the second time in the span of about five minutes, his eyes snap open in shock. They flutter for a moment, and he lets out a disgruntled groan.

“I’m tired, Dick. I want to sleep.”

“I know you want to, kiddo, but I need you to stay awake for me, okay? Bruce will never forgive himself if you end up dead.”

Jason scoffs. “Fuck that. He’d get over it as soon as the funeral’s over.”

“Yeah right,” Dick replies. “You didn’t see how he treated himself after the first time. He nearly destroyed himself.”

“Let’s put the emphasis on nearly, hm?” he spits into the darkness. “If I was in his position, I would have torn the world apart if he had-”

“Bruce isn’t you, Jason!”

“What. And you are, Golden Boy?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“What did you mean then?”

An audible sigh is heard from the other side of the boulder but the older of the two brothers otherwise stays silent. Jason closes his eyes again, this time out of regret.

“Shit. Look, Dick. I’m sorry. We shouldn’t waste oxygen arguing.”

“You’re right. We shouldn’t. I’m sorry.”

It’s at this point when an audible drip of something falls onto the rocks behind Jason’s head. His eyebrows knit into a frown at the sound. What was that? Is there water above them? If so, maybe they could use it to find which way is up so they can escape.

Another drip, this time closer to his head. He can’t see the droplet of whatever it is falling from the ceiling of debris. Is it coming from the side? He turns his head away from Dick to look for the source. In the dim, he can make out a puddle of something next to his head. He squints his eyes, and he sees that it’s red.

Oh.

Red. Crimson. It’s blood.

His blood.

He’s bleeding.

The thing coating the side of his face isn’t sweat or tears. It’s his own blood.

Oh God.

Was the space he was trapped in always this claustrophobic?

Was this smell of death always present?

His chest is tight. His throat is closing. The pounding in his head heightens.

A short way above him, he can hear his family. They’re shouting for him. They’re shifting rubble and debris. They’re trying to reach him. They’re shouting for Dick. Dick is shouting back.

They can’t hear him.

“Jason! Shout! Let them hear you!”

He does so. He shouts. He screams. He yells. He yells for Bruce. He yells for Tim. He yells for Steph. He yells for anyone who might be there to save him.

“Red Hood? Is that you?” He hears his father’s voice.

“Bruce!” Jason replies. “It’s me! Help me!”

“Keep shouting, Jaylad. We’ll find you!”

He continues to yell for his father. His voice quickly growing hoarse from the dust that sticks to his windpipe. Beside him, Dick urges him to keep going.

“Keep shouting, Jason! Keep it up! Don’t stop!”

It’s only when light spears through the rubble and debris is pulled away that he stops. Tears stream down his face as the now unsettled dust falls on top of him all at once. He squints as his eyes try to adjust to the newfound light. The boulders pinning his broken arms are lifted and the slab of concrete is removed from his ribs. Strong arms lift him up and out of the pit he was in moments before. Bruce was always able to lift him as if he weighed nothing. Now is apparently no different. He’s picked up and cradled by his father like a child as he’s taken away from the hell that trapped him. He hunts for his family amongst the destroyed remains of the building that fell on top of them. He sees Tim. Damian. Steph. Duke. Cass. Carrie. Harper. Kate. Everyone. They’re all there. They’re all safe.

But they’re missing someone.

“Dick! You left Dick!” Jason’s voice cracks. Bruce gazes at Jason, the eyes behind the cowl seem sad. Defeated. It’s an unnatural look on the man. The Dark Knight shouldn’t look defeated.

“I’m sorry Jason,” Bruce soothes. He sounds broken. Why does he sound broken?

“What? No. Can you not find him? He’s there! He was right next to me!” he exclaims. Jason looks over Bruce’s shoulder to see his family gathered around the hole he was pulled out of. Steph is crying into Tim’s shoulder, his hand rubbing her back in an attempt to calm her. Damian is on one knee; the blade of his katana is stuck into the ground in front of him with his head lowered as if in prayer. Kate puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. What are they doing? Can they not find him? Jason feels like a child. Helpless and ignored.

As he continues watching, he sees a flash of black and red fly into the pit. There’s silence for a moment before he sees Connor Kent bring the limp body of Dick Grayson out of the rubble. From where Jason is, he can see the teary eyes of the Kryptonian and his heart sinks to the ground.

He doesn’t want to look down from Connor’s face. He doesn’t want to see the truth of it. He saw Dick in the rubble moments ago. He was alive! He was well! He only had a few scratches. He said it himself! He-

“-was dead on impact.”

His eyes are open, but the usual shine is gone. They’re glassy and dead.

What?

No.

That-

That doesn’t make sense.

“But he was talking to me! I heard him speak!” Jason exclaims. Bruce shakes his head.

“No, you didn’t,” he states, voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“You’re gaslighting me? Really?”

“He didn’t talk to you, Jason. I promise you that.”

Jason looks down from his brother’s eyes, unbelieving. He knows what he heard. Dick was speaking to him as clearly as his father does now. He was speaking right into his ear, for heaven’s sake! He looks at Dick’s mouth as if to disprove his father’s words.

Or rather, where Dick’s mouth should be.

His jaw is gone. Probably smashed by a rock on impact. The hinge hangs uselessly on Connor’s arm. It’s grim and ugly. Jason can’t look away despite himself.

“They say that,” Bruce begins, “sometimes, when someone is in a life-or-death scenario, their brain hallucinates a loved one as an act of self-preservation.”

The puzzle pieces are locking into place. The fact that Dick’s voice is what woke him up in the first place is making sense now. The fact that Jason never saw the lower portion of his face is making sense now. The smell of death wasn't coming from him. The unblinking, still eyes wasn’t a knowing gaze, he was fucking dead and Jason didn’t realise. He was stuck in a hole with the corpse of his older brother, and he didn't fucking know. But Dick saved Bruce from having two dead sons that day.

Even in death, Dick Grayson is always there to keep you safe. I suppose he is luckier in that respect.

Should I do a part 2 to this?

Reblogs appreciated!

Masterlist

#dc comics #batfamily #gotham #batman #dc #red hood #jason todd #bruce wayne #dick grayson #nightwing #angst #whump #angst with a sad ending

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all-mirth-no-matter · 2 years

Text

Time After Time | Chapter Seven

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: Will the Delphi family have the answers you seek?

Warning: language, ethnic slur, supernatural (kind of)

ao3 Link | Catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 7: Vagabond

Go and see the sorcerer, look into a ball. You might find the answer written on the wall. The left one was a dancer, can you see the answer, oh? Put her in a mansion on top of the hill.

Please, don’t make her do things against her will. I found something special, I don’t know why. Looking into her pretty little eye, ‘cause I’ll tell you everything about being free.

— Vagabond, Wolfmother

The cool air hit your skin as your lungs took in a deep breath, a familiar mix of sea salt and flowers. The wind whipped your long hair from your shoulders, lifting through your chiton dress and twirling the fabric around you.

You leaned against the railing of the garden’s terrace and took in the view. From your height, you could see the ocean from every angle beyond the mass of the city beneath you - one of the perks of living on a peninsula, you always thought.

Your father and brothers would be quick to tell you the perks from a combative standpoint, but that was for them to worry about.

The sky grew golden with the descent of the sun and a warm feeling crept threw your chest at the anticipation of what you knew would follow.

“Please,” you whispered your prayer, closing your eyes as the light in the sky began to dim.

“Your Highness.”

The deep voice felt like a warm blanket as it wrapped around your shoulders. You turned to find the object of your selfish prayers as he stood before you.

The palace gardener. The young man with the golden eyes and the sharp cheek bones. Who you met every day at sunset as he tended to your favorite place in the whole world. The place where you’d talked for hours, days on end since he started working at the palace.

Where, as of a moment ago when your prayers betrayed your desires, you realized you’d fallen in love.

“I’m so sorry,” you felt the tears begin to well just behind your eyes, swallowing thick to try and collect yourself. “I made a vow, a promise, a fealty to another.”

“A prince?” he asked politely.

You narrowed your eyes at his reaction, expecting him to be hurt, upset, even angry. But in the light of the moon, you caught the uptick of his cheek as a smirk threatened at his full lips.

“A god,” you replied, your heartbeat increasing as he took a step toward you. “I’ve promised myself to priesthood. I didn’t expect you —“

His smirk turned into a smile as he rose his hand to your face. “My love, you prayed for me, to me.”

Your eyes searched the meaning behind his words. The gold of his irises began to shine, then burn.

“My Lord,” you whispered, realization washing over you like a vase of cold water.

“What I didn’t expect,” your gardener — your god — went on as his thumb gently ran across your cheek down to your chin before catching your bottom lip, “was to fall for you.”

The wind was stolen from your lungs at his admission before he pulled your face up to meet your lips with his own. The kiss made your body feel like it was being consumed by the sun and you poured your own love into the unspoken act.

You pulled away, eyes wet with tears and cheeks tight with a smile, your body consumed with love as you met his eyes again.

You gasped — where you’d expected to see the warm golden eyes of the man you loved, instead they were ice blue. Cold, angry, hardened of any care you thought was there.

A terrible, horrible feeling began to consume your body as you felt unable to breathe. The man before you grabbed at your arms, this time with hatred and malice.

“I curse you, Cassandra! From this day forward—”

“Y/N!”

You jerked awake, the feeling of two hands holding you caused you to panic, the feeling of impending doom still lingering over you as your heart rate beat out of control. Pushing away, you tried to fight against the hold.

“Y/N, look at me!”

You stilled long enough for the hands to turn you toward the body attached to them, your eyes finally clearing as they met another.

Cold, ice blue eyes.

You gasped in fright, your brain fog still telling you you were in danger, the face of the man from your dreams come to life before you. But the eyes were different than they’d been before. Softer, kinder, worried.

“Fuck, Y/N, it’s me! It’s Tommy — look at me!”

“Tommy,” you repeated, your breathing finally slowing as the fog began to lift.

The eyes that you’d once been afraid of brought you comfort as you searched them. Tommy seemed to recognize that you were coming back, because he breathed out a sigh of relief as he lifted his hand to your cheek. You flinched for a moment, but at the warmth of his palm you leaned your head into it, your breath finally slowing enough for you to look around.

You were still in the seat of the wagon, which was currently stopped as the horse in front of you bent forward to eat.

“You fell asleep,” Tommy spoke again softly as he kept watching you, as if knowing that you were still working your way back to him. “You were dreaming.”

Dreaming. It was a dream.

As if a dam had broken, you gasped for air as the tears began to fall. It was a strangled cry, one of defeat and emotional pain. The dream, the loss, the confusion of being in this place, of being ripped from everything and having everything ripped from you.

“Hey, hey,” you heard Tommy say softly before you felt arms wrap around you and pull you into him. You gripped his shirt in an attempt to stable yourself, pushing your face into his chest. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

He pulled you back to look at him, taking your face between his hands again, doing a sweep with his eyes across your face.

“I’m okay,” you finally said, your cheeks still wet and breathing still deep, but you were back. You looked around to see that the sun was low in the sky. “Where are we?”

Tommy watched you for a second longer, dropping his hands and straightening in the seat. “Just outside of the Delphi camp. Johnny Dogs went ahead to let them know of our arrival and make sure it was safe.”

As if on cue, the sound of footsteps pulled both of your attentions forward as Johnny emerged from the hilltop, accompanied with another.

“Tommy,” you grabbed his hand and his head snapped back to you. “You have to tell me about your dream. The one in France.”

His brow furrowed and you spied a flush at his cheeks, “Now? Is now the best time for this?”

“Please,” you whispered out in almost a pathetic plea.

Not sure why, but you were overcome with the feeling that time was running out. And despite your hesitations, you needed to know now more than ever what Tommy’s dream was about. And more urgently, if it had anything to do with the one you’d just had.

“You said you saw me. Were we in a garden? Something ancient, with long tunics and dressings?”

Tommy’s face continued to contort into confusion. “A garden? No, now look. I don’t know what just fucking happened there with you — you looked like some of the men back from war. But Johnny Dogs is about to be here. We’ll have to be on guard in this place, with these people — they’re dangerous when offended. There’s a reason why they’ve been able to survive as long as they have. Be careful what you say, what you give away.”

The part of your brain that was catching up with the present more quickly than the other wanted to scold Tommy for not telling you such information sooner. You liked to be prepared for a situation before walking in. But, whether it was because he still didn’t trust you, or because he was just so used to keeping secrets for himself, he was putting you in yet another situation where you felt you were playing catch up.

This seemed to snap your brain back to itself. You nodded, momentarily forgetting your dream and Tommy’s as the two men approached you both.

“Follow us,” said the Delphi member.

Johnny Dogs sent Tommy an unspoken look along with a nod. Tommy must have interpreted it as a sign to do as the other man said and follow, calling out for the horse to walk on as the two men walked alongside the animal to steer it.

“It wasn’t a dream,” Tommy said in a whisper, eyes still facing forward. You moved your head to look at him but saw him shake his head. Adjusting back to the front, he went on. “Or maybe it was, I’m not sure. In the tunnels we uncovered an enemy explosive, the ricochet of it sent me backwards, cut at my chest. I was layin’ in the mud when my team found me, covered in blood.”

You took a deep breath, not daring to interrupt him or react in a way that would draw you both attention.

“In the dream,” Tommy continued, his voice barely loud enough for even you to hear. “I just saw you, not us. You were wearing a shirt — it was long, stoppin’ at your…” he cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed by his own dream but he pushed through, “thighs. You appeared to have nothing else on. The top was an odd thing in a dark blue color with a pyramid and a rainbow on it.”

Pink Floyd, you identified, the shirt in question appearing in your memory. It was your favorite sleeping shirt — old, soft, and baggy enough for you to walk around your flat like it was a dress. It was the shirt you were wearing your last night in 2018.

He went on, his voice still low enough to not arouse the company still leading them to the campsite. “In the dream, it was like I was hoverin’ over you. You were laying, surrounded by red sheets. Then a bright light lit up behind you, surroundin’ you before your eyes opened and looked at me. I reached out for you, tried to pull you back. But the light became so bright, I couldn’t see you anymore. I woke up to Freddie poundin’ on my fucking chest to start my heart back.”

A theory began to form in your brain as you started to put the pieces together.

“I think we saw each other that night,” you whispered, mostly thinking out loud. “I saw you in the mud, sinking, with blood covering you. You saw me in my bed…”

Traveling to the past, you wanted to finish, but kept the words to yourself.

Tommy took a deep breath next to you, taking in your theory. Ahead of you, the campsite came into view.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “I’m hoping this place will have some answers.”

Tommy didn’t say anything more as they pulled into the camp, parking the wagon just outside next to Johnny Dogs’. The sun was fully set now as Tommy adjusted his jacket and jumped out of the wagon.

The Delphi member who had escorted them approached the wagon and offered you his hand to help you down. Tommy appeared next to him, eyes steady at the man until he took back his arm and retreated. You felt yourself want to roll your eyes at the exchange, but there was something in Tommy’s warning that made you appreciate it instead.

After the dream you’d just had, it felt good to feel safe again as you took Tommy’s hand and he steadied you to the ground. He kept his hand to your back as you both walked forward into the camp.

Watching him from the corner of your eye, you noticed him slip into something else. His face hardened into the signature Thomas Shelby glare, as if building a wall around his thoughts as you began to walk into the camp. His eyes were nonstop, scanning everywhere as if looking for potential threats or escape exists. It reminded you of how your father used to walk into crowded places — always alert for impending danger.

You took that as your own cue to do the same, finally taking in the camp around you.

You weren’t really sure what to expect, half picturing some of the movies you’d seen depicting gypsy campsites. A couple large fires were lit throughout the grounds, each surrounded by a gang of caravans — the largest was parked at the end of the alley, almost like a head of the table. There were more people around you than you imagined there’d be, with dogs running around and barefoot children chasing them.

One thing you did expect, but still found chilling to see in person — the sigil on the caravan the Delphi escort was walking you both toward.

A painting of a tree — a near perfect resemblance to the mark on your back.

“Madam Despoina will meet you now,” the escort said, opening the door of the caravan. “She’s asked that you wait for her here.”

You took a step toward the large caravan, feeling Tommy begin to follow you.

“Just the lady.”

The man lifted his hand between you and Tommy, stopping him from moving further. Tommy’s eyes flicked down to the hand, then back at the man.

“No,” you spoke up, the Delphi man looking back toward you but Tommy’s eyes never left his. “He comes with me.”

“She said nothing of the sort—“

“I don’t care,” you shrugged.

The man held your glare for a moment before exhaling in defeat. Tommy held the door of the caravan open for you to enter before following behind.

Inside, the caravan was dark, with a handful of candles lit around the parameter and on the table in the center. Tommy moved to sit on the far side of the table, facing the entrance, while you took the seat to his right. Across from you was the empty seat.

As you waited, you began to grow nervous, but you were desperate to stay aware of everything around you. In your quest to disprove your mother’s fortune teller claim, you’d gone on your own crusade to debunk the myth. But despite your skepticism, you found yourself wrapped up in the excitement of the moment.

“Do you know what kind of divination they practice?” You found yourself asking Tommy.

He shook his head.

“Palm readings, tarot cards, crystal balls, tea readings,” you rolled your eyes, giving the caravan a once over again. You noticed some unlit candles, pointing them out. “It’s all such bullshit, see. It could be brighter in here, but they chose to keep it dark. It’s part of their trick — a dark atmosphere decreases people’s sensitivity to movement, heightens their sensitivity to noise, and causes them to be more on edge and frightened at the little things. I can’t believe we’re here.”

Tommy’s brow rose at her deduction.

“I bet you dollars to donuts that when she sits down, she’ll ask for our hands. Another part of the act — decreases the possibility of disrupting the play. A form of misdirection. Keep your eye on her hand and you don’t see her move her knee to knock against the table crying out spirits.”

You felt your temper rise as you continued, not being able to stop yourself now from just rambling out of pent up anger and nerves. Your eyes met Tommy’s, who was appraising you curiously.

“Not a fan of gypsies, I take it?”

There was a hint of defense in his tone that punched at your gut. He thought you were judging his people and suddenly you felt the need to explain yourself.

“No, I didn’t mean— it’s not that. It’s just—“ you were having a hard time backing yourself out of this corner. You took a deep breath. “My mother wasted a lot of money and sanity on fortune tellers and seances. She thought they had answers to her questions and it became an obsession. I learned a lot to try and convince her that such stuff didn’t exist. That it was all parlor tricks, unconscious muscle movement, static electricity, light trickery—”

“She never believed you.”

An older woman’s voice came from the entrance of the caravan. Madam Despoina, you assumed, climbed into the wagon and took the seat across from you.

“She always knew there was an answer out there. A truth, just outside her grasp. She searched, the same way you now search. It’s ironic, no?”

“Madam Despoina,” Tommy greeted, nodding his head down as a show of respect.

The woman nodded in return, “Thomas Shelby.”

Madam Despoina turned then to you and reached her hand out, silently asking for your own. You sent a sideways glance to Tommy, who was already smirking at the action.

Did they have donuts in 1918? You quickly found yourself wondering.

“Please,” the Madam said softly. “It has been so long since your line has had answers.”

You crossed your arms, a direct defiance of her request, “My mother was desperate. I am not. What could you possibly know about me?”

You felt Tommy inhale sharply, an uncomfortable energy radiating off him as his back straightened and he kept an eye on the woman to his left. Obviously he had a better understanding of Romani decorum than you did — you wondered if you’d gone a little too far with your disrespect, misjudging the consequences.

But Madam Despoina only hummed and smiled, her eyes nearly sparkling with a challenge.

She folded her hands together as she leaned against the table, talking directly to you as she began. “Our lineages have traveled from the same ancient roads. I am a direct descendent of the original Pythia.”

“Pythia?” You repeated, the pieces finally beginning to take shape.

Greek history and mythology had been one of your favorite subjects in school, as it seemed to be for most kids in your time. But after learning that your own history may have led back to that country, that culture, it made you hyper-fixate on learning as much as you could. You loved the idea of these stories, these grandiose themes that people of an ancient world told to explain every day occurrences or creations.

Your dream began to itch at the back of your brain as you thought back to those lessons.

“The Oracle of Delphi,” you continued, a sly smile from the woman across from you aiding your confirmation. “No wonder the name sounded so familiar.”

“Oracle?” Tommy’s brow furrowed as he looked to you for an answer.

The Madam nodded, as if encouraging you to explain.

“They were priestesses of Ancient Greece,” you replied tentatively, careful with your words.

You knew this was another tactic used by fortune tellers, to get the payee to divulge information to use back at you, making you unwittingly believe that they knew all along.

You cleared your throat. “They told prophecies and were considered the most prestigious oracles in Greece.”

Madam Despoina nodded. “The Pythia was the most powerful woman in the ancient world. We channeled our ancient god and he spoke through us.”

“You know, there’s some that believe the explanation for the prophecy inspiration came from vapors in the springs below the temple,” you interrupted.

You remembered a professor who always loved to bring reason or scientific explanation to some of these tales as a way of relating them back to real world scenarios. You’ll never forget the way he’d compared Hercules killing his wife and children because Hera spelled him to see them as demons to a fit of roid-rage. You channeled that professor at this moment to regurgitate some of his words.

“That the shift of very specific, active fault lines and earthquakes released some kind of hallucinogenic gas, giving the illusion of connecting with the divine. And as for the possessions, some thought them to be epilepsies, brought on by either the gas or from chewing and inhaling the leaves of a poisonous plant — like the way Vikings used to eat magic mushrooms and burn leaves to see visions of trolls and giants and gods.”

Madam Despoina kept her smile as you talked, chuckling as you finished. “That is a very astute observation of our history. Perhaps it’s true. I never did believe that our power was fueled solely on magic or the divine alone.”

That surprised you. You hadn’t expected her to take your reasoning seriously — part of you thought she’d kick you out on the spot. As if reading your thoughts (or your facial expression, you reasoned), she chuckled again.

“Despite how the root came to be, it does not negate the clarity of the branches. We continue the Delphi name and practices in honor of that lineage,” she went on after giving you a moment with your thoughts. “Just as it seems, your mother continued yours.”

Your brow creased, “What do you mean?”

She closed her eyes and began to speak in another language, Latin perhaps, before opening them and speaking again, this time in English.

“Know thyself and thou shalt know all the mysteries of the gods and the universe,” she said cryptically, obviously reciting something, but you didn’t know it’s origin.

“Know myself?” You repeated, your brow creasing. “That’s what I came here for,” you replied, half annoyed, half skeptic.

“I know why you came here. It’s been long predicted of your arrival.”

You took a deep breath. “I was starting to like you. Do you have anything less generic to say?”

She smirked, “You still disbelieve our power, our connection?”

“I believe you’re trying to probe me with leading questions,” you replied, leaning your elbows against your lap. “That the power of suggestion is half the battle of divinity. You know why I’m here, you wouldn’t have agreed to meet with me if you didn’t already know there was some connection. I’m here for real answers, and you either have them, or you don’t”

“Aye, you are perceptive,” you were surprised to see her smile. “Most readings are easy — love, fortune, death, these are all pieces that are simple to persuade. But not you, not the one who branded herself with the tree of knowledge, of universal balance on your back.”

You felt yourself shift in your seat, your shoulders moved at the mention of your tattoo between them.

As you said, you guessed they already knew about it. Tommy would have had to give Johnny Dogs a reason for reaching out to the family, a reason strong enough to request an audience with the woman before you.

A quick glance at Tommy, who had narrow eyes on Madam Despoina, confirmed such.

Playing it off, you shrugged. “So, tell me something I don’t know.”

The woman smiled again, leaning forward to match your stance. “You were named after the cursed one herself. The first of your matriarch. The infamous Trojan princess.”

“Cassandra,” you answered. “The unbelieved prophet.”

Your dream itched harder in the back of your mind at the sound of your middle name being said out loud for the first time in years.

“A gracious gift given by the god himself at the promise of her body, who then twisted into curse once she refused to lay with him,” the Madam explained with almost a song-like quality.

Of course you knew the story. You’d been ecstatic when you began the Iliad and found your own name amongst the pages.

You hummed, “You know, there’s another side of that story. One that paints Cassandra as a devout priestess, who had the gift bestowed to her freely. She didn’t ask for it, nor did she consent to it. And it was only after he made his advances, believing that she owed him for this gift she didn’t ask for, that he cursed her in rage of an ego blow.”

The Madam nodded, “And which do you believe? The temptress or the victim?”

“Seeing as most history is written by men, I tend to sympathize with the female viewpoints,” you stated, crossing your arms again.

“What if I told you there’s a third side to this story. One that I believe you have already begun to uncover.”

Your itch turned into a burn as you thickly swallowed.

“Yesterday was the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year. Some say it’s the mark of a death and rebirth of the Sun.” Madam turned then to Tommy, who’d been quietly observing during this time. “You’ve had experience with that yourself, haven’t ya, Thomas? You were dead, and now, reborn.”

“What does any of this have to do with why we’re here?” You asked, feeling a sense of protectiveness over Madam’s focus on Tommy.

“Why did you bring him?” She asked you, still looking toward Tommy. “My men told you that I’d meet with you alone.”

“I promised him no more secrets —“

“No,” she cut you off. “You wanted me to reveal your secret for you. But I cannot.”

“Because you don’t know—”

“Because it’s not time!” She shouted, pivoting back toward you quickly. The humor in her eyes had gone now. “You are a traveler, but you don’t belong here. You have been sent to this place, to this time, for a reason. A curse brought you here, but unlike the others, you have a chance to mend ancient mistakes. You have a chance to save lives with your knowledge, with your insight. You must get the right people to listen. Break the cursed chain, end the line of travel.”

Your mouth gaped as Madam Despoina had gone on, but your brain was doing everything to absorb every word, every micro-expression you could make out to understand.

The woman stood from her seat and began her retreat, taking a deep breath before turning back around.

“You will find the answers you seek, so long as you stay true to thyself. Listen to your dreams, your visions, your memories. And above all, know you are stronger than those who came before you — you are stronger than your mother.”

With that, she left the caravan, leaving you and Tommy alone.

You looked over to Tommy, who was staring at you — a look you couldn’t quite make out. You opened your mouth to say something when the caravan door opened.

Johnny Dogs stood at the open end, “We’ve been invited to stay for dinner and to rest for the night. They have a caravan for the two of yous.”

Your brow creased as you looked back to Tommy, “We can’t possibly stay the night here. Not after that —“

“We must,” he replied, his voice as even as it’d been before. “It’ll be an insult if we don’t.”

He stood up, offering you his hand to help you up as well. He pulled you close to him, his voice low enough so even Johnny Dogs couldn’t hear.

“But we leave first thing in the morning. We speak nothing of what happened here tonight. Understood?”

“How can you expect that of me?” You asked genuinely, hoping he didn’t mistake your question for childish disobedience. Your mind was swimming with everything that’d happened in the last few hours. Your eyes sought his, “How can you not have questions for me?”

He exhaled a humored breath before swallowing, pulling your head the inch it needed before his lips brushed against your temple. His hand returned to your back as he whispered into your ear.

“Oh believe me, love, I do. But there will be time for that later. Come on, we can’t keep them waiting.”

>> next chapter << chapter masterlist

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