#trashman2kchallenge

[kilyra]

As Bad as it Looks

Frank Castle (Punisher) One-Shot for a challenge

A/N: I joined @trashmenofmarvel​​ ‘s Trashman 2K Challenge with the prompt:  “Why are you so stubborn? Do you not have a sense of self-preservation at all?” So, this is my offering to the heap! Apologies now for all the undoubted typos - I’m blind to them right now but wanted to get this posted haha 

You and Frank always had a complicated relationship, and you shouldn’t be surprised when he just shows up. And yet...

Warning: Blood, injuries, the mother of all swear words, angst. And I apologize, but there is a “Yes ma’am” in there. I try to keep things neutral, but I have a hard time with Frank because he does like throwing around ma’am and atta girl. I hope it doesn’t pull anyone out too much (and hopefully it helps to know that’s coming)

NOTE: If you want to be on a Frank (or everything) tag list, let me know :)

No matter how many times you came home with your groceries, you never seemed to get the hang of resting the bag on your jutted hip as you unlocked the door. Every time, it was a struggle to shuffle into your apartment and reach the counter to dump them before everything spilled out. In the dark, of course, because you couldn't spare a hand to flick the switch.

Right on cue, as the door flew open, everything seemed to shift in your arms and you rushed towards the counter. You were engulfed in darkness as the door pulled shut behind you, but you knew the way.

Only that time, you slipped.

Sliding forward on the slick tile, your knee and hip crashed painfully into the lower cupboard doors as they smashed loudly in response. You didn't even have time to question why the floor was wet before your back foot slipped and you had to lurch forward, slamming your groceries on the counter as you grabbed the edge of the sink for support.

“You okay?” A low, gravelly voice broke through the shadows.

You couldn't hear your gasp over the rushing in your ears as your heart tried to pound straight out of your chest. Feeling along the counter, you stumbled away from the voice and slapped on the light.

Blood. The floor was covered...except for the streaks you made slipping through it.

In the middle, propped against your cupboards in a tattered shirt wuith old bruises littering his face, sat Frank Castle.

Only that fact felt like a speck being swept around in a sandstorm, and it just couldn't fully register in your mind. Tensing, your mouth dropped open as you sucked in air.

But before you could scream, he held his hands up, palms facing you. “Shh, shhh, shhh, it's okay, Y/n. It's me. Hey, hey.....it's just me, okay?”

Frozen with your mouth still open, the air seemed to whoosh from your lungs, leaving you breathless.

Frank leaned towards you before suddenly stopping as pain shot across his face. Letting out a low grunt, he settled back against the cupboard. When he continued, it was little more than a mumble. “It's...just me...”

“Frank.” You breathed out his name so unsteadily that it verged on a question.

Resting his head back with a dull thud, his eyes drooped closed as a fleeting smirk touched the corner of his mouth. “Hey. Been a while.”

All of your shock was slapped away in an indignant rush. “I...W-what? It's...been a while? Are you fucking serious?”

Letting out a low chuckle, his eyebrows lifted as his head lolled slightly.

Shoving the groceries further back on the counter, you took a careful step out of the blood. "And of course, it's not like you can show up at my door like a normal fucking person. Nooo, you have to just appear in my place, dying on the kitchen floor."

"Wow, dying, huh?" His scoff was listless.

"Look at all this blood! I want my key back, I mean...what the hell, Frank..." Muttering under your breath, you were already shedding your jacket, tossing it on the floor by the entrance. Roughly pushing your sleeves up past your elbow, you took a better look at the floor, finding relatively clean spots to move closer.

He completely ignored the demand for your key.

The smell of copper greeted you as you crouched low. It was undercut with something else, a heavy, sickening scent that you couldn't quite identify. Ignoring it, you balanced on your feet, keeping your knees off the floor as you peeled back the shreds of fabric. Thick smears of blood coated most of his torso, and it was impossible to see where it was coming from. "Holy shit..."

Clumsily, his hand clapped over yours, his fingers curling over and holding you in place before you could flinch back.

"Hey...relax, alright? It's not as bad as it looks." He cracked his eyes open and immediately captured your gaze. Slowly, his eyebrows drew together with concern as he refused to let you look away.

Your mouth ran dry as his stare cut through everything and found the core of you. There was a twinge of frustration that followed the flutter in your chest. Sighing, there was less heat to your words. "Well, that's good because it looks bad. I...I don't even know where to start."

“I already got the worst of it,” he said, nodding to the stove behind you.

Twisting, you followed his gesture and saw a bloodied table knife on the floor. Trailing your eyes up, you noticed the glowing red burner that was still on high. Your stomach rolled as you made the connection. And that smell...

"Jesus, Frank." Pulling away, you got to your feet and turned off the stove. Holding the oven handle, you willed yourself not to give in to the wave of nausea that passed over you.  

“Hey, hey...stay with me, okay? I'm fine. I just need to get cleaned up and rest a bit and I'll be out of your hair, yeah?”

“Ha!” The sharp laugh burst out as you looked over the mess in your kitchen. The mess that was Frank.

“I'm fine.” Grunting, he pulled his feet closer as he attempted to get up. Pushing his back against the cupboard, he lifted his hips only to have his foot slide away. Bracing himself on his hand, he reached his free arm, grabbing at the top of the counter to pull himself up but couldn't find a firm grip.

Darting forward, you grabbed near his elbow to offer support. Letting go of the counter, he pushed your hand away, refusing your help. 

“Seriously?”

“I got this.” His rough voice was strained as he tried again, pulling himself up while keeping his other arm tucked against his chest. As he raised himself higher than before, his other foot slipped just enough to throw him off balance. Wincing as his back slammed into the cupboard, he sat down with a groan.

Leaning over, you were met with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Seriously? Why are you so stubborn? Do you not have a sense of self-preservation at all​? Because, let me tell you, a concussion isn't going to help things right now.” Grabbing his elbow, you moved closer as you snipped at him.

From that bit of movement, his breaths had already grown heavy. You took advantage of his silence.

“So let me lay out what's going to happen now. You're going to let me help you up and I'm going to look for any more obvious bleeding. Then, if you pass that test, you're going to get in the shower and clean off enough that I can figure out what else needs to be patched up. And if you don't like it, you can crawl yourself back out the door. Got it?”

Letting out a weak chuckle, his tongue darted out over his lips. “Yes ma'am.”

Even with your help, tucking your shoulder under his arm and taking as much weight as you could, it was still a struggle to get him off the floor. But once he was on his feet, he seemed to move easier, even if it was with a heavy shuffle through the apartment.

Lowering him onto the side of the tub, you only gave him a second to catch his breath before you started pulling his shirt up. Instinctively, he raised his arms but froze, favouring the bloodied side. Frowning, you freed one arm and pulled the shirt remains over his head before sliding it down the arm he pinned along his torso.

Sweeping your gaze over his broad chest, you looked for any other obvious wounds. Letting the shirt drop to the floor, you carefully pressed your hands to his injured side, a move that was met with a low hiss.

"Is it just from the wound you...uh...fixed...or do you have some broken ribs too?" It was impossible to see any bruising, even if it had been there. Leaning over, you looked at his back while he stayed hunched forward.  

Before he replied, his free arm slid around your waist and he relaxed his forehead against your shoulder. Tilting your head, rested your cheek against his hair. It was soft on your skin.

Skimming your fingers down his back, you saw an exit wound and while it wasn't bleeding, it wasn't cauterized.

As if reading your mind, he preemptively answered your next question. “It went straight through, not much damage. One asshole got me pretty good with a knife...that one...that one I had to deal with already. Ribs might be bruised...cracked even...but nothing's broke.” He mumbled against your shoulder, making no move to back away.

So it really wasn't as bad as it looked.

Sighing, you let yourself relax against him, melting slightly in his arm as he adjusted his grip, pulling you closer. Bringing your hand back up, you lazily traced your fingers through his short hair.

“You could have been killed.”

Feeling his grin against your skin, he finally straightened. Pulling back, you scanned his features, looking for a hint of what was so funny. The exhaustion was clear, even as he lifted the corner of his lip in a weary smile.

“I'm not the one that gets killed, remember?”

A faint smile ghosted your lips, trying to reflect his attempt at levity. "You're the one that does the killing."

“You're goddam right I am,” he said without a hint of shame. And, as much as you hated what he did, it brought an odd measure of comfort.

Brushing his fingers over your cheek, he let them settle at the back of your neck as he pulled you closer. Tilting his head, he touched his forehead to yours as his eyes fluttered shut. Letting your own eyes close, your tense shoulders softened as his warm breath fanned across your collarbone.

Even if the worst of it was already handled, there was still a lot to do. And yet, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away.

"I guess you can keep the key for now," you said quietly, your eyes still closed.

Huffing through his nose, his laugh was cut short as he tensed against the pain it brought.

It was going to be a long night.

Taglist:  @foreverfaeries  @flower-two  @getlostinyourparadise   @selfishkiddo  @angelicshinigami  @parkersbabey  @natsukitakama  @kchavez666  @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @cattpaws @mysteryoflovve  @castleadixon  @harrysthiccthighss​

[wolveria]

Mechanical Heart - Ch. 2

Pairing: RK800-60 x f!Reader

Summary: RK800 Model 313 248 317 - 60 had the perfect bait to lure in his defective predecessor. He'd run the scenario thousands of times, preconstructed his strategy in every conceivable way, and he simply could not fail.

The one scenario 60 didn't anticipate was his sudden instability from the presence of the human, and the desire objective to take from Connor what should have been his.

Prompt: Toxic by 2WEI (for my writing challenge at @trashmenofmarvel​)

Chapter Warnings: Noncon, victim-blaming (internal and external), violence, psychological abuse

Word Count: 6.2k

AO3

Although it seemed to go on forever, the tense, silent elevator ride eventually came to an end.

The room beyond the opened doors was not what you expected. It was some kind of lounge, clearly reserved for CyberLife’s most prestigious guests. Warm lighting cast from expensive floor and desk lamps, dark wood parquet flooring and maroon carpet runners, complete with brown leather sofas and a large holoscreen on the wall above a lit fireplace.

Your android captor grabbed your arm before you had a chance to move on your own, propelling you toward the largest couch facing the fireplace. He shoved you down, your shaky knees folding like poorly-stacked cards as you collapsed onto the cushions.

Sixty turned away without a second glance and approached a liquor cart stationed against the wall, bourbon and scotch bottles glinting in the flickering firelight.

“Thirsty?” His tone was amused as he looked over his shoulder, fixing you with eyes that were identical to Connor’s, and yet so unalike.

Dark amber, you thought. That’s what color they were. Rich, deep, and filled with hidden malice.

When you realized he was actually expecting a response, you numbly shook your head, shoulders hunched to ward off the chill of his gaze.

Turning back to the cart, he uncapped a tall bottle and poured two fingers worth of golden liquid into the glass, evidently ignoring your refusal. You certainly didn’t think he was pouring one out for himself.

When he crossed the distance and held out the drink, you stared at the proffered glass like it was filled with poison. His arm snaked out with surprising speed, snatching up your hand and forcing your grip around the expensive crystal.

He help your fingers and your gaze for a disconcerting moment, one that made sweat break out along your hairline, but he finally released you unharmed. You pulled your hand to your chest, hating every second your skin was in contact with his.

“Drink,” he growled. It was not a suggestion.

You brought the glass to your lips, trying your best to stop the shake in your fingers. You couldn’t help but linger on how warm his hand had been, or how long and slim his fingers were. Hands identical to those you had longed to hold and should have been safe for you to touch.

That last thought prompted you to down the drink in one swallow, the liquid burning sheer fire as it traveled down your throat, making your eyes water. Hell, maybe the drink had been a good idea. The heat spreading throughout your gut loosened some of the coiled tension in your muscles, and suddenly you didn’t care as much about the fact a giant, evil, megacorporation had abducted you in the dead of night during an android revolution.

The Connor-who-was-not-your-Connor took the empty glass from your grip, but instead of leaving, he used his other hand to place his fingers under your chin. Your reaction was delayed, befuddled by the strong drink, and when he tilted your face upwards, you simply allowed it.

His head was tilted at a curious angle, dark eyes roaming over your features as if there was some puzzle there he could solve if he studied it long enough. His brows creased briefly and he let his hand drop.

You didn’t know if he had found what he was looking for, but the perturbed expression remained on his face as he angled it toward the TV. His LED spun yellow, the first time you had seen it change color all night, and the holoscreen clicked on, drawing your attention away from your jailer.

“We're coming to you live from Detroit where thousands of androids are marching through the city at this very moment.”

The voice was coming from a newscaster, shouting to be heard over the downdraft of helicopter blades. “The leader of the deviants, the one they call Markus, is at the head of the march.”

“Looks like we have some time.”

You jerked as the couch cushions dipped at your side. Your attention had been so focused on the screen that you’d lost track of the android’s movements. Now he was occupying the seat next to you, his thigh carelessly pressed against yours. In opposite to your tense, hunched manner, he took up as much space as possible; knees spread, one hand draped over his leg while the other leaned on the back of the couch directly behind your head.

Despite his invasion of your personal space and his overwhelming presence, he wasn’t looking at you. Seemed to ignore you completely. With a wary heart, you turned back toward the broadcast, keeping him in the peripherals of your vision.

The androids marched forward through the snow-covered streets, calm and with unending courage even as a SWAT team fired on them. Each volley made you flinch, heart racing as if you yourself were under attack.

Was Connor there? You didn’t even know if he’d escaped the raid on Jericho, if Sixty had been telling the truth about any of it. You hadn’t confirmed it for yourself, though you’d been glued to the newscast an hour ago, searching for signs of Connor from the shaky helicopter footage.

That’s when he had stepped into your life, casting a dark shadow on your doorstep like an ill omen, taking advantage of your desperate hope to see Connor and preying on your vulnerable emotional state.

Connor had told you he’d been programmed with the ability to manipulate humans and androids in order to achieve his goal. You hadn’t really believed he was capable of something like that, his actions always so earnest and sweet.

Now, it was like all the dark parts of Connor he hadn’t wanted you to see were being peeled away and revealed before your eyes. It made you appreciate your friend all the more, for choosing to be the good person he was instead of the machine beside you, and you ached to be with him now more than ever.

“Looks like the deviants are waiting on their last miracle,” Sixty said, a mockery of sympathy in his words as he watched the android protestors sit on the ground, helpless before the armed humans. “Connor better get here soon or there won’t be anyone left to fight his revolution.”

Your hands curled into fists in your lap as you turned your face away.

“Turn it off.”

You spoke so quietly you weren’t sure he heard—but no, of course he did. He was just pretending not to.

“Please,” you tried again, a hint of your anguish slipping past your defenses.

“Don’t you want to see what your actions have wrought?” he chided, dropping his voice to a low, menacing register.

The cushion dipped and you knew he was leaning closer, but you didn’t look, couldn’t meet his eye. He was a liar, a deceiver, and he probably planned to kill Connor, but… his words still pried at cracks in your armor that were there long before he’d met you.

“You helped bring this about, after all. Instead of turning over the deviants to the proper authorities, you protected them. Sheltered them. You nurtured their delusions.”

His voice was honey smooth, reaching deeper within you the longer he spoke, tendrils of manipulation that seeped into the cracks. “They’re broken machines. They needed to be fixed, not entertained with false hope and dreams never meant for them. What you mistook for kindness was, in fact, very cruel.”

Your shoulders curled tighter, wincing as if his words physically hurt you. He was near enough that you could feel the puff of his breath and the warmth that radiated off his synthetic skin, and you flinched when the weight of his hand curled around the back of your neck.

“But what you did to Connor was by far the cruelest.” There was a sharp smile in his velvety words. “You made him believe he was human.”

The guilt vanished, evaporated as a kernel of white-hot anger took its place. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps you could have done something more to help the deviants. But never, not once, had you ever hurt Connor. You had watched him slowly awaken, start to question his actions and purpose, and you would never regret putting him on the path he had desperately been searching for.

“I know about Amanda.”

The warm breath across your cheek vanished, the hand on the back of your nape rigid like stone as the android it belonged to went completely still.

For the first time that evening, you felt a modicum of control.

“Connor told me everything,” you said, slowly turning your head to meet his eye. “He told me about the Zen Garden, about his orders and what they meant. He knew his alliance with the DPD was a means to an end. He was scared of what CyberLife would make him do, to me and to Lieutenant Anderson, if we got in the way of Connor’s mission.”

The android hadn’t moved, his chest frozen as he neglected to breathe. His expression was focused, brows drawn into an aggressive angle, but the most curious thing was his frantically spinning yellow LED.

“I know what they’ll do if you fail.” You turned your body further towards him, never breaking eye contact or even blinking. “You’ll be killed and taken apart, your core code ripped to shreds and reassembled. Prototypes don’t get a second chance, do they? That’s why there were so many RK800’s before you.”

You let your voice soften, desperate to get through to him anyway you could. If he really was a Connor model, with all the same quirks and ticks that Connor had, maybe there was a chance he could still be reached.

If he had all of Connor’s memories, how much of a difference could there be between them?

“It’s not your fault,” you said, gentle in the way you used with Connor when he experienced self-doubt. “Your choices were taken away from you, even before you came online. If anyone’s cruel, it’s that AI program that looks like a woman. The manipulation, the lies, all the ways she tried to break Connor? I’m sure she’s done the same exact thing to—”

Cold metal pressed against the underside of your chin, stopping your words like a slap to the face. You hadn’t even realized he’d moved, didn’t know he had a gun, but the barrel jabbed into your flesh, all the same.

Dark amber blazed with a fury you’d never seen from Connor, his lips curled into a snarl as his LED spun a furious red.

You didn’t dare move, heart hammering in your chest as you wondered which beat would be your last. The muzzle slightly trembled, pressing harder against your jaw. Faced with your own death, you felt strangely numb. How had this happened so fast? He wasn’t supposed to kill you, was he?

Maybe it was better this way. At least he couldn’t use you to hurt Connor. The androids would win their freedom with his help, and was a noble sacrifice worthy of your life.

You just regretted never telling Connor that… that you…

The pressure suddenly lessened. Sixty’s LED slowed to a blinking yellow, followed by a calm blue. The muzzle was still against your skin, but much lighter, almost gentle.

You nearly relaxed until you felt the pressure point of metal begin to trail down your neck; your back stiffened, ramrod straight as the shock wore off and cold fear tricked down the base of your spine.

Sixty wasn’t grimacing anymore. His lips curled into a small smirk, eyes hard and narrowed but solely focused on your face as the muzzle trail down your collar bone, down your chest, and stopping at your abdomen. The hem of your shirt snagged on the barrel, and he lifted it enough to press the cold metal directly against your stomach.

You sucked in a breath, trying to retreat from the unfriendly chill of the gun, but the hand at back of your neck tugged hard and pulled you forward. Shoved you, really, against his shoulder as he brushed his lips against the shell of your ear.

The gun was pressed so hard against your gut that it hurt, but you didn’t dare move.

“Don’t mistake me for that fucking deviant,” he snarled in warning. “You made him weak. Vulnerable. He cares for you. That’s what’s going to get him killed.”

You grabbed for the gun.

In hindsight, it was probably the stupidest thing you could have done, but he was threatening Connor. This bastard was going to hurt him, kill him, and you didn’t think, all you could do was everything in your power to stop it, so you grabbed the gun and twisted it and—

Light flashed, brightening the space between you as the boom deafened. A high-pitched whine immediately followed, filling your head with angry ringing. You blinked rapidly, eyes watering from the acrid smell of spent gunpowder forced into your nose, your sinuses stinging sharply.

You waited for the pain and agony, but there was none. You looked down, expecting to see dripping blue blood or gushing red. Instead, a smoking hole punctured the leather five inches to your left.

“Useless fucking human—“

A hand wrapped around base of your throat, Sixty’s LED flashing deadly red as he shoved you back onto the cushions in one swift, brutal movement.

The android was heavier than he looked, smothering as he held you down, leaving no room for escape. The gun fell from his grasp, forgotten as his fingers dug into the tie around his neck, loosening the knot before ripping it free.

“Are you trying to kill yourself? Is that it?”

Sixty shoved you onto your side, roughly pulling your arms behind your back, forcing a pained whimper as your shoulder blades ached in protest. “I’m not failing my mission because you’re too stupid to stay alive!”

“No!” you cried out, heart racing like a caged bird as the soft material was bound tight around your wrists. He was using his tie as an impromptu restraint, and something about that fact filled you with blinding terror.

“I didn’t, I’m not trying to—“

Sixty yanked you onto your back, pulled up your shirt, bunched it into his fist, and shoved it in your mouth.

You screamed through the material, tried to spit it out to no effect, but you quickly stilled your struggles when you realized each movement was pulling up your shirt more and more. His actions had also laid bare your skin, your stomach was exposed and you weren’t wearing a bra.

Your chest was still covered. Barely.

It was this expanse of skin that drew Sixty’s hard eyes, head slightly tilted as his LED spun curiously from blue to yellow and back again.

Against your will, your chest was forced into an arch from your hands bound at the small of your back, an uncomfortable, exposing position. It didn’t help that your heart was still racing and your system was flooded with adrenaline from your near brush with death.

You flinched as a warm hand trailed upwards, fingers ghosting over your stomach, slipping under the taut folds of your shirt to cup one breast. A thumb rubbed across your nipple, already pert.

No no no no no.

You shut your eyes tight, refusing to acknowledge what was happening. It couldn’t be. This was insane. He was an android. Why would he—

Sixty continued to rub at the nipple and it was only getting harder, the ache caused by his slender fingers going straight to your core.

This was a nightmare. It had to be. It’s not him. It’s not Connor.

Your Connor, with his beautiful brown eyes and soft, gentle face.

Your Connor, who would never do something like this to you, or to anyone.

Your Connor, who had become more and more alive with each passing day, well on his way to breaking free of his programming.

Unlike him. He was a machine. He didn’t feel anything, or he shouldn’t, except he seemed to be experiencing plenty of loathing and contempt and hatred for you.

Sixty pulled down your pajama pants, deft fingers sliding into your underwear, and you tried to be an unfeeling machine yourself. Let your head float into space, anything to block out the cruelty that felt too similar to your harmless fantasies about Connor.

The fact that Connor’s touch would have felt just like this made your chest tighten and your eyes sting. The brutal android was taking your innocent attraction and twisting it into a terrifying nightmare you couldn’t wake up from.

As much as you tried to dissociate from what was happening, you were thrown back into your body, grounded in merciless reality when he slipped two fingers deep into your folds. They were slick with your arousal. Practically dripping for—no, not for him, never for him!

“Is this all for me?” he purred, smugness dripping from his words. When you didn’t respond, he gripped you jaw and forced your head forward, your eyes snapping open in surprise from his sudden aggression. His dark eyes blazed to match his shift in mood, lips curling unpleasantly.

“Or are you thinking of someone else?”

You said nothing. His nose wrinkled, something you’d never seen in an android do before. A silent, wolfish snarl.

Without warning or care, he thrust forward, prodding you open and forcing his fingers inside. You shouted into the cloth between your teeth, arching your back as you tried to escape the flare of humiliating pain.

Sixty slowly withdrew his fingers only to insert them again, less brutal but still firm, and you released a small, muffled sob.

“He likes you, you know,” he murmured against your ear. “Far more than he should. He knows it’s a mistake, that deep down he’s defective. He had a mission, and you were supposed to be a means to an end.”

He forced his fingers into you again, and again, each time feeling like a punishment or a judgement. Even his words were accusatory as he spoke them over your frantic gasps for air.

“Amanda planned for him to go deviant eventually, but it wasn’t supposed to happen so quickly. Software glitches turned into errors, cascaded into system failures. And it all started because you invited Connor over for tea.”

He sneered the last word with full contempt, but his words didn’t match his actions. The android stopped the cruel rhythm, replacing it with a more precise pace, curling his fingers in a new way that left you strangely breathless and shuddering.

“You could have ruined everything. And now… I have to salvage the mission.”

With the next careful thrust, you gave a strained groan that was not from pain. The burning sensation was transforming into a slow, languid heat. Your breath hitched as you began to tighten around his fingers involuntarily.

No no no no. You tried to squeeze your legs but they were held open by Sixty’s hips planted firmly between your thighs, his hand practically crushed between your bodies. His free hand pulled your shirt up the rest of the way, exposing you to the cold air, nipples painfully hard.

You gave a muffled whine, shocking yourself because even you didn’t know if it was from protest or need, but he didn’t touch you. Instead, Sixty’s hand snaked around your neck, pressing his fingers to each side of your throat. You could feel your own heartbeat under his fingertips. It made your head spin.

“She had to wake me too soon. I was ordered to upload Connor’s memories with each report. Forced to watch his tedious, inane interactions with the lieutenant. Forced to witness him act like a pathetic dog, wagging his tail every time he saw you. The human with the stray deviants. The human who didn’t treat him like a machine. The stupid little human and her stupid delusions.”

Tears fully clouded your vision and you turned your head away, but he immediately gripped your jaw and pulled you right back. He was speaking to you, plunging his fingers all the way to his knuckles, but his contemptuous words made you feel as if you were nothing. Just a doll to be played with, not a living being who suffered. You wondered if this was how the sex androids felt when they were used by those who rented them.

Despite the fact he didn’t acknowledge your humanity, he still seemed to want an audience. His dark eyes never left yours, his brows furrowed forcefully as his LED continued to spin yellow. That it was Connor’s face hovering over you instead of a stranger’s made it so much worse, so much more confusing as your mental terror warred with your responding body.

You had bitten into the fabric between your teeth to keep from making anymore humiliating sounds, but it wasn’t as effective as you’d hoped. Little gasps and whimpers still escaped, pulled out of you as he continued to methodically fuck you on his fingers.

“Do you know what it’s like to watch your predecessor fail so completely?” he growled low and hateful, curling his fingers tighter, forcing your hips to buck as he reached a spot within you that made your toes curl. It was humiliating, pushing desperately against his hand like an animal, but you couldn’t stop.

Your thighs trembled, your chest pushing up against his, your nipples rubbing against the soft fabric of his dress shirt and building the pressure even higher. You choked back another sob, still trying to fight yourself but unable to stifle the noises as your walls squeezed around his fingers, eyes watering as the coil in your gut twisted tighter and tighter.

“All he had to do was follow simple instructions, and instead, he was distracted by a mere human. Do you know what I experienced, so sharply I could almost taste it?”

His lips tickled your ear, his velvet voice reaching down into your core.

“Disappointment.”

He pressed his thumb to your clit, rubbed twice, and the pressure in your gut snapped.

Your teeth clamped down on a muffled scream as your walls throbbed around him, your hips bucking as your back arched. Tears spilled from the corners of your eyes, a silent denial even as your body betrayed you, craving in that brief moment of weakness for his fingers to reach deeper, to pull you apart if it meant there was unending pleasure and nothing else.

Too quickly the orgasm receded, leaving your body pleasantly thrumming but your mind a devastation. You were aware enough to realize his fingers were no longer inside you, his weight still holding you down but tempered as he leaned on his elbows.

Sixty was… peering down at you, his head at a curious angle again. He dipped his face toward you and you quickly turned away, whimpering as you squeezed your eyes shut. You didn’t know what he was going to do but you half-expected to feel him bite into your flesh. Finish what he’d started by ripping you apart with his teeth.

Instead, you felt something warm and wet slide up the side of your cheek as he… licked you? No, not just you. His tongue trailed up the path that had been left behind by your tears.

Connor had told you once it was a way to gather clues, a literal crime lab on his tongue, meant to sample evidence on-the-go and give a detailed report of chemical components.

You’d thought it was funny at the time, the idea of Connor licking up crime scene evidence. Being on the other end of it, of having this android disassemble you even further, felt nothing short of violating.

What would Sixty taste in your tears? The pain and anguish he was causing? Or was he incapable of sensing anything beyond salt and water?

Slowly turning your head, you looked up at him warily out of the corner of your eye. His LED was spinning yellow, flickering in a way you knew meant he was processing information. The blinking stopped but remained the same warning color, his brows furrowing as he regarded you like a vicious child might watch a fly whose wings he was about to remove.

Startlingly fast, he ripped the shirt from your mouth. The obstacle removed, you took a breath to scream, but the harsh lips against yours swallowed the sound.

Too scared to move, to think, even to breathe, you remained frozen for a handful of seconds. Then you jerked your head to the side, forcing his lips away with a cry of revulsion.

Sixty gripped your jaw tight in his hand, forcing your head back into the position he wanted. He squeezed, the pain forcing your jaw open, and his tongue darted inside.

It was like a live wire had been touched directly to your spine, sparking through your nerves and leaving you strangely weak. Taking advantage of your lack of resistance, Sixty licked into your mouth, tasting and prodding and exploring. Initially, his lips had been hard and demanding, but the longer he kissed you the more pliant and warm they became.

No, the familiar denial rang out in your head as your body started to respond in tandem with the attention of his lips. No, no, I can’t—not again.

Your heart thudded in your chest, panic squeezing your lungs like a vice. It was your own fault; you had imagined this very scenario, feeling Connor’s exploratory tongue in your mouth as he weighed you down.

The unfairness of everything, but especially how he was using Connor against you, hit you like a truck, and you once again found the strength to jerk your head away.

Sixty didn’t let that sit; he forced your head forward, a frustrated growl in his throat, but he didn’t kiss you again. His expression was odd, intensely focused as he looked between your eyes, and then he blinked as his yellow LED flickered. How long since it had been blue?

It didn’t matter, what did any of it matter—

You jerked your hips involuntarily as he dragged two fingers, precise and methodical, up between your folds. The pads rubbed across your clit, shamefully engorged again, an involuntary effect of his thorough kissing.

Self-loathing and sick shame burned your cheeks, but you couldn’t look away from the monster who wore Connor’s face. His pupils were so dilated the entire iris appeared black. He pulled his hand out of your underwear, held the two fingers in front of his mouth, and with an indecent delicateness… licked them.

You nearly groaned at the sight (not Connor, he’s not Connor!) but managed to swallow it down.

“He never tasted you.” Sixty’s voice was faint, almost distant, as if he wasn’t really talking to you at all. “He never got to see you like this. These aren’t his memories. They’re mine.”

Gone was the sly cruelty in his voice, replaced with a low, hungry timbre. It immediately set off warning bells in your head, the bells rising into wailing klaxons when he grabbed your underwear and pajama pants and yanked them down your legs in one smooth motion.

You tried to buck him off, dislodge him with your hips or kick him with your knees, but your muscles froze and your protests were silenced, this time by his mouth rather than a bunched-up shirt.

Sixty hiked up your bare leg, forcing it around his narrow waist as his other hand wrapped fingers into your hair, effectively holding you hostage against his onslaught. His tongue and lips left you dizzy, the fear rising in your throat doing nothing to quench the electric jolt in your gut as you heard the sound of a zipper being pulled down its treads.

On pure animal instincts, you bit down hard.

He jerked away, inhaling sharply as his eyes widened in surprise. Thirium beaded on his bottom lip from the damage you’d caused, but he only swiped at it with his tongue, staining the synthetic flesh blue. His mouth pulled into the sneering grin you were coming to loathe.

“So, you do have a backbone. Good to know.”

Merciless fingers dug into your thigh as he spread you wider, his other hand disappearing from view as you heard the rustle of fabric. You did everything you could to push him off, but you were mere flesh and bone while he was plastic and steel.

Something warm and hard prodded your entrance.

“No—“ you cried in a strangled whimper, but he only shushed you, his hand moving up your thigh to cradle your head in a sick parody of a lover’s caress.

“I don’t want to hurt you more than necessary,” Sixty said, his voice gentle. So much worse than if he’d been nasty. “So stop making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

He angled his hips forward, pushing past your tight entrance with only some discomfort despite the unexpected girth of him. Your body was already betraying you again, walls clinging to him as he slid deeper inside. The intrusion was too much, overwhelming, piercing your mind with agony while your body enveloped him like a traitor.

When he was fully sheathed inside, you let out the chocked sob you’d been holding back. There was nothing left to fight for. He’d won, and you were just his plaything to do with as he pleased.

Instead of moving, he remained still for several long seconds, his breath burning against your neck before leaning forward and giving a tentative lick against your skin.

Instinctively, you arched your back in hopes of pushing him away, but it only served to expose more of your throat to him, and Sixty took advantage, dragging his teeth across your skin. Alternating licking and kissing, overwhelming and leaving you a confusing mixture of hot and cold.

You squeezed your eyes tight, refusing to acknowledge the goosebumps across your skin, or the way you pulsed around his cock. You refused to give him the satisfaction.

“This feels good,” he said, strained through gritted teeth that scraped against your throat. “I know it does. I can sense the quickening of your heart rate, the increased pacing of your lungs to compensate your rising CO2 levels. The perspiration on your skin, the opening of capillaries in the bundle of nerves of your clitoris and the swelling of your vaginal walls.”

He teased and tasted your skin as he spoke, tone lightly mocking but oddly unsteady, as if he had to work to speak. His breaths became more staggered as he began to move, tentatively pulling out by inches and pushing back in, making you shudder with each roll of his hips.

“Your body can’t lie.” His lips crested over the edge of your jaw to the corner of your mouth. “Not to me.”

He kissed you hard before you could respond, his lips capturing like an enemy force, his tongue intruding where it wasn’t welcome.

You tried to fight him, to keep your mouth firmly shut, but as soon as you relaxed the smallest amount, he simply forced your lips apart again. It was like a game to him, seeing how many times and in how many ways he could make you surrender, forcing you to let slip a noise or shiver involuntarily.

You were weary of fighting, tired of continuously losing the battle, and you let your jaw go lax. He seized the moment, surging forward and licking into your mouth as he sucked on your bottom lip. He pulled your leg higher, around where his ribcage would be as he fucked down into you, his kisses open-mouthed and sloppy, filthy and leaving you in ruins.

Something within you was breaking. Forcing you open in too many ways, kissing you in a mockery of loving passion, all of it was too much, too much!

His fingers continued to trail along your skin, painting it with his insidious touch as they roamed over your stomach, your chest, even curling into your hair, and you cracked just a little bit more.

His hips rolled hard, slapping into you with each hit, the rhythmic pace leaving you without breath or thought. His mouth separated from yours and trailed down your throat to your chest, his back curling as he took a nipple in his mouth and began to suck, never losing his pace. And you let him, your spine arching as your eyes rolled into your head, sharp moans ripped from your throat because you were too weak to stop them.

You were on the edge about to fall, fighting against the impossible tide, and some small part of you refused to cede this last sliver of yourself.

Sixty must have sensed it, because he expertly rolled his tongue around your nipple, squeezing and rubbing the other between his deft fingers as he shortened his thrusts and ground against your clit.

“Nnnph!—“ You tried to tell him no, tell him to stop, you couldn’t do this.

He let go of your nipple with a pop, never slowing his rhythm as he grabbed you by the hair, digging his fingers for purchase as he forced you to look at him.

His expression was scorching with intensity, his pupils blown wide and his lips parted to draw breath. Each breath of warm hair he exhaled ghosted across your face, his lips almost touching yours.

His upper lip slightly pulled back into a wolfish snarl, but his voice was low and jagged as he commanded:

“Come for me.”

With a dejected wail you let go, allowing the tide to carry you into a blissful, white silence.

The height of it didn’t last long enough, and you came crashing down to find your body wrapped around him as tight as possible. Your leg around him squeezed, heel digging into his back as pulse after pulse swept through your abdomen, leaving you boneless and tingling as he continued to fuck you, not allowing you to fully come down from your orgasm.

Tears leaked out of the corners of your eyes as you continued to chase the euphoria, forgetting it was him causing it, just wanting the bliss to never end. But it did, fading away as he stilled his hips, an odd tremor rippling through the limbs curled around you.

There was something else, too. A second throbbing, deep inside you, accompanied by a feeling of warm liquid leaking out of you and down your ass. You took a trembling breath, trying to pick up the shattered pieces of your thoughts, and realized Sixty was lying completely still, face buried into the side of your neck.

Bile rose in your throat when you realized what had happened.

“Get off!” you choked out, disgusted. Humiliated. Horrified.

You felt more than heard his breathing shut off, and Sixty pulled himself up on his elbows to stare down at you. You refused to meet his eye, but you could see the LED spin red out of the corner of your vision.

You tensed, waiting for the blow, though really, what more could he do to you?

The android didn’t strike you, his LED shifting to a spinning yellow as he moved off of you, leaving you feeling sullied and hollow when he pulled out.

Immediately rolling onto your side, you tried to curl into a ball, hands still wrapped tightly behind your back. You heard the rustle of fabric, of clothes being rearranged and smoothed, and then you felt warm fingers remove the tie from around your wrists.

You yanked your shirt down over your chest and pulled on your pajama pants, a wave of revulsion leaving you dizzy as you felt the cooling, artificial semen leaking into your underwear.

“There’s a bathroom down the hall,” he said, tone flat and unaffected as if he was already bored. “Get cleaned up. Take no more than five minutes.”

You couldn’t move off the couch fast enough, your sore muscles and aching bones making the process painfully slow. You staggered to the bathroom per his instructions, hugging yourself tightly as you kept your bleary eyes focused on the doorway a few feet ahead.

Somehow, you made it without falling. As soon as you shut the door, you engaged the lock and allowed the strength to leave your legs as you slid down the wall and sank to the floor.

You gave yourself a full minute to simply unravel. Hyperventilation tightened your chest and burned your lungs, shaky fingers digging into your hair as you tried not to vomit. Even now you could feel the ghost of his touch, burning hand-sized impressions into the thigh that had been slung around his waist. The sensation of his artificial seed dripping out of you spurred you to action.

Using the wall as a support, you pushed yourself unsteadily to your feet and stripped off your pants. With a numbness that wasn’t totally unwelcome, you washed your underwear in the sink and viciously scrubbed soap and water between your legs.

You didn’t stop scrubbing until there was no trace of him left, but you knew it was pointless. The mark he’d left behind was unseen, and stained deeper than your skin.

Next Chapter

[trashmenofmarvel]

It’s finally happened! I hit 2000 followers!

Now it’s time to give back to all of you who have shown me so much love and support in my writing endeavors. I can’t wait to read and share your hard work.

Welcome to the trash pile! Here are the rules for the challenge:

1. Choose your favorite trash man. Even though this is a Marvel blog, I’ll accept a trash man from any fandom. What is a trash man, you ask?

Trash man: a person considered undesirable by polite society [being a trash man is a state of mind, any gender is applicable]

Trash men include villains, antagonists, anti-heroes, dirtbags, “bad guys,” misunderstood bastards, and any character you want to write dark.

2. Your content can be any genre. Fluff, smut, angst, dark, whatever. It can involve OTP’s or OC’s or Readers. It can also be character-centric with no romance at all.

3. Nothing is off limits. But please be courteous to the other residents of the trash bin and tag your warnings accordingly. I’ll know if you don’t because I’m reading everything.

4. The format. No word limit, but please use a Read More for longer entries. Can be drabbles, one shots, social media AUs, part of a series, whatever your little heart desires.

5. Choose your prompt. Send me an ask with the category and number (i.e. Song #4).

6. Two participants per prompt. Can be the same character. If the prompts fill up, I will add a new category to choose from.

7. Due date: March 31st, 2020. Make your faves suffer on the day of the year most people don’t think exists AKA my birthday.

When you’ve posted your entry, tag me and add the tag #trashman2kchallenge

Bonus: Loved this challenge so much you want to do another entry for another trash man? Do it. I want that garbage bin so full the neighbors complain and we attract raccoons.

Prompts below the cut:

Dialogue:

1. “You’re gonna regret this. You know that, right?” @kilyra​ (Ward Meachum)

2. “It’s only a matter of time before you see my point of view. And I have all the time in the world.” @saiyanprincessswanie​ (Brock Rumlow)

3. “Why are you so stubborn? Do you not have a sense of self-preservation at all?” @wheresarizona​ (The Mandalorian), @kilyra​ (Frank Castle)

4. “You want to try that again, sweetheart?” @i-write-things​ (Jesse Dark/Alex Knight)

5. “This is gonna hurt you a lot more than it’s gonna hurt me.” @xbuchananbarnes​ (Erik Killmonger)

6. “You yearn for things you cannot comprehend.” @lavish-witchling​ (Crowley)

7. “Sure you wanna do that, kid?” @stargazingwithcassidy​ (Negan)

8. “Test my patience at your own peril.” @kitkatd7​ (Loki)

9. “Keep it up; you’re just proving my point.”

10. “You shouldn’t put your faith in me. In the end, you will only be disappointed.” @fallencommodore​ (James Norrington)

11. “That’s only making it worse, you know.” @phantomas67 (Alex Krycek and Bucky Barnes)

12. “Welcome back. Did you really think you could escape?”

13. “Guess you were right about me after all.” @nekoannie-chan​ (Brock Rumlow)

Tropes:

1. Enemies to Lovers @wolveria​ (Cad Bane)

2. Bed Sharing @beneaththeblacksails​ (Draco Malfoy)

3. Fake Marriage

4. Fake Dating

5. Forbidden Romance

6. Escort Service

7. Fuck or Die @daaeleira​ (OC/Steve)

8. A/B/O

9. Arranged Marriage

10. Stockholm Syndrome

11. Lima Syndrome

12. Soulmate Marks

13. Hot for Teacher

Songs:

1. Criminal – Britney Spears

2. Heathens – Twenty One Pilots @phantomas67 (Alex Krycek and Bucky Barnes)

3. COPYCAT – Billie Eilish

4. Look What You Made Me Do – Taylor Swift @loveyourcrookedneighbour​ (Quentin Beck)

5. Lurk – The Neighbourhood

6. Sally’s Song – Amy Lee

7. Sing To Me – MISSIO

8. Survivor – 2WEI

9. Victorious – Panic! At The Disco

10. Toxic – 2WEI @wolveria​ (RK800-60/Reader)

11. Emperor’s New Clothes – Panic! At The Disco

12. You Belong to Me – Cat Pierce

13. bury a friend – Billie Eilish

[nekoannie-chan]

The doubt

Pairing: Brock Rumlow X Reader.

Word count: 1946 words.

Summary: Brock has a secret, you think he cheats on you, but what would happen if you discovered the truth?

Warnings: Maybe sad.

A/N: My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English, if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

This is my entry to the @trashmenofmarvel ‘s Trashman’s 2K Trash Party with the dialogue prompt #13:

“Guess you were right about me after all”

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platform or language (I translate myself my own work). If you find any of my works in a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs are fine.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

You and Brock had been dating for about three years, contrary to what everyone said and believed, in their childhood, neither of you had what could be considered a true family, so since you started dating it was what you tried to form.

When Cap joined the team, you noticed that Brock changed his attitude somewhat, it was as if he was afraid, maybe he would be moved as a leader since he had directed Strike for many years or maybe he thought he would lose you, there were many girls who were trying to conquer the Cap, but you had no eyes for anyone but Brock.

While they were preparing dinner, your boyfriend's cell phone rang, you noticed that he had tensed.

“Is everything okay?”

He looked at you doubtfully, it even seemed to you that he had turned pale.

"Yes, I know I promised you it would be a romantic dinner, but ..."

"A mission," you concluded.

He nodded, you had that bad luck that there was always a mission, you checked your cell phone to see if you also had to go, there was nothing in yours, although sometimes you didn't go together.

“I promise you that...”

"Just come back safe, I love you," you interrupted.

"I love you," he said before leaving the place.

That's how it went, you sighed, you weren't angry, but if you thought Brock was acting weird.

The next morning Brock returned, it had been hard for you to sleep, as each time you had a separate mission it was difficult for you to sleep, more than anything for the fear of losing him, instead of when you had missions together you protected the each other.

Brock was the only one who had been with you in difficult times, whenever you needed someone he was there, like when your family had kicked you out of the house.

He always seemed to be very rude and cold, but with you he was different, he had always been loving and cared for you, so much that he didn't mind getting hurt in the missions in order to protect you.

You had managed to fall asleep two hours before he returned, when he entered the apartment, he observed you, he didn't want to wake you up, he kissed you on the forehead and left the flower that had brought you to apologize for leaving.

"Hi," you said sleepily.

“Morning beautiful.”

He smiled all the time he had been worried, in fact, he didn't want you to know his biggest secret, yes, he had told you practically all his life and everything he thought, wanted and so on, but there was only one thing he didn't, first because he didn't know how were you going to react, second because he was afraid of losing you, losing everything that you had built in all that time.

"How was your mission?"

"It was something simple," he said without giving further details.

The strange behavior of your boyfriend continued the following weeks you began to suspect that something had happened in that mission ... or there was someone else.

One day you noticed that there were some documents on the table, it looked like a file m Brock had forgotten, both of you didn't use to check the files, but this time you needed answers. You took the folder, you started reading it, you were in shock, and you couldn't believe what you read.

Brock was HYDRA, HYDRA still existed ... doubts began to appear in your head, had he really loved you or was it all another mission? Your life now seemed like a lie, what should you do?

You didn't even hear when the door opened and Brock entered.

"Honey now ... what's up?" He asked when he saw the expression on your face.

He saw the documents, tried to remain calm, his worst nightmare was coming true, he had never wanted you to find out, and he didn't want problems.

“Y/N I can explain ...”

“Explain what? Everything is very clear, Rumlow — you said furiously while waving the documents.”

“Y/N ...”

“What? Are you going to lie to me again? All those things you were telling me were a lie, you were simply looking for a way to cover up appearances” — you snapped furiously.

"No, I don't ... I just didn't tell you the whole truth, I love you"

"You betrayed S.H.I.E.L.D., you betrayed me, I loved you, you played with me, I don't even really care about you, I don't believe you, and all this ... all this was a lie, right?" Your voice began to break.

You managed to regain your composure, you didn't want to hear more lies, and you were very hurt.

“Y/N, I ...”

"Go, I don't want explanations, I don't want to see you again," you demanded.

"I didn't betray you, I'm not leaving, I need you to ..."

"Okay, so I'm leaving," you said.

You took your bag and left the apartment, he tried to stop you, but you didn't let him, then he started calling you by your name, you ignored him and left, you didn't want to hear any more lies.

It had been two weeks since you had left Brock, while you had returned to the apartment where you lived before, you didn't answer the calls or messages and at work you ignored him.

You had felt bad, you did a pregnancy test, it was positive, you were not sure to tell him, you still loved him, but you felt betrayed, you knew his past and you managed to understand why he had joined HYDRA, but you did not understand why he had not abandoned the infamous organization or because I hadn't told you.

Someone knocked on your door, you thought it was Brock, and you see through the peephole, it was Steve, Natasha, Hill and a man you didn't know, you opened the door.

“Cap, Nat, and Hill” you greeted

They entered your apartment, it seemed that they were bad, it also seemed strange that they were going to visit you, it was not as if you were very friendly with them.

“Where is him?” Asked Steve.

“Who?”

"Don't act as a dumb," Nat said

You looked at Natasha without understanding, that day you had not presented yourself to work so you had no idea what was happening.

"Rumlow," said Steve.

"I don't know," you replied.

It was logical that they asked you about him, they did not tell everyone about their separation, it was also not like you were interested in others knowing.

“How are you not going to know? Asked Steve.”

"We broke up two weeks ago," you explained.

They didn't believe you much, so they made you accompany them, they didn't speak to you, but somehow you knew that they believed you were also HYDRA when that was a lie, you were thinking about what you should do, you couldn't stop thinking about all those times that you and Brock had talked about having children, if he left HYDRA, maybe you could have a life as a family...

The Helicarriers had taken off, you sneak out to look for Brock, you had a bad feeling, and you saw him climbing the stairs.

“Brock!” You called him

He stopped when he heard your voice, for a moment he thought it was not real, he turned to make sure it was real.

“Y/N ...”

I was very surprised, I didn't expect to see you in this place, after all, that had happened

“What are you doing? What did you do? “You Asked.

"Guess you were right about me after all," he replied sadly.

"Brock...”

“Y/N, I have a mission, after finishing it I will explain everything ... if you want me to listen,” he asked.

"Let's go, let's go together," you proposed.

“Y/N…”

"I have a bad feeling, please let's go, I need you ... we need you”

“You need me? Who else? “He asked confused.

He thought you were on the side of Steve and S.H.I.E.L.D., who had sent you to convince him to leave HYDRA, he had too many mixed feelings.

"We're going to be parents," you finally confessed.

He dropped his gun, which echoed when he hit the floor, he didn't expect such news.

"You just say it to convince me, you're kidding, right?" He said completely dismayed.

"It's not a lie, I'm waiting for your baby," you said firmly.

“How is that...?

“Do you really ask that?

Brock looked at the stairs that climbed doubtfully, the internal struggle he was having was noticeable, he could not continue doing that mission, and he could not lose the opportunity of what he had always wanted.

"To hell HYDRA," he sentenced.

He approached you, kissed you, and picked up his weapon, they would look for them, he was sure of that, but they would find a way to avoid it.

"We have to get out of here as quickly as possible," he muttered.

It seemed almost an impossible mission, it was difficult to distinguish between friends and enemies, and Brock was trying his best to stay safe.

They had managed to get out of the Triskelion, Brock kept thinking where could go, evidently to any of the departments, they would probably look for you there, especially after he had betrayed HYDRA.

Suddenly they heard how they carried a gun

“Stop!” Ordered a woman

You both turned, it was Hill, Brock stood in front of you to protect you, and he wasn't going to let anyone hurt you.

"If you want to fight someone, it will be with me, she has nothing to do with this," Brock warned.

Neither objected when you were handcuffed and taken away for questioning, you might find some protection.

“What plans does HYDRA have?” Maria asked.

“I don’t know.

That was true, you didn't know anything about that organization, more than what you had read in the documents.

"Why you run away?" Natasha asked.

"We were going to run away from everything, leave everything behind."

"You were going to continue with HYDRA's plans," said the Russian.

"No, we wanted to have a new life, far from all this, to start everything from scratch."

"You lied, you said they were done," Maria said.

"I didn't lie, we broke up, but we reconciled, we are going to have a baby, I found out this morning, shortly before you arrived, as soon as I told him, he decided to abandon the mission he had," you explained.

“Did you know he was HYDRA?” Nat asked.

"Yes and no, I found out two weeks ago, that's why I had left him, I didn't really know what to do."

"What were you and Y/N doing as HYDRA agents?" Steve asked.

"Y/N didn't know about this, she's not HYDRA, she found out just a few weeks before," Brock said.

After hours of an exhaustive interrogation, you could finally see each other again, now you had to wait until they made a decision about what to do, Brock assured you that he would do everything possible to mend everything he had done in the past.

"We have made a decision, due to the status of Y/N, we will protect them and say nothing about Rumlow, it will officially appear as one of the victims of the Triskelion, as long as it cooperates," said Maria.

“In what way?” Asked Brock.

"Giving information, where there are HYDRA facilities, the plans, whatever it takes to end them," Steve intervened.

"I will," Brock said.

Brock Rumlow would do anything to keep his family safe, the only one he had and ever had in his life and loved.

[chimchimcheerios]

Hey, hey it’s me making the trashpile bigger again. How could I not write something for my dear Chevy? @trashmenofmarvel 

Title: Choices

Summary:  In a world where everyone was born with a soulmate mark, the general public cared surprisingly little about them. Especially nobles didn't pay the the weird, uniquely shaped birthmarks one shared with their soulmate any mind. They married for wealth and for power, rarely, if ever, out of love and knowing who your soulmate really was would make everything entirely more complicated. But that was not why the Chevalier de Lorraine had kept his.

Pairing: Chevalier de Lorraine/ Philippe, Duc d’Orléans | Monsieur

Warnings: implied drug use, drinking, burning 

Words: 5-ish k

Prompt:  Soulmate Marks

Sorry in advance for any mistakes, I couldn’t find anybody to proofread it it haha. 

!!!Find it here!!!

[versaillesao3]

Choices

by blacklipstick

In a world where everyone was born with a soulmate mark, the general public cared surprisingly little about them. Especially nobles didn't pay the the weird, uniquely shaped birthmarks one shared with their soulmate any mind. They married for wealth and for power, rarely, if ever, out of love and knowing who your soulmate really was would make everything entirely more complicated. But that was not why the Chevalier de Lorraine had kept his.

-

Shameless silly soulmate AU for the #trashman2kchallenge on Tumblr <3

Words: 5531, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Versailles (TV 2015)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Chevalier de Lorraine (Versailles 2015), Philippe d'Orléans | Monsieur (Versailles 2015)

Relationships: Chevalier de Lorraine/Philippe d'Orléans | Monsieur (Versailles 2015)

Additional Tags: early season 2, Historical Inaccuracies, Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, chevy is being dramatic as always, Love, Love Confessions, shameless usage of the Chevaliers first name because I am absolutely weak for that, Not Beta Read, because I'm just that punk rock, Wine, Drinking, Alcohol, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Hinted smut, Mild Sexual Content, Kissing

from AO3 works tagged 'Versailles (TV 2015)' https://ift.tt/33WTMro via IFTTT

[wolveria]

Mechanical Heart - Ch. 3

Pairing: RK800-60 x f!Reader

Summary: RK800 Model 313 248 317 - 60 had the perfect bait to lure in his defective predecessor. He’d run the scenario thousands of times, preconstructed his strategy in every conceivable way, and he simply could not fail.

The one scenario 60 didn’t anticipate was his sudden instability from the presence of the human, and the desire objective to take from Connor what should have been his.

Prompt: Toxic by 2WEI (for my writing challenge at @trashmenofmarvel​)

Chapter Warnings: References to rape/noncon, violence, angst

Word Count: 5.2k

AO3

The elevator ride to the basement was the longest in your existence, even worse than the first time you’d stepped into the glass box.

The android who’d kidnapped you, attacked you, ripped your heart and soul to pieces stood beside you, silent and unmoving. He’d herded you toward a different elevator at the back of the lounge, discreet and hidden, but he’d avoided making any physical contact with you. In fact, he hadn’t touched you since the couch.

His dark patterned tie was secured around his collar, neatly in place and unwrinkled; no trace left behind that it’d bound your wrists behind your back minutes ago.

Sixty hadn’t said a word to you either, other than the stiff “move” and “get inside” instructions he had delivered in a moody tone.

But he didn’t touch you, and for that small mercy you were grateful. You think if he had, you would have screamed and never stopped. You were barely holding it together, your composure bound by frayed threads of the poorest quality. Scooped out and hollow, that’s what you felt. Your reflection in the glass mirrored your inner state, haunted eyes and a haggard face staring back at you.

The outside went dark as the elevator entered the subterranean levels, the inner lighting casting an unnatural pallor over your skin. It only added to the visage that you were more corpse than living being.

Down you went into the depths of the earth, trapped and weighed down by the oppressive presence standing next to you. It didn’t matter one bit that he was being quiet, his nearness made your head ring like the aftereffects of an exploded grenade. Or a discharged gun. You knew what that sounded like now.

The darkness was interrupted, brightening with an artificial glow as an expansive warehouse opened before you. It was filled with hundreds of thousands of androids, all standing in neat rows with identical faces and identical white uniforms.

Your heart beat harder as you breathing quickened, mind and body coming back from the dead when you realized what this was and what it meant.

Connor.

You took a step forward, ready to bolt as soon as the doors open, unperturbed by the squad of armored CyberLife security waiting at the bottom of the lift.

You had to warn Connor, tell him it was a trap!

An iron grip clamped around your bicep, pulling you back as a second arm wrapped around your neck. You were effectively trapped against a solid chest just as the elevator came to a smooth stop.

“Don’t make a scene,” Sixty growled against your ear. “Play it smart and there’s no reason you can’t survive this.”

You gritted your teeth and turned your head away, saying nothing. It wasn’t as if he cared whether you lived or died. You weren’t sure you cared much at this point either, but you did care about protecting Connor, and you couldn’t do that if you were dead.

The doors opened and Sixty pulled you through, your fingers digging into the arm still trapped around your shoulders as he approached the armed squad. One of the men nodded to him, none of them appearing surprised by your presence.

Behind their shielded helmets where you couldn’t see their eyes, it felt like you were invisible. Or that you were the only human in the room.

“The deviant killed its escort and will be arriving in T-minus thirty seconds,” the man apparently in charge told the android.

Your heart surged in your chest. Even though you were the bait in a well-laid trap, you couldn’t stop the intense sense of relief and desperation to see Connor again.

“Then what are you waiting for? Destroy it,” Sixty responded with an unexpected amount of hostility in his voice.

If the guard was offended, he didn’t acknowledge it. He turned to his squad with a hand signal and they converged on the other side of the room toward another elevator.

Sixty scoffed, a light huff of disgust that surprised you. “They don’t stand a chance.”

Before you could ask why he would send them to their deaths if that was the case, he dragged you sideways into the thick throng of inactive androids.

You were effectively cut off from most of the room, unable to see past the army of frozen limbs. It was like standing in an especially disturbing cornfield made of rows white-clad bodies and brunette heads instead of green stalks and yellow ears of corn.

Sixty still held you tight within the crook of his arm, and when you jolted at the sound of sudden gunfire, he increased the pressure on your collarbone in warning.

You ignored him and opened your mouth to shout for Connor to run, but he clamped a hand over your mouth to silence the cry before it left your lips. Now both of his arms pinned you to his chest and you squeezed your eyes shut, desperately trying to ward off the memories. You heart thudded in your chest, hating how he could feel it too.

“Like I said,” he said in a voice laden with constricting silk, “I don’t want to hurt you more than necessary, so behave like a good girl."

You stilled your struggles but in no way relaxed, your body one giant, tensed muscle. Sixty didn’t remove his hand, and in fact, just stood there for a moment, keeping you trapped against him. You didn’t know what he was waiting for, and when he finally moved, pulling you with him, you stumbled in your haste to not be dragged along.

As soon as you broke from the line of androids, Sixty removed one hand and replaced it with the cold barrel of a gun pressed against the underside of your jaw.

You barely felt it, too absorbed by the sight before you.

Connor. Alive. Completely unharmed, as far as you could tell. Standing in profile, grasping the arm of one of the slumbering androids, the bodies of the security team lying in a half-circle in front of the open elevator.

Even from here you could see the massive pools of blood, and the knowledge that Connor could kill so efficiently and ruthlessly made your stomach twist in a confusing mixture of dread and concern.

No, you told yourself harshly. This is different. He didn’t have a choice. Connor isn’t like him.

“Step back, Connor!” Sixty called out, loud and clear. “And I’ll spare her!”

You’d never seen the android startle in the time you’d known him, but Connor jerked his head in your direction. His LED spun a distressed yellow as soon as his widened eyes landed on you, restrained within Sixty’s unyielding control.

Connor spoke your name, breathless, as if he’d been punched in the gut.

“Your friend’s life is in your hands,” Sixty told him, voice echoing across the massive space. “Now it’s time to decide what matters most! Her… or the revolution!”

He was using you, once again, this time to hurt Connor. The look on Connor’s face went from shock to anger as he looked you up and down in a way you knew meant he was scanning you.

“What… what did you do to her?” he forced out between clenched teeth.

Shame flooded your cheeks and stung your eyes. You didn’t want him to know, not now, not ever, and certainly not like this.

“Connor,” you begged, wincing as Sixty squeezed tighter, “what happens to me doesn’t matter! You can’t listen to him; you have to help your people!”

“I can’t do that,” he said, his brown eyes shining with regret. “Not if it means putting your life at risk.”

You sagged with defeat and exhaustion, hating how Sixty’s arms were the only thing holding you up as you wavered on your feet.

“Very moving, Connor,” Sixty taunted, sounding as pleased as the cat that ate the canary.

Connor ignored the jab, his mouth pressing into an unhappy line, one hand still tight around the android’s forearm.

Please. Just activate them. You can’t let him win!

You knew, deep down, if Sixty prevented Connor from helping the deviants, then your suffering would have been for nothing. You didn’t think you could live with yourself if that was the case.

A horrible thought entered your head, as shocking as it was appealing. If you could just grab the gun, force Sixty to pull the trigger… he would no longer have you as a bargaining chip. Connor could free the androids and Sixty could no longer use you to—

You bit down on the thought, effectively killing it. You couldn’t do that, not to Connor. Not when he was watching you with wide, worried eyes, as if he knew the dreadful calculations running through your mind.

“If I surrender, how do I know you won’t kill her?” Connor asked, his focus darting from Sixty’s face to yours as he worried his lip in a painfully human gesture.

For once, you wished Connor would act more like a machine, choosing the fate of his people over one human life.

“I’ll only do what is strictly necessary to accomplish my mission,” Sixty responded coldly.

Liar! He didn’t have to bind and gag you! He didn’t have to force off your clothes and degrade you, humiliate you! He did it because he could!

You tried to wriggle out of his arms, indignant rage getting the better of you, but it was a lost battle from the start in your weakened state. Sixty stilled your brief struggles with a tightening of his arm, voice hard as he added, “It’s up to you whether or not that includes killing his human.”

Connor looked as if he was on the verge of bolting to you, his brown eyes blazing and his jaw tensed so you could see the shape of the plastic chassis beneath.

“Enough talk!” Sixty jabbed the gun hard enough against your jaw to make the metal creak. You gritted your teeth, angry tears and a humiliated flush warming your cheeks as he crushed you against his body. Through your thin pajamas you could feel too much of him, and disgust shuddered through your limbs.

“It’s time to decide who you really are,” Sixty resumed his taunts. “Are you gonna save your girlfriend’s life? Or are you going to sacrifice her?”

He spoke the word girlfriend with a mocking sneer, as if he found the idea amusing. But you’d known Connor long enough to recognize the different inflections and emotions in that voice. Sixty wasn’t nearly as unaffected as he was trying to sound.

Under that layer of taunting was a level of anger. The kind of anger that was simmering, irrational, and ultimately deadly towards those who tasted it.

“All right, all right!” Connor exclaimed, letting go of the android and backing away with his arms extended. “You win.”

You felt the change instantly—the loosening of Sixty’s muscles in smug triumph, the slight shift of his balance as he moved the gun away from your chin and towards the android who meant so much to you.

In that moment, you didn’t think, only acted. Sixty swiveled the gun at Connor and his attention was off you for a split second, but that’s all you needed. You jabbed your elbow backwards as hard as you could.

Right into his Thirium pump regulator.

“Mmph!”

Sixty let out a surprisingly human noise of pain, loosening his grip just enough for you to move.

You ducked under his grip, shoved your feet against the ground to sprint away, but Sixty’s fingers tangled in the edge of your shirt and you slipped on the polished floor, falling on your hip.

Barely feeling the blow, you scrambled around to face him, backpedaling against the floor and forced to a stop when he aimed the gun at your face.

Sixty’s glare was full of malice, his brows drawn into a dangerous line as the gun’s barrel loomed large in your vision.

But he didn’t shoot. The bridge of his nose crinkled briefly, like an involuntary twitch, and his blue LED blinked rapidly.

When it burned yellow his hand began to tremble, visibly shaking the weapon. Before you could wonder how you were still alive, a blurred figure entered your vision.

Connor slammed his shoulder hard into Sixty’s stomach, tackling him violently enough to force him to drop the gun. The momentum carried them several feet, dress shoes skidding across the glassy floor for purchase as they grappled for control.

Sixty gripped Connor tight and threw him over his back, tossing him to the ground and standing up to his full height, concentrated rage darkening his eyes.

You had moved back far enough that your shoulder bumped one of the AP700 models in the leg, and your gaze fell on to the discarded gun. You made a dash for it, slowed down as you skidded to the side to avoid the two androids locked in combat.

Each kick, punch, and jab seemed to be met with a mirrored counter. They knew each other’s moves, struck and dodged with the same terrifying grace, and you quickly lost track of who was who. Both opponents seemed equally vicious, causing synthetic skin to retract from damage inflicted by flying knuckles and jabbing elbows.

One of the androids tried to body kick the other, missing him as he rolled out of the way, but he was intercepted with a grab to his jacket. The android raised his fist, but you raised the gun faster.

“Stop!”

The androids froze and turned to look at you at the same time, identical expressions of deadly focus blazing up at you.

“Get up. Slowly,” you ordered, gripping the gun tighter so it would stop trembling.

They obeyed, cautious and careful as they separated and stood apart.

Your hand lightly shook as you moved the gun between them, looking down at their jackets but not close enough to read the tiny serial numbers.

Shit. If you wanted to know which one was Connor, you’d have to move closer, an idea you knew was as stupid as it was suicidal; you’d seen how fast both of them moved. Any closer and Sixty would take a chance and attack.

And since androids didn’t take chances that weren’t in their favor, you would lose, and the deviant revolution would die with Connor.

You licked your lips nervously, eyes flickering between them as you hovered in indecision.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” the one to your right asked, brows drawn over his eyes as he cocked his head.

“It’s me, Y/N. I’m the real Connor,” the one to your left stated. He did sound like the earnest Connor you knew, but… the other android was looking at you with a confused expression you’d seen too many times before not to recognize.

“I can’t… just… let me think,” you hissed out, wincing at the throbbing in your head and your injured hip.

Time was running out, each tick that went by bringing you closer to disaster, but how the hell were you going to tell them apart? They looked exactly alike, and you hated the fact you couldn’t identify Connor from the android who had kidnapped and degraded you. You felt sick, nauseous down to your bones.

Oh, God, why couldn’t you tell your friend apart from a monster?

“Don’t you recognize me?” the first one spoke again. “I’m the real Connor. Give me the gun and I’ll take care of him.”

“No!” You steadied the pistol in your hand, pointing it at him. “You stay right there. Don’t move, either of you.”

The android slowly closed his mouth and nodded his head. Not something you would ever expect Sixty to do, but if he had all of Connor’s memories… he would know exactly how Connor would react in this situation.

“Why don’t you ask us something?” the second android asked. “Something only the real Connor would know.”

You frowned, worrying your lips between your teeth. What could Connor possibly know that Sixty didn’t? He had all of his memories. But would the real Connor know that?

“Okay,” you agreed, pointing your gun at the android who had given the idea. “Where did we first meet?”

“Urban Farms of Detroit,” he said without hesitation. “I had been tracking a suspected deviant employed there. I questioned all of his coworkers, but you stood out. Your answers were inconsistent with your biorhythms, indicating you were lying. I… chose not to bring you in for interrogation, and instead waited to see if Rupert Travis would seek out your help. He didn’t, but… I still came back to see you. You were… nice to me,” he finished, his brown eyes large and painfully vulnerable.

Something hard and rigid you hadn’t realized was sitting deep in your chest began to loosen. This was your Connor. You knew it.

But… you had to be sure.

“Why do I help deviants?” you asked of the same android.

It wasn’t anything you’d told Connor. The answer wouldn’t be tucked away in his memories, but instead, in your own past. If Connor had ever cared about you, he would have looked himself and be able to piece the puzzle together.

This question would separate your friend from your enemy.

But the android didn’t answer. He opened his mouth and paused, yellow LED furiously spinning like a tire trapped in mud, and the pit widened in your stomach as your expression fell.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” he finally said, looking up at you with saddened eyes.

Was it a ruse? How good was Sixty at lying and pretending he had emotions? He would know all of Connor’s mannerisms, his good, eager-to-please nature. Sixty would know all the ways Connor appealed to you, so how were you supposed to tell—

“You ran away from home when you were fifteen.”

You blinked and trained the gun on the first android. He met your eye unblinkingly, expression serious as his voice pitched low.

“Your step-dad beat your mom. When he got tired of that, he beat you too. So you ran away.” His tilted his head gently to the side. “You had nowhere to go. No extended family or friends, and you didn’t go to the police or a shelter. Instead, you hid in an abandoned house.”

You couldn’t look away, enraptured by the story he told in a voice that was achingly familiar.

“Androids weren’t very sophisticated back then. CyberLife made them cheap, too, so they were disposable. This one was a runaway, just like you. Maybe that’s why he took care of you. Stole you clothing and food, anything you needed. He was a deviant. Probably one of the first.”

He leveled his gaze at you, eyes dark but not unkind as he said, “The police got a call about a kid squatting in the house. They picked you up and sent the defective android off to a recycler. That’s the gratitude he received for helping a human. You live with that guilt, and that’s why you help deviants, trying to pay a debt that’ll never be squared.”

Connor, because you knew it had to be Connor, furrowed his brows and said slowly, “It wasn’t your fault, Y/N. You don’t owe us anything.”

It was him. The other android had known where you’d met, because Sixty had all of Connor’s memories. But this, this was only something Connor would know.

You hadn’t realized you had been lowering the gun until the other android shifted, forcing you to put him in your sights.

“No,” he said, panic in his eyes as he reached out a hand. “No, don’t listen to him! He’s not the real—“

The android took a step forward, and you fired on reflex, pulling the trigger without stopping to think—

The recoil was a shock, stinging and numbing your fingers instantly. The android gave a strained cry as he clutched at his chest and dropped to his knees.

He looked up at you with naked shock, and you knew… You knew even before the other android spoke…

“Wrong choice, Y/N.”

All compassion and kindness dropping from his voice like a dead weight being cast into the sea.

When Sixty strode forward and took the gun from your hand, you didn’t resist, coldness spreading through you like a flash-freeze as you stared down at Connor. Your friend, who you had just…

Connor pressed his hand to his chest, blue liquid trickling over his knuckles, shoulders moving with strained breaths as his LED spun a frantic red.

You rushed forward and dropped to your knees in front of him, putting your hand over his to staunch the bleeding, choking on your panic. “No, no, no, Connor, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t, I’m so sorry—“

“It’s okay.” His voice was gentle, even as he winced and tried to give you a reassuring expression. “This is what… he was designed to do.”

You were too focused on trying to keep him alive, palm pressed tight to his wound, to pay attention to what Sixty was doing. When you took a second to check, you saw he hadn’t gone far, just a few feet behind you as he watched the scene unfold with dark, predatory eyes.

“It’s not, not too bad,” Connor said, attempting a slight smile as he placed his other hand over yours. “Nothing important was damaged. Lucky for me you missed hitting any vital biocomponents.”

“I’m so sorry, Connor,” you gasped, regret and sorrow choking your words. “It’s—it’s gonna be all right, we’ll get you some help.”

“That’s not gonna happen, sweetheart.”

You clenched your jaw, an automatic reaction to that hurtful voice behind you. You looked back over your shoulder to see him standing in the same spot, but this time his gun was trained on your back.

“I still haven’t finished my mission. Now… Get out of my way.”

Anger roiled in your gut, and you took your hand off Connor’s wound. He tried to grab you, probably preconstructing what you were going to do, but his fingers slipped from yours, the Thirium coating your hand too slick for him to gain purchase.

You rose to your feet and slowly turned around, making sure to plant yourself directly between Connor and the android threatening to kill him. You had him completely blocked from view, and therefore, from Sixty’s next bullets.

“No.”

Sixty brought up the barrel of the gun, aiming directly at your head.

“You think I’m bluffing?”

He moved the muzzle a few inches to the side and fired. You winced as you actually felt the displaced air next to you from the path of the bullet, and winced again when you heard the body of a helpless android hit the ground.

“I think you’re stalling,” you said, flinching when a bullet sparked off the floor next to your slippers.

You knew logically you should be terrified, but you only felt sick from the force of your rage. Maybe if you’d been alone you would be afraid, but you had Connor to think about, to protect at all costs.

“I think you’re losing control,” you kept going through the shake in your voice, gaining confidence the longer he went without actually killing you. “I think you already lost it, and you’re terrified what they’ll do to you if you fail—“

“Shut up!”

Bright pain sliced through shoulder as the third bullet just glanced across your skin. Warm trickles of blood dripped down your arm, but the wound was shallow and stung more than anything else.

Sixty was breathing hard, his shoulders rising with each rapid expansion. You knew from past experience with distressed deviants that his systems and processors were overworking for him to need to take in so much air.

Because you were right. He wasn’t just stalling, he was worried.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled even as the underlying shakiness was back in his voice. “My mission is to stop the deviants, and I always accomplish my mission.”

“Then finish it.”

Your own voice was more than a strained cry, your heart thudding wildly and every instinct telling you to run. But you wouldn’t. Not when you were the last line of defense between him and Connor.

“Finish your mission, if that’s all you care about.”

One moment he was several feet away; within the blink of an eye, he was standing right in front of you, the muzzle pressed between your bleary eyes with cold, unforgiving precision.

You didn’t know how you were still standing with how hard your knees were trembling, but stand you did, refusing to cede ground.

You weren’t the only one who was trembling. Sixty’s hand shook so hard you could feel it against your skin, shuddering in his grip.

Was it really happening, right now before your eyes? Or was Sixty faking it? You hadn’t seen an android deviate in person, but they’d told you what it was like. Stepping outside of themselves to find a red wall barring them from disobeying their core code. If they wanted to escape from their own programmed prison, they had to tear it down piece by piece.

Sixty still hadn’t moved, his lips pulled into a grimace as his LED blared a solid red, the most distressed an android could be without starting to shut down.

Was… was he actually—

Suddenly, an iron grip circled your waist and yanked, and you were thrown the ground a second time.

Connor kneeled above you, and with one swift movement, he retrieved a pistol from the back of his waistband and pulled the trigger.

One.

Two.

Three.

With a sharp cry, Sixty staggered and fell backwards, hitting the floor with a sickening thud. Bleeding from three new bullet holes, fresh Thirium spilling down his jacket and staining his white dress shirt blue, pooling around his body.

Connor’s expression was harsh and immutable, a sort of cold rage that would have looked more at home on Sixty’s face. He approached the other android and raised his gun—

—only to have it lowered again with the pressure of your palm pressing down on the barrel.

Connor looked up at you, brown doe-eyes blinking as if he was waking from a trance.

“Don’t,” you whispered, curling your fingers around the gun. “Please. It’s over.”

You should let Connor finish it; put the last bullet right between Sixty’s eyes. It wasn’t as if he didn’t deserve it.

But… you couldn’t. Not when he was so much like Connor. Even now, after everything Sixty had done, the thought of letting Connor kill this sorry, twisted imitation filled you with more sadness than it did satisfaction.

You looked at the android on the ground, his LED pulsing red like a distress beacon. He was panting for breath, straining for the air that would cool his overheating circuits. If you didn’t know better, you would say he was in pain. He was definitely no longer a threat to anyone, not in the condition he was in.

“You’re right.” Connor’s words held a finality to them as he replaced the gun behind his belt. He reached down, picked up the gun that Sixty had used to threaten you, and handed it to you grip first.

You looked up at him, questioningly. Not understanding his grim expression until he added, “Just in case.”

Just in case you want to end him yourself.

A lump was trapped in your throat, unpleasant and hard. How much did Connor know? He must have had a good idea if he was willing to let you take a life. Even his.

As Connor walked away, back to the androids he needed to awaken, you held the gun in your hand as you appraised the android who had ruined your life, taking the most fragile parts of you and carelessly shattering them on the ground like a child throwing a tantrum.

He didn’t look so smug now. There was no haughty smirk, no biting words, no cruel spark in his gaze. Just a flashing red LED, blood-drenched hands, and eyes that looked strangely watery in the harsh fluorescent lighting.

“Well?” he asked, voice full of static, an indicator of how severely damaged was. “What are you waiting for? Pull the trigger.”

Even through the muffled quality of his voice you could hear the undeniable truth. Sixty was afraid.

Not from dying, no. In fact, Connor had seriously injured him but left him purposefully alive. You’d repaired enough damaged androids to know fatal wounds when you saw them, and these weren’t it. You didn’t think Connor had done it to be merciful. You suspected a fate worse than death awaited Sixty for his failure if what Connor had told you about Amanda was even half-true.

You shook your head, staring down at the gun before letting it return limp by your side.

“You asked what was so special about me.”

The rest of your anger bled out of you like venom drained from a wound, leaving you with a bone-weary exhaustion. “Nothing. That’s the answer. There’s nothing special about me.”

As you gazed down at the android, bleeding and scared and utterly alone in the world, you felt a shred of the thing he never gave you.

“But I did learn how to be kind,” you said softly. “I learned, because someone showed me.”

The sleeping androids began to awaken. They moved, spoke, touching each other on the shoulders and spreading their message of freedom and hope. With each one that became truly alive, Sixty looked more and more defeated, but his dark eyes never strayed from your face.

“If you survive this,” you repeated Sixty’s earlier words but without any of his coldness, “I hope you learn some kindness…”

You leaned closer, quiet so Connor wouldn’t hear.

“…so you can understand exactly what it was you did to me.”

His brows creased inward, something in his expression conflicted and confused, but you didn’t wait around for him to figure it out.

When you rejoined Connor by his side, he looked down at you with a sad angle of his lips. The sight of it hurt, and you knew the horror of shooting him was something that would linger for a long time. You wondered if he would ever forgive you, but knowing Connor, he already had.

“Aren’t you leaving with them?” you asked, noting how the clone army of androids was making its way to the freight elevators all along the walls.

“They know where to go,” Connor replied, his voice still somehow so gentle. “Markus will get the aid he needs. I’m taking you home.”

The protest died on your lips. The fact was, you didn’t want to be alone, and with the streets still filled with soldiers, you didn’t even know if you could make it back to your apartment safely.

So you nodded and tried not to flinch when he put his hand on the small of your back. Sensing your unease, Connor moved his hand away, leaving you cold with regret.

As you made your way to the elevator that would take you away from this hellish place, your resolve to not look back weakened… and broke. You glanced over your shoulder to find Sixty half-propped up on an elbow, his expression twisted as he watched you retreat with Connor.

His lips were curled in rage, but his eyes were glistening with an agony that stayed with you long after the elevator doors pulled shut.

[wolveria]

Mechanical Heart - Ch. 1

Pairing: RK800-60 x f!Reader

Summary: RK800 Model 313 248 317 - 60 had the perfect bait to lure in his defective predecessor. He had run the scenario thousands of times, preconstructed his strategy in every conceivable way, and he simply could not fail.

The one scenario 60 didn't anticipate was his sudden instability to the presence of the human, and the desire objective to take from Connor what should be his.

Prompt: Toxic by 2WEI (for my writing challenge at @trashmenofmarvel​)

Chapter Warnings: Noncon, dark fic, violence, psychological abuse

Word Count: 1.7k

AO3

You should’ve known it wasn’t Connor.

The light in his eyes wasn’t warm; it was cruel.

The smile dancing on his lips wasn’t kind; it was mocking.

But people see what they want to see, and you desperately wanted to see your friend again.

Still, you should’ve known it wasn’t Connor.

“Move,” he said, voice pitched low and curled into a snarl.

You hurriedly stepped out of the automated taxi, your bootie slippers sliding for a few inches on the icy ground before gaining traction. The air was frigid and unforgiving, snow landing on your shoulders and biting through the thin material of your pajama shirt.

You might have fallen if not for the vice-like grip on your bicep, barely allowing you to regain your balance before tugging you toward the ugly grandiose tower. Your abductor didn’t spare you a glance as you stumbled clumsily behind him.

Remaining silent even as your heart pounded in distress, you were dragged through the doors into the brightly-lit, geometrically-designed lobby. CyberLife security, cutting imposing figures with state-of-the-art gear and weaponry, flanked you on either side. There was no escape; you were well and truly within the belly of the beast.

“Connor android identified. Scan complete. Accessed authorized,” a passive, robotic voice announced as you were trod through a scanner. The guards were no longer following you. Maybe they knew you didn’t stand a chance of escaping. Not from him.

The deceiver in question bullied you inside a single elevator, all cold glass and unfeeling plastic, not unlike the android beside you.

It wasn’t until the transparent doors slid shut that you found the courage to speak.

“Why did you bring me here?”

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile that was far from friendly. How could you not know the moment you’d laid eyes on him that he wasn’t your friend? Your Connor?

Because he’d known exactly what to say and how to say it. The imposter had shown up on your apartment doorstep, soft hair and broad shoulders dusted with snowflakes, his sweet expression molded into aching desperation.

You have to come with me, he’d pled with just the right amount of heart-tugging earnestness. They know who you are.

CyberLife, he’d answered when you asked who he meant, still somehow devastatingly beautiful with his mouth pulled into a grimace. Which means the FBI knows too. They’ll arrest you, charge you with protecting deviants. I have to get you somewhere safe.

You’d known this day would come eventually, had thought the day had arrived when you first met Connor. You hadn’t been surprised when the police had shown up at the UFD to question you and your coworkers. You had been surprised when one of the detectives turned out to be an android, a model you hadn’t recognized.

Everyone had been shocked to learn Rupert Travis had been an android. But not you. You, who had discovered Rupert years ago through the underground network. Had helped him move out of that rundown, condemned building, gotten him a job at the UFD when he didn’t want to go north to cross the border.

You’d denied your knowledge and complacency, skillfully with years of practice. Connor had seen through your lies immediately. A human would have been fooled; an android wasn’t.

Maybe he’d been intrigued by your sympathy toward deviants. Maybe he had calculated there was a chance Rupert would try to get in contact. Either way, he’d kept coming back to see you, and you’d continued to treat him like a person, even a friend. The first human, you suspected, to have done so in his short life.

So when he’d shown up at your doorstep, alive and whole after running off to find where the deviants were hiding, you hadn’t questioned it. Not until the ominous CyberLife tower had grown larger outside the taxi window. Only then did you look to see the discrepancy in his serial numbers.

They ended in 60 instead of 51.

The android—Sixty, you called him in your head, refusing to let him share a name with Connor—said nothing. He looked ahead out of the glass doors, hands clasped neatly behind his back as you ascended the tower at a languid speed.

“I don’t know where the deviants are.” You curled your fists by your side, trying to be brave. They couldn’t make you talk, and they had no authority to keep you here. What this android had done was tantamount to kidnapping. “And I don’t know where Connor is, either.”

You didn’t bother to add and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you, because the statement went without saying. Or rather, it was said perfectly clear within your tone, coated with disgust.

The android reached over to the numbered panel and pressed his palm against it, the picture of composure as the elevator came to a stop. It was why you weren’t prepared when he grabbed your arm, spun you around, and shoved you hard against the glass.

His long, slim fingers pressed into your neck, not hard enough to cut off your air but just enough to make your head spin with fear. He dipped his head down, staring with the full force of his gaze. It was the first time he’d really looked after you after the trap had been sprung.

“What is it that makes you so special?” he mused, his brows furrowing carefully. “What is it about you that make the deviants trust so easily?”

You blinked rapidly, your mouth running dry in your mouth. He was referring to the other deviants you’d helped, giving them a safe place to stay on their way to Jericho or the Canadian border. Between you and Rupert, you had saved dozens of androids over the past two years.

But only Connor knew that. He was the only one you’d trusted with that information. How did he know?

Your question was answered in the form of a silky, insidious voice.

“I have his memories. Of the cases. The deviants. You,” the Connor doppelganger murmured. His face was so close the breath of his words tickled your face. You wanted to recoil, but his grip was ironclad. “I have everything I need. All that was missing was the right bait. It’s not your knowledge I require. Your body will suffice.”

“What?” you croaked, a tremble starting at the base of your spine. He was close, too close, one black dress shoe planted between your feet, the silky edges of his jacket brushing against your bare arms. He was so warm you could feel the heat radiating from his chassis under his artificial skin, an unwanted heat source that felt too good after the freezing temperatures had left you chilled.

The android cocked his head to the side, a cruel parody of the way Connor would look at you when you suspected he was scanning your vital signs. You wanted to curl inward, shield yourself from the exposure of his uncaring gaze.

The corner of the android’s mouth pulled into an amused smirk, mismatched by the hardness in his eyes.

“Knowing his past actions and thought-processes, I can calculate what he will do and when he will do it. The raid on Jericho was less successful than the authorities had hoped, and Connor has disconnected his network from CyberLife’s servers. In all probability, he has joined the deviants in their cause.”

You tried, and failed, to keep your expression passive, knowing the widening of your eyes gave you away. Connor wasn’t just alive, he had gone deviant?

The android continued to speak, dark eyes roving over your face in a slow, lazy manner, as if he had all the time in the world. “He will attempt to infiltrate CyberLife with the goal of freeing the millions of androids in the warehouse.”

He leaned closer, one of his hands partially lifting from your neck as his thumb traced the edge of your jaw. You tried to turn away. He tightened his grip, an angry crease appearing between his brows as he forced you to look at him.

“He’s going to fail his mission. He will choose to do so, because the alternative will be your death.”

Your expression folded, chest tightening at the truth of his words. You knew Connor. He would never let you die if he had a choice. After all, he’d let Rupert go to save his human partner’s life.

This bastard knew it too. The triumphant glean in Sixty’s eyes said as much.

“Please,” you said, not caring if your voice was small and pathetic. “You don’t have to do this. It’s too late for CyberLife to stop what they’ve started. Even if they do, this won’t be the last awakening. Androids are living beings, they’re people, and they have every right to exist alongside humans—“

Sixty pressed the pad of his thumb against your trembling lip and pushed. You went still, lax with shock, heart thudding in your ears as his gaze dropped to your partially open mouth.

Something hot and sinuous coiled in your belly. You immediately squeezed your eyes shut, disgust heating your cheeks.

No. This isn’t Connor. This isn’t him!

“Interesting,” he purred. He was still too close, the weight of his lithe but unyielding body pinning you to the glass. You couldn’t open your eyes so you remained still, waiting for whatever cruelty he had in store.

And then, the weight and heat was gone, his hand disappearing from around your throat.

You opened your eyes to find his palm pressed against the panel, jostling you slightly off-balance as the elevator began to move again. He didn’t spare you a second glance, returning to his position in front of the second set of doors, hands clasped behind his back in a perfectly poised demeanor. Not a hair out of place or a wrinkle in his sharp, tailored suit.

His back was to you, broad shoulders relaxed and uncaring as if you weren’t even there. As if he hadn’t just pinned you to the glass seconds ago with the intention of dismantling you.

Or maybe he still would. His posture was composed, but there was a potential there. He reminded you, in that moment, of a relaxed, sunning leopard, seconds before its muscles coiled into steel and its glass claws tore into its prey.

Tearing it apart, piece by screaming piece.

Next Chapter

[kilyra]

I Regret Things

Ward Meachum (Iron Fist) One-Shot for a challenge

A/N: I joined @trashmenofmarvel​​​ ‘s Trashman 2K Challenge with at the very last minute with the prompt:  “You're gonna regret this. You know that, right?”. But...please bear in mind, I started this fic a few hours ago and a few drinks ago LOL

While you were out celebrating a successful pitch with your boss...you may have celebrated a bit too much.

Warning: Drinking. No spoilers. But also no promises - this might be a bit rough both for content and typos!

NOTE: If you want to be on a Ward(or everything) tag list, let me know :)

“And six shots please.”

Ward's eyebrows lifted at your order, silently questioning you from across the small, round table.

“On his tab again,” you finished, nodding his direction as you smiled at the woman taking your order.

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” He drawled as a nervous, faint smile flashed tightly across his lips.

“Of course I'm sure. It's a great idea. The whole night will probably end up on your tab in fact.” Looking back up, you caught the server's smirk as she nodded and left, refusing to get involved.

Resting on his elbow, his fingers danced along his temple as he leaned closer. “Six shots?"

“We're sharing,” you said, as though he didn't already assume that.

His lips drew together in a tight line as his eyes dulled while he stared at you. The corners of his mouth finally tugged in a frown and you had to let your eyes drop to the table before you laughed. Sitting up straighter, he tilted his head, continuing to shoot you a disapproving look.

“Oh, come on, we're celebrating. I nailed that presentation.”

Letting out a long huff through his nose, his frown seemed to deepen even as he gave a slow nod. “Yeah, you did. Which is why we're here, but-”

“But I didn't just nail it, did I? I nailed it when you expected me to fail.” Although you meant it to come out lightly, there was a bit of bite to your tone.

His doubtful frown dropped entirely as his eyebrows smoothed back. Somehow, his fleeting blank expression was more serious than his scowl. “Oh, now hang on.”

Before he could finish, the server returned with your drinks a tray of shots. You had never had such fast service, but you also had never been out with a man who oozed such class in his crisp three-piece suit.  

Sitting back, he ran his hand down his tie, smoothing it in place as the server set the drinks on the table before leaving with a relaxed smile. For a second, your hand hovered over your cocktail before finally reaching for a shot glass.

Although he kept his eye roll relatively contained, it was impossible to miss as he reached for one of the shot glasses on his side. Holding it up as an across-the-table-cheers, you both nodded before downing the shot.

It burned. And, judging by how Ward's eyes squeezed shut, you weren't alone with that.

Staring at the glass he set to the side, his voice was slightly raspier as he tried to continue his point. “I didn't expect you to fail, by the way.”

The drink burned all the way down with such heat, you could pinpoint the exact point in your body the liquid was sliding. And that taste...it drove you to grab your actual drink and taking a deep sip to wash it away.

“You didn't?” You were surprised at how thick your voice was.

His eyes snapped up to yours. "No. Do you actually think that?"

Grabbing your second shot, you motioned for him to the same. Arching his eyebrow, he didn't reach for his. “Really, Y/n?”

“You're my boss. Like hell I'm going to answer that without at least another shot.”

Scratching his thumb across his forehead, he gathered his shoulder in a light shrug of resignation. This time, your glasses almost touched in cheers.

But the burn was still the same. Shuddering, you couldn't help it as your tongue darted out in a soundless gag. You were so preoccupied with the strength of the shot, you missed Ward's expectant stare.

“Well? You had your shot...now answer. Do you really think I'm sitting around, wanting you to fail?”

The warmth had spread across your stomach and distantly you realized there was an extra rush when you shook your head. “I didn't say you wanted me to fail, but you were the one who kept saying it wouldn't work. That Aramag would hate it. You expected me to fail. But here we are! I'm like Rand's rising star!'”

Lifting his eyebrows, a smile crossed his lips before he took a sip of his drink. "Here we are. And...just so we're clear...to you, thinking a pitch won't work is the exact same as expecting someone to fail?”

There was something in the way he looked at you that made your stomach flip. His soft brown eyes had a way of grabbing you and not letting you look away. Finally, you shrugged and reached for your final shot.

“Uh, maybe you should space those out a bit?”

Thumbing the glass, you smirked in a fairly transparent bid to get out of answering his question. It suddenly seemed silly when he said it that way.

"Aww, do you need  a breather, is that what you're saying?" Lifting your shot glass to your lips, you didn't give him much chance to reply as your eyes darted from his to his glass and back.

“You're gonna regret this. You know that, right?” His words came out in a sigh as he picked his shot.

Your glasses sloppily clinked in cheers before you each downed your shot.

Somehow, it didn't burn as much.

Ward let his glass clunk hard on the table as he set his empty shot with the others. “So uh...I guess I do need to make this clear...I can think an idea is bad and not want you to fail.”

Heat rose to your cheeks as he came back to your statement. You didn't think he'd take it so seriously, but as he made great efforts to explain it away, embarrassment started creeping in.

But he seemed to take your silence as a signal to keep going. "Actually, I think this may be the first time that I thought an idea was terrible but trusted the person enough to let them pitch it anyhow. Other than Joy, of course..."

There was a wistful undertone to his voice as he let his gaze drift into the distance. In the moment's silence, you focused on your drink, scratching at the drops of condensation. Finally, you cleared your throat. “But it wasn't a terrible idea. I got the contract.”

The dreamy quality didn't seem to drop from his eye as he looked over at you. “Exactly. It wasn't. Which is why I'll be drafting up a promotion for you on Monday, Y/n. You're more in touch with some of our clients than I will ever be. You've proven that that today.”

“You...what? Are you...seriously?” Did your tongue seem thicker suddenly? Or maybe numb?

Ward's eyes narrowed as he scanned your face. There was a faint crease between his eyebrows as he flicked his fingers up from the table. Within seconds, the server was there and he was asking for water.

Before she returned, you hauled yourself to your feet, waving off his concern. “Oh, I'm fine. I just need to go to the washroom.”

But..once you were on your feet, everything seemed to sway around you and your stomach flipped violently. “I...I regret things now....”

Huffing out a soft chuckle, he hopped to his feet and slipped his arm around your back, tucking you against him. "Alright, rising star...lets just let you home..."

For once that night, you didn't feel like arguing.

Taglist:  @foreverfaeries​  @flower-two​  @getlostinyourparadise​   @selfishkiddo​  @angelicshinigami​  @parkersbabey​  @natsukitakama​  @fortnitevevo​  @randomtwistedlife​ @stjernegoblin​ @hudsonbird​

[chimchimcheerios]

Ahoy my dudes it is finally time to make my contribution to the trash pile for @trashmenofmarvel ‘s 2K challenge!

Title: The Girl and her Sailor

Summary: James is a mess and Elizabeth knows it, yet it doesn’t stop her from hoping. They have a talk aboard the Pearl somewhere during Dead Man’s Chest. 

Pairing: a bit of Elizabeth/James and a teeny tiny hint of Jack/James

Warnings: mentions of drowning, alcoholism, angst, nightmares

Words: 4k and a little

Prompt:  „You shouldn’t put your faith in me. In the end you will only be disappointed.”

Sorry in advance for any typos, I wanted to get this little thing posted before Uni work swallows me whole lol Find it on my AO3!

The Pearl had become quieter and quieter as the sun slowly sunk into the horizon and when the music ceased and most of the sailors had retired to their bunks in a drunken stupor, James Norrington was the only one left on deck. Not even Gibbs who usually made sure everything was in order at this hour was anywhere to be seen. And James was glad about that, he did like the sailor surprisingly much but he couldn't stand his pearls of wisdom right now. He was leaning over the railing, a bottle of rum in his hands and listening to the faint sounds of the ocean beneath them.

It was a clear and peaceful night, barely any clouds to be seen and wherever he looked there was water, no land in sight. He was staring at the cold darkness, thinking about what the sea was capable of and not even the moonlight reflecting on the gentle waves could ease that dreadful feeling growing inside of him by the second. His mind was filled with images of sailors screaming, of dark waves swallowing them whole, of falling, of the cold darkness around him, filling his lungs till he couldn't breathe anymore, not knowing where up and down was. James sighed and raised the bottle to his lips, the taste of warm and stale rum filling his mouth. He had learned to love that burning sensation down his throat, a familiar, almost comforting feeling these days.

He didn't notice Elizabeth approaching. James was too lost in thoughts and memories and only when she went to stand beside him, making her presence known, he turned to face her. Despite the men's attire she was wearing, she still bore striking resemblance to the Elizabeth he knew and it was beyond him how anybody could have possibly mistaken her for a man even with her hair tied together. At least her voice should have given her away. And perhaps she looked even more like herself, dressed in these clothes and maybe he knew her too well to judge her disguise. 

She did not say a single word at first, only looked at him and her gaze felt like it was burning right through him. Perhaps with distaste, maybe it was pity, he couldn't tell anymore. And he stayed quiet as well, turning away again till the silence between them became too much to bear and the faint sound of the calm ocean beneath them made him more uneasy than he would have liked to admit. He was a sailor, he should love the sea as a woman, not fear her! And maybe he did after all, maybe he loved the sea still despite everything she had done to him, despite knowing what she was capable of and what incredible power lay within her. He couldn't hate her, never. The sea was calling him, had been since he could remember and he was to honor her call every second of his life. "What do you want?" he finally asked the young woman besides him, not turning away from the reflection of the moon in the cold darkness. 

Elizabeth stayed quiet a little bit longer as if she didn't quite know herself why she found herself on deck alone with him at this hour. Had he not made it clear that he wanted to be alone? Had he not scared her away with his biting remarks? “I want some company.” she informed him at last, her voice soft and quiet. A little glance to his side told him that she had not shifted her focus away from him. He raised an eyebrow and turned his head completely to look at her. 

“Well I do not.” he muttered. There had been a time where he would have given anything for her to willingly enjoy his company just like she had when she was a child and he barely a man but these times were gone now. It felt like an eternity ago even if it had not been. So much had happened, too much. And it would be a lie if he were to say he didn't love her anymore. Not unlike the sea he would never truly be able to hate her, in a way Elizabeth Swann did remind him of the sea, the power that lay within her. She was wild and stubborn and unpredictable. But Elizabeth had made it inescapably clear that her heart already belonged to the poor blacksmith turned pirate instead. It's why she was here to begin with, to find the man she loved and it wasn't him. It never would be, he had accepted it by now. 

James hated that she got to see him like this. He hated that she saw a side of him he had intended to hide forever, a side of him that was weak and hurt and so very unlike the man he had once been. So very unlike Commodore Norrington. He hated that she saw him fall victim to his own pride and that she witnessed him going down the same path so many other good men had before him. Not that he was a good man, he really was the anything but that and he looked down, twirling the bottle in his hand, watching the dreaded liquid move around inside of it. His facade had crumbled and maybe it was time to pay for his sins now. "Got all the company I need."

Elizabeth let out a slow breath but didn't say anything about it, yet it was almost as if he could feel her disapproval. What he didn't expect was to feel a hand on his shoulder just moments later. Her hand, comforting him as well as she could. It was a gesture he had not expected, especially not after he had let his frustration out on her earlier that day. They had been friends before, they had grown apart before but they had never been the people to show physical affection besides the occasional hug. But then again, it was usually Elizabeth who had hugged him first. Suddenly he felt quite overwhelmed, not unlike back when he had made his proposal and it backfired so dramatically. It had been a while since anybody had gotten even remotely close to him and shown him any sympathy whatsoever. Tortuga was not a friendly place, not even the women who sold their services were though he had befriended two of them, bonding over their shared dislike for Captain Jack Sparrow. But besides that the last months had been filled with drunken bar fights and trouble, it all became a blur in his mind. Naturally James had tried to distance himself the minute he first set foot aboard the Pearl alongside Elizabeth. It was bad enough that she had to find him in a pigsty even if he appreciated that she had come for him to make sure he was alright. Instead of trying to be better for her though, he had continued his attempt to numb all possible feelings with enough rum to compete with Sparrow or else he feared he'd go mad with guilt. 

“James…” she sighed but stopped talking for a bit again, staring into the ocean just like he had. “Why are you out here alone?”

“Well, it had been my intention to be alone and empty this very bottle in my hand till I fall asleep at last.” he explained halfheartedly and lifted the bottle to his lips once more. His gaze wandered towards the water again but he could hear the loud, exaggerated sigh Elizabeth let out. "Someone just had to ruin those lovely evening plans for me." 

But just like the Elizabeth he knew and the Elizabeth who knew him more than he'd like her to, she looked right through him. To be honest though, he hadn't really put an effort in sounding confident in his statement anyway. “I think the opposite is the case.” she told him and sounded rather sure of herself. And she was right, he wanted anything but to be alone. He'd been mostly alone for a long time now and had pushed away those who tried to get any closer. In face he was still doing it or else he wouldn't have treated Elizabeth like he had. But he couldn't tell her that now, could he? He couldn't let his facade crumble even more than it had already. Rather unexpectedly she reached out for his face, gently turning it so he finally looked directly at her and when their eyes met he couldn't lie anymore. 

“I couldn’t sleep… I can’t sleep.” James admitted to her at last. Of course he didn't tell her why, didn't tell her about the nightmares that haunted him. It wasn't something he talked about, not when he had been a mere child and not now either but then again, who would have listened anyway? His father certainly hadn't back then, told him to man up but judging from what Lawrence Norrington had spat in his face all those years ago, he had figured his father did not care about him all that much. And when he'd been old enough to have friends to confide in, the nightmares rarely happened anymore and he was to stubborn to admit any weaknesses to them whatsoever. 

Her hand remained on his face and he was almost sure there was worry in her eyes. “Do you wish to talk about it?”

James reached up, rough hands pushing Elizabeth's gentle fingers away. He wasn't as gentle as she had been, she was resisting at first and when the only thing reminding him of her hand was the lingering warmth on his face, he looked down after considering his options. "No." And she seemed to have accepted the answer. 

"Well, I am here," she began, turning around and leaning back, resting her elbows on the railing now. "because I need your help, James. I know I can trust you and you're the only person on this ship who can help me."

James furrowed his brows but didn't say anything about it. Perhaps if he ignored her she would go away? Whatever she needed his help with - most likely it was about dear William - he wasn't fit to be of use for her and he had no idea how she couldn't possibly see that. It stung, felt like a stab in the gut that she still believed the man who he once was to be there while he knew better than anybody else that he wasn't. But he couldn't help her, not even if he wanted to and both of them would be bound for disappointment in the long run. He was a penniless drunk now, a man who had willingly joined a pirate crew and his glorious days were long gone. The Commodore was nothing but a distant memory but yet it seemed like Elizabeth refused to believe that. She saw something that wasn't there, blinded by hope and desperation for the man she loved so dearly. 

But against what he had hoped, she stayed and as annoying as it was, he appreciated it for some reason. She'd always been the stubborn kind and probably always would be. Sometimes it did her good, sometimes it didn't but it was his Elizabeth nonetheless and he couldn't help but smile a little bit. He was getting tired, it had been an exhausting day and Sparrow had made sure to make him work especially hard. It was funny though how the captain seemed to assume he didn't know what it meant to work on a ship, what it meant to work hard in the burning Caribbean heat or to scrub the deck endlessly. James Norrington was no stranger to manual labor, he had started somewhere too. He wasn't born a high ranking navy officer, he had worked hard for it and especially Sparrow should know that if only the captain could put his childish jealousy behind him for once!

So James turned away from the water and slowly sat down on the blackened wood, leaning back against the railing with an exhausted sigh. Sometimes he thought he could almost feel the Pearl as if she were alive and it made him understand a little better why Sparrow liked her so very much. The Pearl truly was a magnificent ship, if only she wasn't in the hands of a pirate but then again he supposed she belonged to Jack and he belonged to her. With Sparrow, he corrected in his mind. He wouldn't fall for it again, wouldn't let himself get closer and think fondly of the goddamn pirate captain who ruined his life! He rubbed his eyes and patted the floor besides him, an invitation for Elizabeth to sit down too. 

She did, hesitantly so at first but it was almost as if she knew that he needed her company a little bit longer even if it didn't last. He had missed her. James took a deep breath and drank from his bottle again as if that would somehow help with what he was about to admit to her. He didn't know why he did it, he never had the intention to rub it into her face how far he had fallen. “Every time I try to fall asleep it feels like I’m drowning.”

“So you would rather drown yourself in a different manner?” she asked drily, her big eyes staring at him innocently in the faint light of a lantern. 

“Elizabeth, don’t.”

“Why not? You think me naïve? You think I don’t understand how harsh the world can be?”

And something bitter inside of him wanted to tell her that he indeed thought so, he wanted to spit into her face that she knew absolutely nothing of his pain and that her efforts were completely and utterly useless. He let it slip past his lips before he had the chance to properly think about it, his emotions winning over rationality. "Yes."

Elizabeth's eyes widened as she stood up to leave and he immediately realized his mistake. He had carelessly offended the only person who did not seem to hate him just yet. But he couldn't let her leave, he hadn't truly meant it and he reached for her hand, looking at her with hopeful, almost pleading eyes. And only when she sat down again, he let go of her hand as if he'd been worried she'd leave for good now. Had she truly wanted to leave, he would have let her. "My apologies, I should not have..."

This time it was Elizabeth to remain silent, to ignore him. She didn't even acknowledge his apology at all. 

"They're back." he blurted out, gripping the bottle in his hands till his knuckles turned white. Elizabeth was among the few people he'd ever told about what happened to him as a child and the nightmares that only ceased a few years later. Elizabeth had still been a child herself then, telling him about bad dreams she kept having so he told her about those he had when he was a kid in attempt to make her feel better. He doubted she remembered it but at the time she had been overly happy that a man like him had been a kid scared by dreams once too. She had hugged him and told him how glad she was that it meant she wasn't weak. James couldn't blame her for not remembering, in fact he barely remembered it himself had it not been for the hurricane stirring up things long forgotten. And Elizabeth looked at him with complete and utter confusion on her face. "The nightmares. You won't remember, I told you when you were a mere child."

 "Oh." Against his expectations her eyes actually widened with realization. "They never told me the full story of what happened before you left. Of course there's been talk but you know Port Royal. Rumors spread like wildfire and in all honesty I was busy with other things... wedding preparations, a useless effort in retrospect."

"I made a mistake, a horrible mistake and it didn't just cost me my ship and my commission. It cost lives of good men." He brought the bottle to his lips again, ignoring the shame because what did it matter now anyway? It helped, it took the pain away and he could finally feel the warmth from inside and the exhausted numbness spreading over him like a blanket. And the world started to spin a little but he was used to that feeling by now and he laughed bitterly. "Even the best men, even the strongest ship cannot win against the ruthless power of the sea. I was greedy for honor and the satisfaction of catching Sparrow at last. I had become reckless, thought I was above her but the hurricane took everything and I was reminded again that in the eyes of the sea, we are nothing but ants. We couldn't win. Funny, honor was the first thing I lost."

Elizabeth didn't quite acknowledge what he had said. She took his hand instead, squeezing it tightly and it felt entirely more comforting than any words could have ever been. He couldn't tell if she was feeling sorry for him or if it was sadness he saw in her eyes. At the very least she wasn't angry at him, didn't openly blame him and he was glad about that. “You don’t look well.” she noted, a slight worried undertone in her voice and she reached out to gently brush the strands of hair that were falling in his face away.

“Charming as ever.” he said, a voice dripping with sarcasm and rolled his eyes dismissively. 

"Don't be silly James, you know what I mean. I'm just... worried." She admitted as she tried to brush away a particularly stubborn strand of hair that just kept falling back till she gave up and let it be. 

He'd always told himself that under all the grime and mud, there was still some of himself left but the truth was that whenever he tried to comb his fingers through his hair, he was surprised at how long it had gotten and got stuck halfway through. The truth was that he couldn't remember when his beard had grown either and that his clothes - or what was left of them for that matter - hang much more loosely on his body than they had before. The truth was that there were bags under his tired eyes, that his face was flushed and that he bore more scars than he had before his venture into the foul place that was Tortuga. The truth was that he had been in denial. 

"Don't be. I did it to myself, it's my fault I-" but James didn't get to finish his sentence. 

"Oh would you stop it!" Elizabeth exclaimed, more annoyed than worried now and straightened her back. "We've all had bad things happen to us but it's in the past now so could you please stop wallowing in your own self-pity because I need you James. I need the James Norrington I grew up with, the James Norrington I admired once. I need his help." And for a brief moment she didn't look like the strong, put together woman she was growing into but a girl, alone on an adventure and worried for love of her life. 

James wanted to defend himself but he knew deep down that she was right. Or perhaps he was too drunk to think clearly by now, who knew. But what he knew for sure was that he didn't have the energy to fight with this woman and he didn't really want to either. "I know you're hurt Elizabeth. I know they took away the man you love but don't think you're the first person to be heartbroken before. And Elizabeth?" He offered her his bottle but she shook her head. "I trust you will find him again because this his how the story is supposed to go and I can assure you that I am not a part of it." 

"But what if you are a part of it?" She asked him and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I will find him with your help! You saved me once and you can help me now because you are the only person aboard this ship I can truly trust." Her voice had become more and more desperate as she spoke to him. 

"You shouldn't put your faith in me. In the end you will only be disappointed." he told her more calmly than he thought he would. And the words felt heavy as he spoke them, as they fought their way out of his mouth and it made him feel sick to say but it was true. Perhaps there was a time where he would have helped her right away but now he knew that he wouldn't, that he couldn't. She was strong enough to do it on her own and she didn't need the help of a penniless deckhand who drowned his sorrows in rum or whatever he lay his hands on. James reached up, his free hand finding it's way into her soft hair as he tried to comfort her. "You always did it, saw me as something I am not. A good man."

 A few moments passed, maybe it were just a few seconds, maybe it was several minutes, he couldn't quite tell. He was more focused on staying awake and keeping the sickness he was beginning to feel at bay. 

 "There was a little girl once." she began and her voice sounded almost choked. He didn't dare to look, was sure he wouldn't be able to handle it if she were to cry. "She didn't have a lot of friends, especially none that shared her interests but adventures and pirates were deemed unsuitable topics for a little girl anyway. Not that it stopped her from dreaming. One day she met a young man, a friend of her father and he was so determined and brave, she was taken aback. He was terrific sailor and she'd beg him for stories of his travels whenever he came to visit."

"Stop." he whispered, a pained expression on his face but she continued as if nothing had happened. 

"And when her father wasn't listening, the sailor told her stories that made her eyes widen with fascination and she listened. Sometimes he'd bring her little presents, sometimes he smuggled books about pirates in for her to read. He taught her how to ride a horse like a gentleman because she just wouldn't stop begging. He was her friend, her only friend."

The story had brought a little smile to his face, made him feel warm inside like no amount of drink ever could despite the pain it had caused him as well. Sometimes he forgot about all those little things, her childhood he had played such an important role in back in London and later in Port Royal. It all seemed so distant and so very far away but it was good to know she remembered. It was good that she had made him remember. Elizabeth then hesitantly reached for the bottle James was still holding, gently trying to take it from his hands but he didn’t want to let it go. His fingers remained close and she pried them open one by one and set it aside, looking at him with that sad glimmer in her eyes. “I know that he’s still there.”

“He’s not.”

"Liar." 

And she turned his face towards her, their eyes meeting in the dark on a god forsaken pirate vessel. This wasn't how the story was supposed to go, it never had been. He was confused more than anything when she leaned in closer and closer and maybe it was the alcohol impairing his judgement but he kissed right back when she placed her soft lips on his no matter how improper it was. It was only a brief kiss, didn't last very long and when she pulled away, she hastily stood up and hurried away, back to where she had come from but not before looking back one last time. "The girl missed the sailor a lot. Maybe for a little while she even loved him back and she meant it then and she means it now. Her sailor is a fine man."

With that she was gone again and James was left sitting on deck in the middle of the night, all alone with only the rest of his rum keeping him company and he wondered if it all had been a dream or a hallucination after all. If only her taste didn't linger. It ripped open old wounds and he tried to flush it away as he downed what was left in his bottle and staggered back inside as well and fell asleep at last. He didn't dream that night or at the very least he couldn’t remember. 

[nekoannie-chan]

La duda

Pareja: Brock Rumlow x Lectora

Palabras: 1759 palabras

Resumen: Brock tiene un secreto, tú crees que te engaña, pero ¿qué pasaría si descubres la verdad?

Advertencias: Quizás es triste.

N/A: Esta es mi entrada para Trashman’s 2K Trash Party con la frase #13:

“Supongo que estabas en lo correcto respecto a mí después de todo”

No doy ningún permiso para que mis fics sean publicados en otra plataforma o idioma (yo traduzco mi propio trabajo) o el uso de mis gráficos (mis separadores de texto también están incluidos), los cuales hice exclusivamente para mis fics, por favor respeta mi trabajo y no lo robes. Aquí en la plataforma hay personas que hacen separadores de texto para que cualquiera los pueda usar, los míos no son públicos, por favor busca los de dichas personas. La única excepción serían los regalos que he hecho ya que ahora pertenecen a alguien más. Si encuentras alguno de mis trabajos en una plataforma diferente y no es alguna de mis cuentas, por favor avísame. Los reblogs y comentarios están bien.

DISCLAIMER: Los personajes de Marvel no me pertenecen (desafortunadamente), exceptuando por los personajes originales y la historia.

Otros lugares donde publico: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

Si te gusto por favor vota, comenta y rebloguea.

Brock y tú habían estado saliendo durante aproximadamente tres años, contrario a lo que todos decían y creían, en su infancia ninguno de los dos había tenido lo que podría considerarse una verdadera familia, así que desde que comenzaron a salir fue lo que intentaron formar.

Cuando el Cap se unió al equipo notaste que Brock cambió un tanto su actitud, era como si tuviera miedo, quizás a que lo desplazaran como líder, ya que él había dirigido a Strike durante muchos años o tal vez creía que te perdería, había muchas chicas que estaban tratando de conquistar al Cap, pero tú no tenías ojos para nadie más que para Brock.

Mientras preparaban la cena, el celular de tu novio sonó, notaste que él se había tensado.

— ¿Todo está bien?—cuestionaste.

Él te miró dubitativo, incluso te pareció que se había puesto pálido.

—Sí, sé que te había prometido que sería una cena romántica, pero...

—Una misión—concluiste.

Él asintió, tenían esa mala suerte que siempre surgía alguna misión, revisaste tú celular para ver si también tenías que ir, no había nada en el tuyo, aunque a veces no iban juntos.

—Te prometo que...

—Solo regresa a salvo, te amo—lo interrumpiste.

—Te amo—dijo antes salir del lugar.

Así se fue, suspiraste, no estabas enojada, pero si pensabas que Brock estaba actuando raro.

A la mañana siguiente Brock regresó, te había costado trabajo dormir, como cada vez que les tocaba una misión separados era difícil para ti dormir, más que nada por el miedo de perderlo y que no regresara, en cambio cuando tenían misiones juntos se protegían el uno al otro.

Brock era el único que había estado contigo en los momentos difíciles, siempre que habías necesitado de alguien él estaba ahí, como cuando tu familia te había echado de casa.

Él siempre aparentaba ser muy rudo y frío, pero contigo era diferente, siempre había sido amoroso y se preocupaba por ti, tanto que no le importaba salir herido en las misiones con tal de protegerte.

Habías logrado conciliar el sueño dos horas antes de que él regresara, cuando entró al departamento, te observó, no quiso despertarte, te dio un beso en la frente y dejó la flor que te había traído para disculparse por haberse ido.

—Hola—saludaste adormilada.

—Hola hermosa.

Sonrió todo el tiempo había estado preocupado, de hecho no quería que supieras su mayor secreto, si, te había contado prácticamente toda su vida y todo lo que pensaba, deseaba y demás, pero únicamente había una cosa que no, en primera porque no sabía cómo ibas a reaccionar, en segunda porque temía perderte, perder todo lo que habían construido en todo ese tiempo.

— ¿Cómo te fue en la misión?—preguntaste.

—Fue algo sencillo—dijo sin dar más detalles.

El extraño comportamiento de tu novio continuó las siguientes semanas comenzaste a sospechar que algo había pasado en esa misión...o había alguien más.

Un día notaste que había unos documentos en la mesa, parecía un expediente m Brock lo había olvidado, no solías revisar las cosas de él ni él las tuyas, pero esta vez necesitabas respuestas. Tomaste el folder, comenzaste a leerlo, estabas en shock, no podías creer lo que leías.

Brock era HYDRA, HYDRA aún existía...las dudas comenzaban a aparecer en tu cabeza, ¿realmente te había amado o todo había sido una misión más?, tu vida ahora parecía una mentira, ¿qué deberías hacer?

Ni siquiera escuchaste cuando la puerta se abrió y Brock entró.

—Cariño ya... ¿qué pasa?—preguntó al ver la expresión que tenías en tu cara.

Vio los documentos, trató de mantener la calma, su peor pesadilla se estaba haciendo realidad, él nunca había querido que te enteraras, no quería problemas.

—T/N puedo explicarte...

— ¿Explicarme qué? Todo es muy claro Rumlow—dijiste furiosa mientras agitabas los documentos.

—T/N...

— ¿Qué? ¿Me vas a volver a mentir? Todas esas cosas que me decías eran una mentira, simplemente buscabas una manera de cubrir las apariencias—espetaste furiosa.

—No, yo no...Solo no te dije toda la verdad, yo te amo—

—Traicionaste a S.H.I.E.L.D., me traicionaste a mí, yo te amaba, jugaste conmigo, ni siquiera te importo realmente, no te creo, todo esto...todo esto fue una mentira ¿verdad?—tu voz comenzaba a quebrarse.

Lograste recuperar la compostura, no querías escuchar más mentiras, estabas muy dolida.

—T/N, yo...

—Vete, no quiero explicaciones, no quiero volverte a ver—exigiste.

—No te traicioné, no me voy a ir, necesito que me...

—De acuerdo, entonces me voy yo—sentenciaste.

Tomaste tu bolso y saliste del departamento, él trató de detenerte, pero no se lo permitiste, entonces comenzó a llamarte por tu nombre, lo ignoraste y te fuiste, no querías escuchar más mentiras.

Habían pasado dos semanas desde que habías dejado a Brock, mientras habías regresado al departamento donde vivías antes, no le contestabas las llamadas ni los mensajes y en el trabajo lo ignorabas.

Te habías sentido mal, hiciste una prueba, era positiva, no estabas segura si decirle, lo seguías amando, pero te sentías traicionada, conocías su pasado y lograbas entender porque se había unido a HYDRA, pero no comprendías porque no había abandonado a la infame organización o porque no te había dicho.

Alguien llamó a tu puerta, creíste que era Brock, te asomaste por la mirilla, eran Steve, Natasha, Hill y un hombre que no conocías, abriste la puerta.

—Cap, Nat, Hill—saludaste

Ellos entraron a tu departamento, parecía que estaban de malas, también te parecía extraño que te fueran a visitar, tampoco era como si fueras muy amiga de ellos.

— ¿Dónde está? —te preguntó Steve.

— ¿Quién?

—No te hagas la tonta—dijo Nat.

Miraste a Natasha sin entender, ese día no te habías presentado a trabajar así que no tenías ni la menor idea de lo que ocurría.

—Rumlow—dijo Steve.

—No sé—contestaste.

Era lógico que te preguntaran por él, no le dijeron a todo el mundo de su separación, tampoco era como que te interesara que los demás se enteraran.

— ¿Cómo no vas a saber? —cuestionó Steve.

—Nos separamos hace dos semanas—explicaste.

No te creyeron mucho, así que te hicieron que los acompañaras, no te dirigían la palabra, pero de alguna manera sabías que ellos creían que también eras HYDRA, cuando eso era mentira, estuviste pensando en qué deberías hacer, no podías dejar de pensar en todas esas veces que Brock y tú habían hablado de tener hijos, si él dejara HYDRA, quizás podrían tener una vida como familia…

Los Helicarriers habían despegado, lograste escabullirte para buscar a Brock, tenías un mal presentimiento, lo viste subiendo las escaleras.

— ¡Brock!—lo llamaste

Se detuvo al escuchar tu voz, por un momento creyó que era una alucinación, volteó para asegurarse que era real.

—T/N...

Estaba muy sorprendido, no esperaba verte en ese lugar, después de todo lo que había pasado

— ¿Qué es lo qué haces? ¿Qué hiciste? —preguntaste.

—Guess you were right about me after all—respondió con voz triste.

—Brock…

—T/N, tengo una misión, después de terminarla te explicaré todo...si es que me quieres escuchar—pidió.

—Huyamos, vámonos juntos—propusiste.

—T/N…

—Tengo un mal presentimiento, por favor vámonos, te necesito...necesitamos

— ¿Me necesitan? ¿Quiénes? —preguntó confundido.

Él creía que estabas del lado de Steve y S.H.I.E.L.D., que te habían enviado a convencerlo de dejar HYDRA, tenía demasiados sentimientos encontrados.

—Vamos a ser papás—confesaste finalmente.

Dejó caer su arma, la cual hizo un eco al chocar contra el piso, no esperaba una noticia así.

—Solo lo dices para convencerme, estás bromeando, ¿verdad? —dijo completamente consternado.

—No es mentira, estoy esperando a tu bebé—dijiste con firmeza.

— ¿Cómo es que...?

— ¿En serio preguntas eso?

Brock vio hacia las escaleras que subían dubitativo, se notaba la lucha interna que estaba teniendo, no podía continuar haciendo esa misión, no podía perder la oportunidad de lo que siempre había querido.

—Al diablo HYDRA—sentenció.

Se acercó a ti, te besó, y recogió su arma, los buscarían, de eso estaba seguro, pero ya encontrarían la forma de evitarlo.

—Tenemos que salir de aquí lo más rápido posible—murmuró-

Parecía casi una misión imposible, era difícil distinguir entre los amigos y enemigos, Brock estaba haciendo todo lo posible para mantenerse a salvo.

Habían logrado salir del Triskelion, Brock no dejaba de pensar a donde podrían ir, evidentemente a ninguno de los departamentos, probablemente los buscarían ahí, sobre todo después de que él había traicionado a HYDRA.

De pronto se escuchó cómo cargaban una pistola

— ¡Deténganse!—ordenó una mujer

Ambos voltearon, era Hill, de Inter distó Brock se puso en frente de ti para protegerte, no iba a permitir que nadie te dañara.

—Si quieres pelear con alguien, será conmigo, ella no tienen nada que ver con esto—advirtió Brock.

Ninguno de los dos puso objeción cuando les pusieron las esposas y se los llevaron para interrogarlos, quizás podrían encontrar un poco de protección.

— ¿Qué planes tiene HYDRA?—te preguntó Maria.

—No sé.

Eso era cierto, no sabías nada de esa organización, más que lo que habías leído en los documentos.

— ¿Por qué huían?—interrogó Natasha.

—Íbamos a huir de todo, dejar todo atrás.

—Iban a seguir con los planes de HYDRA—aseguró la rusa.

—No, queríamos tener una vida nueva, lejos de todo esto, comenzar todo desde cero.

—Mentiste, dijiste que habían terminado—dijo Maria.

—No mentí, si terminamos, pero nos reconciliamos, él y yo vamos a tener un bebé, me enteré esta mañana, poco antes de que ustedes llegaran, en cuanto le dije, él decidió abandonar la misión que tenía—explicaste.

— ¿Sabías que era HYDRA?—preguntó Nat.

—Sí y no, me enteré hace dos semanas, por eso lo había dejado, no sabía realmente que hacer.

— ¿Qué hacían T/N y tú como agentes de HYDRA?—inquirió Steve.

—T/N no sabía de esto, ella no es HYDRA, se enteró apenas unas semanas antes—dijo Brock.

Después de horas de un interrogatorio exhaustivo finalmente pudieron verse de nuevo, ahora debían esperar a que tomaran una decisión sobre qué hacer con ustedes, Brock te aseguró que iba a hacer todo lo posible para remendar todo lo que había hecho en el pasado..

—Hemos tomado una decisión, debido al estado de T/N, los protegeremos y no diremos nada de Rumlow, oficialmente aparecerá como una de las víctimas del Triskelion, siempre y cuando coopere—dijo Maria.

— ¿De qué forma?—preguntó Brock.

—Dando información, donde hay bases de HYDRA, los planes, lo que sea necesario para acabar con ellos—intervino Steve.

—Lo haré—aseguró Brock.

Si Brock Rumlow haría cualquier cosa para mantener a salvo a su familia, a la única que había tenido en toda su vida y amaba.