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keferon · 7 months ago

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You all flatter me! Now I am all pumped up to continue on the TF mecha au train. Ratchlock has me in a chokehold. You can't compliment me like that, It goes to my head! I haven't writen anything in like 12 years 😭. Also Yes yes to all the angst. I thrive on it more then the fluffy moments. Jazz and Deadlock/Drift are lining up nicely for a possible meeting. But first Deadlock WILL bath in blood! Wanna see?

****

Ratchet will not let Deadlock follow him around. Nope. Instead he keeps Deadlock on strict bed rest /he's learning human terms in his free time/ with the oh so sweet promise to weld him to the wall if he doesn't listen. He knows better to not test Ratchet, he'd do it no hesitation. Deadlocks fangs and claws only cause a raised eyebrow and wave of a slipper near well... anywhere in Ratchet's swating or throwing range. Since both of them honor their word/glyphic, they made a deal that if Ratchet comes home on time then in return Deadlock will be on his best behavior.

They use every extra moment together to learn, heal, and plot together. Deadlock's wounds are fully healed by now. He is ready to be the guardian knight he vowed to be for Ratchet. Ratchet's knuckles still ache which makes his hands shaky at times, especially when cold, but his squishy perseveres like a true warrior. Deadlock has learned that revving his engine to build up heat and letting Ratchet rest against his chassis helps with those trimmering aches the bioengineer tries to rub out.

He wants to give any comfort he can to Ratchet while he's working in that cursed lab with those ungreatful sacks of slags. He has photos of each one of those fraggers saved in his proccesor. The list only grows the longer they wait to leave. If he can work around Ratchet somehow, he'll cross them off at some point with a deep satisfaction while doing it. Ratchet has been as sly as a turbofox. He's been sidestepping, talking around, and out ranting the higher ups for a while. Deadlock is so proud of him for not backing down or falling silent. Right now Deadlock has the tv playing a sitcom while tinkering with his long range blaster. His audial fins flick as the door opens and closes. Ratchet looks at the show while shrugs his winter coat off, "So has Sam confessed his undying love to the ice cream vender Carly yet?" Ratchet asks walking over to the lazy-e-boy chair.

Deadlock reaches out and taps his back before he can sit down. "Refuel first." He reminds him before going back to tightening some wires. He smiles at the grumble and is pleased when Ratchet listens to him for once and heads to the kitchen, "and no the episode ended with him getting hit by a waste disposal truck. Now it's a filler episode. Jack is trying to get out of going to an Amica Endura's beach party. He is playing up a illness called the pox."

Ratchet comes back with a warm plate of food. Deadlock nods pleased with the portion. Ratchet rolls his eyes and sits down, "They did that same plot with Raphael four seasons ago." He grumbles and bats at Deadlocks claw when he tries to ruffle his hair, "If they drag this out for three episodes like last time I am popping in a different show." Both are content, they banter and complain about the show while Ratchet eats. When Ratchet reclines his lazy-e-boy chair Deadlock puts his weapon away, "They are transferring some of us to a different base in the morning. You know First Aid. They are putting him on a transport to the sister base north east of here. Called the Alpha Blade Strikers."

Deadlock tilts his helm, "That's the one that was visiting here? The commander of that base is the one you knocked out for slagging you off right? You mentioned the base being cursed." He asks leaning forward a bit, his servos tingling for revenge.

"Yes, same place and person. Don't believe in any of that cursed stuff but a lot of talk does go around about it. Mostly one pacific mecha being the main cursed object. First Aid was stressed to tears about being transferred. He had just gotten comfortable here with his friends. I feel a bit bad for the kid." Ratchet mumbles rubbing his face with his unbandged hand.

Deadlock gives a soft smile, "From what you've told me, he keeps his helm down. I am sure he will find friends or leave when he can. But if you are worried I am not opposed to taking him with us."

"We do not kidnap people, Drift. He wouldn't want to come along anyways. He wants to 'do his part for human kind'. Besides it takes him a while to get use to change and the possibility that we may be hunted down once we leave would most likely send him into cardiac arrest." Ratchet tilts his head back gives Deadlock a stern look, "On the topic of leaving we'll need to do that sooner then planned. Something isn't right, I don't like how hyper focused Pharma has gotten with quintessons corpses. Now he is showing intrest in you. He wants to know how I programmed a mecha to be powered by an AI system so flawlessly. It's driving him up a wall to not know. You know, since a mecha has never moved around without a pilot and can not talk. He keeps begging the higher ups to let him 'partner up with me' or let him take over the 'project' since I am just 'playing around with you'."

"Right fine. No kidnapping the youngling. But do not assume we will be the ones being hunted." Deadlock hums amused but turns serious when Pharma is brought up. That name is at the top of his 'don't let Ratchet catch on' splat list, "But me being 'imprinted' on you is keeping them from letting him get his quintessons gut covered servos... Err hands sorry, on me."

Ratchet nods rubbing his face again with a tired sigh, "I made certain they know you'll attack anything that isn't me." Deadlock can tell Ratchet is fighting a yawn. He lays down behind the chair and rumbles his engine. Ratchet's lips twitch with a smile hearing how smooth it's running now, "Pharma has never been a good listener though. Just be on guard okay kid... he's ploting something." Ratchet mumbles soaking up the heat coming from behind him. He tilts his head back against the head rest looking up at Deadlocks handsome, smug, sharp fanged grin, "He tries touching you, you can kill him. Don't let him into your system. I fear what he'd do. Probably make you even more loony and unbearable." The bioengineer yawns his voice full of fondness that makes Deadlock's spark sing.

Deadlock purrs as he gently pets Ratchet's head with a, claw retracted, digit. Ratchet's eyes grow heavy missing the most feral, down right demonic, energon hungry look Deadlock has at the permission to off Pharma, "He will not harm me. But I can tell he has worn on you today. You are more drained then grumpy, your insults are lacking any heat. Recharge Ratchet. I will reconfigure our supplies and time line while you regain your strenght. Then I'll show you in the morning. You can edit it while you fuel." He chuckles as Ratchet grumbles and mumbles at him. His squishy can't fight the cozy warmth and soothing pets. Deadlock's humming engine makes a familiar white noise that has grown to mean safe to Ratchet. In no time Ratchet is out cold. Picking up a blanket with a careful pinch he lays it on top of Ratchet and follows him into recharge.

-- --

They are so close to leaving. They have a place picked out and a time. Their supplies are packed and hidden away with a close friend of Ratchet's. The thing still keeping them on base is Ratchet's need to clear out all of his research. He doesn't want anyone to have anything of his, to have a chance to twist it into something that would cause more harm and death. It's been a tedious process but Ratchet has been deleting his work bit by bit so no one catches on.

Four days before their chosen leave date Ratchet walks into his lab only to be escorted to a debriefing room. One he has have never been to. Deep under the base. He had tried getting anyone to speak up about what's happening but the escorts, six of them for fuck sakes, don't even look at him. His gut instinct is screaming DANGER the deeper they go. His skin is crawling with uneasiness and he is fighting his fight then flight instincts. He taps at the small circler tracker he has in his winter coats collar as subtly as possible. Hoping it looks more like a nervious tick then a trigger to call for help. Hopfully they aren't to far down for it to work. The group stops at a vault door and Ratchet cuts off a growl growing in his throat when one of the 'escorts' pulls out some heavy duty cuffs. "Tell me what reason you have for those or their not going on Spike." He warns fists clenching at his side. He huffs at the click of a gun and someone has the balls to press it into his back.

The young soldier, Spike, frowns and waves his hand at the others behind Ratchet, "Ratchet please it's just procedure. You have saved a lot of our lives don't make us be rough. We don't want to be. Just put them on so I don't get yelled at later." Ratchet narrows his eyes, frown tightening. Spike groans, "I don't know what they want. No one told us anything. Please I am just doing what I was told."

Ratchet can tell Spike is holding his breath, pleading silently for Ratchet to listen. Ratchet does let a growl slip when the guns barrel grinds into his spine. His head snaps around and he glares hard enough to cause pause, "Cut that out, I know exactly how far to shove that to not kill you but make damn sure you wish I did." He snarls as he holds his wrists up to Spike. The comment earns him muffled chuckles and a few glares. Cuffs on Ratchet walks into the room. Spike shoots him an apologetic look as the door closes behind him. With a heavy exhale Ratchet takes in the room. A concrete floor, circular shaped room with thick metal walls. Cameras line the ceiling edges. His exhale catches in his throat as the metal walls start rolling up to reveal bullet proof glass filled with quintessons in various stages of dissection and tests. "We have another sublevel secret lab bellow our sublevel secret lab. Of course we do." Ratchet mumbles flatly to pissed off he didn't know this base was more fucked up then he thought then to be scared.

Speakers crackle on and an annoying whine comes through, "Not the reaction I was hoping for. Come on Ratch buddy show a bit more emotion then that. Less grump more begging maybe? At least shock." Pharma's voice chimes around him in an irritating way.

"Looks like all of this has been going on for a while. Why bring me into this now Pharma?" Ratchet says calmly since that seems to piss Pharma off more. He looks at his cuffed wrists and his blood runs cold as the hair on his neck stands on end. Goosebumps cover his arms making him shudder under the heavy coat, "I am not here for shop talk."

"Mmhmm, I am going to miss that snarky brain of yours Ratchy. But you did do a lot of things that put the base in danger. Security has taken notice of a lot of data, intel, cameras and video footage being tampered with." Pharma almost has a mocking sing songy tone to him. Strange, Ratchet knows he didn't tamper with anything that would jeopardized the security of the base. Definitely not the cameras or video footage, "You know what you've done and what we do to traitors. I already have received the ok to take over your work. The good commander is allowing me to say goodbye to you since we were such good old friends. Don't worry. I'll take good care of your Mecha." Yeah, Pharma sounds real choked up about all this, Ratchet rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, he'll take care of you Pharma." Ratchet keeps his tone and body language nonchalant as he studies the cuffs. He takes note of the little bit of gap, if he dislocates his thumbs.. "Only thing that's annoying about all of this is I'll be late getting home."

"I swear you are boring me to death on purpose Ratchet!!" Pharma snarls as a thud noise rings through the speakers

"Oh could I be so lucky?" Ratchet sighs sounding hopeful. He stiffens as the room lights turn red and multiple hisses of compressed air being released surrounds him. A robotic voice rings out a warning that the test subjects are being released. Ratchet whips his head around stepping in a circle as snarles and screeches drowned out the warnings. Ratchet steadies his breathing as best he can as his hands trimble and heart beats wildly. Deadlock would be livid if he doesn't go down giving it his all to get back to him. Ratchet would be just as pissed to, "I'll do what I can but you better hurry kid..."

-- --

"You weren't suppose to do that Pharma." A flat voice speaks up from behind Pharma after picking up the chair he had kicked away. Pharma scoffs and grumbles, "You are not even going to ask him what he ment by being late to his quarters?" The chief of security drones on.

"Be sure to capture all angles. I want detailed shots of it all." Pharma growls removings his hand from the release butten he hit hard enough to crack. "You are being paranoid per usual. Don't tell me you never heard the rammblings of a dying man?" Pharma sighs, with a dramatic flick of his wrist he walks out of the room.

"No, but I imagine I will soon enough." The security director mumbles under his breath. Reaching over the chair he resets the cameras.

OH. OH THEY ARE FUUUUUUCKED

OH THEY ARE SO SO INCREDIBLY FUCKED THEY ARE GONNA GET SPREAD EVENLY ALL OVER THE FLOOR AND I WANNA SEE IT SO B A D

#YEAS #YES PLEASE #ANON #ANON I LOVE YOU #Also Deadlock basically purring is just #kfmfnfjfjfmmfnfmfkfkfkfl #tf mecha universe #also Deadlock keeping track of Ratchets routine is so cute omg

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lizaintheduster · 16 days ago

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Oh my god, the idea that God keeps bringing Cas back because he thinks Dean moping around the bunker is boring is so funny. Like the first two times God brings him back, he does it right away cause he's like, "This freaky lil Angel is pretty interesting to have around. Let's throw him back into the mix." But then when he betrays Dean and dies in season 6/7, at first Chuck is just sipping Mojitos and luxuriating in the man pain, but then the man pain just. doesn't. stop. And fuck that's boring, Dean just won't stop moping.

So fuck it, let's give Cas amnesia and some weird wife, he won't have to be plot relevant anyway cause obviously he'll take on Sam's hell trauma, boom two birds, one stone. Now we can get back to the brothers brothering. Except fuck, somehow Cas has wound up going to purgatory with Dean, ugh lame. Well, let's just give Cas a few nightmares that really play into his self-loathing, that should be enough to get him to stay behind, the self-deprecating sad sack. But shit, didn't think this through, Dean's out and he's already looking pretty mopy.

No worries, just gotta push Naomi in the right direction, just a little nudge, there we go. Cas is back, but with a tasty little twist of Heaven mind control to keep him out of the narrative. Excellent. Screw it. Maybe Naomi could even get him to turn on Dean? Dean could kill him, that would be awesome. Wait, why the hell isn't Dean fighting back? Get off your knees! Cas can't kill Dean, that's lame, I'll have to think of some way to bring him back... wait, wait what? Did he just snap out of Angel programmed mind control? Oh for fuck sake, this is gonna be such a pain in the ass.

Blah blah, several more seasons of trying to keep Dean and Cas apart including having Gadreel fall near the hospital, retconing how Reapers work so one can try to take out Cas, pointing that weird pink Goo Angel in a Cas shaped direction, having it so that stolen grace is a thing that drains away, but nothing is God Damn Taking. The Angel is still up and kicking, and for some reason, Dean seems hung up on the broken little thing.

Right, time for mental warfare. If just the right digs are made at just the right times, maybe, maybe the Angels self esteem will drop low enough to... that's it. There it is. Say yes to Lucifer. Another betrayal, right, Dean? Right, Dean? Dean? Oh for crying out loud he's not even dead! Dean get over it, he said yes to Lucifer, he sucks Dean, why do you care? Ugh fine, let's say Amara's juice blasts Lucifer out of Cas, happy now? Fuck he's so boring when he's worried about what? A defective Angel?

Whatever, let's just throw some random side quests at them for a while. Surely, Dean will just lose interest eventually. Oh! Idea! Trap Dean and Sam in a government facility and then sabotage every attempt the Angel makes to save them. Again, two birds, one stone. Cas will feel useless and pathetic for failing to save Dean, and Dean will surely realise what a useless waste of celestial intent Cas is.

Okay, at this point, I should have seen this coming. Oh, thank me, Lucifer kebabed him. Light show, big burnt out wings for dramatic effect. This time, let's just wait it out. Dean can't stay single minded, drunk and hung up on Cas forever. Eventually, he'll realise he needs to step up to the plate and start parenting the Angel kid, I have some amazing Abraham and Issac stuff lined up, so we need to get moving with the bonding. Any minute now. Any minute now. Come on Dean, he's not even that strong anymore, why do you care? Jesus Christ Dean, you know your mom is also dead, right?

Screw it. Let's say Jack's powers can reach the empty. Shit does this mean I need to figure out how the empty works? I never got round to writing any of that. Okay, wow that was a choice, maybe I'll retcon the accent later... let's just focus on getting Cas back to earth, so Dean... aaaaand Dean has it wearing a fucking cowboy hat. How, out of all my universes did this glitch wind up infecting the original. Should have let the Angel just stay dead that first time, would have made my life so much easier.

Well, it's the final hour, might as well get one last hit in. Let's kill off the alternate universe people first, that should be just the right push to... perfect, yep, Dean blames death, and of course, Cas will follow. Hook line and sinker. I'll just let Death kill Cas, and then I'll have Death's weird poison thing wipe her out at the last second so Dean's still around for the end game. Oh? Oh, no way? You have got to be kidding me. This is priceless. He's actually saying it? That's the money shot right there. Wow. I need a margarita. Oh, but wait. Idea! Wouldn't it be perfect, just perfect, if Dean's childhood selective mutism were to make the briefest reappearance. Just for a second. Ahhh. You have outdone yourself, Chuck. No more revivals, Dean. I'm already bored.

#destiel #dean x castiel #supernatural #castiel #destiel fic #spn #chuck #dean winchester

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babyleostuff · 10 months ago

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── OLYMPICS MASTERLIST

[🛹] DISCIPLINE: SKATEBOARDING

GENRE: fluff, strangers to lovers(ish), introverted reader, vernon being the greenest flag of them all PAIRING: skateboarder!vernon x athlete!fem reader WARNINGS: explicit language and a couple of sexist comments WORD COUNT: 3.1 k

“not the anti-sex beds again,” katie groaned, like it was the end of the world.

rolling your eyes, you threw your duffle bags on the bed next to the window. though, as dramatic as she could get sometimes, and as much as you couldn’t wait for the games to begin - you were not looking towards sleeping on the cardboard monstrosities. the amount of massages you had to get four years ago because of them was not something you’d like to go through again.

“it’s not like you’re going to have sex anyway,” sam nudged katie with her shoulder and threw her own stuff on the bed next to yours.

“i’m not talking about myself, stupid,” katie said. “our friend over here,” she put her arms around you and squeezed your shoulders, “needs to get laid. she almost managed to bang that rugby dude the last time, and i can feel it in my bones,” she took a deep breath, ”she’s going to succeed this year.”

you tried shoving her away, as sam erupted in a loud laugh.

“hah hah, very funny,” you mumbled, and flicked katie’s forehead. “i’m here to win medals, not to find a hookup.”

“mhm, sure,” sam said. “we’ll see about that.”

the next morning you stood up with the first rays of sunshine, a lot earlier than most people in the village, with a plan to make the most of your only day off before the eliminations. it’d get crowded quickly, so you figured it’d be nice to soak in the surroundings without hundreds of people bumping into each other. you didn’t bother to wake the girls up - you were eternally grateful you could share this amazing adventure with them, but you needed some time alone.

besides, there was a 99% probability that sam would skin you alive if you tried cutting her beauty sleep short.

before leaving the building, you managed, to your delight, to find the gym and the swimming pool, which surely would become really handy in a couple of days. then, you found a small farmacy a couple of blocks away, and a post office where you took a couple of pictures in a photobooth and wrote short letters to your friends at home, before throwing them into the mailbox.

though the streets were starting to get busier and busier, because well - the athletes, their trainers, the volunteers, staff - everyone wanted to see what this year’s host had to offer, it was still pleasantly peaceful, and you could enjoy your time alone to the fullest. and apart from the cardboard beds, the village was so nice. the purple colours especially.

just as you turned around the corner of south korea’s apartment complex, you felt and heard your tummy rumble, and thatwas your cue to find the dining hall. fortunately, it didn’t take you long. apart from the big ass signs with “dining hall”written all over them, most people that you passed were walking in one direction, which could only mean one thing.

after a short while, you entered the big room, all purple and pretty, already filled with hundreds of athletes and staff.

scanning around the huge hall, you tried looking for someone, anyone you knew, but to no avail. most of the tables were already taken, but somehow, to your misfortune, none of them were taken by anyone from your country. you sighed and twisted the pendant hanging around your neck, trying to distract yourself from the fact that you’d be forced to sit at a table with people you did not know.

there went your peaceful morning.

without wasting more time, and before you’d completely spiral over the lack of familiar faces, you picked up a plate and cutlery and made your way to the queue for food, standing behind two chinese athletes.

the line moved slowly, but you didn’t mind. as much as you weren’t particularly overjoyed with the loud noise and chaos, it was nice to do some people-watching. the different races, heights and widths, cultures, languages - all within one building - that had to be one of your favourite things about olympics.

“isn’t that the chick kyle fucked last time?” suddenly a male voice pulled you out of your thoughts, as if your brain knew that the comment was direct to you. drowning out the noise around you, you tried your best to focus on the people behind you.

“he didn’t fuck her, she ran away the second he touched her tits,” another guy said. “fucking prude,” he snickered.

you felt your cheeks heat up - in embarrassment because you were right there, and they knew you could hear them, but also in anger because what they were saying was just not true.

“i told him to go for the track runner, she had a better ass anyways,” the first guy said, as the other laughed.

comments like these were nothing new. men like these were nothing new, but it didn’t make the ache in your chest any less painful. worst part was that you’d let them, you wouldn’t stop them - you couldn’t. anytime you tried standing up for yourself you felt at loss for words, your throat closed up, and your mind went blank.

“excuse me, guys,” a new voice joined in. “the last time i checked this was the olympics, not who has a better ass competition.”

you didn’t have the nerve to turn around to see who that new voice belonged to. you just clenched and unclenched your fists, trying to control your breathing.

“also if i may suggest one thing-,”

“you may not-,”

“you may want to check out your own ass… or the lack of it,” you could hear the smile in his voice.

the two guys grumbled something and left the line, but not before one of them bumped into you with too much force for it to be just an accident. muttering a curse under your breath, you massaged your slightly sore arm and prayed to whatever force for the two fuckers not to pass their eliminations.

“are you okay?” you could feel the guy's breath on your neck.

fuck, now you had no other choice but to acknowledge what had just happened. if it was up to you, you’d happily skip breakfast and run back to your room. who would’ve thought that the cardboard bed would be the equivalent of a safe haven.

“uh,” you took a shaky inhale, “i’m okay.”

“just turn around, smile politely, thank for the help, and move on,” you thought. but as you did that, your eyes went wide, and your breath hitched in your throat.

you found a set of hazel brown eyes looking at you with curiosity and a tad of softness as if asking a silent question if you were really okay, a kind smile that managed to calm your pounding heart on its own, and cheeks dusted in a light shade of pink as if he had just finished his morning run. the guy couldn’t be much older than you and was the perfect height. you didn’t have to tilt your head in an uncomfortable way to look him in the eye, and he didn’t have to look down at you as if you were a dwarf.

his dark brown hair was hidden under a beanie, and despite the oversized shirt and shorts, you could make out his lean build, which made him stand out from the other bulky men around. you quickly figured he was part of the us team by his outfit, but you couldn’t rack your brains around what type of sport he could be doing.

he looked so… laid back compared to everyone around.

“are you sure?” he asked, his gaze still attentive to you and you only.

you nodded your head. “sorry you had to listen to that,” you said.

“i’m sorry you had to listen to that,” the guy muttered. “you know those dudes are total douchebags, right?” annoyance flashed across his face for a second, “people like them shouldn’t even be here and-,”

“it’s okay, really,” you said with a stern voice, cutting him short. grateful - that’s what you were - and it was really nice of him to stand up for you, but you couldn’t shake off the feeling that he saw you as nothing more than a weakling that couldn’t even stand up for herself. and that had to be more embarrassing than the comments.

he must’ve noticed your sour expression, because he quickly said, “i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“you didn’t, i… i’m sorry for snapping at you,” god, you really messed this up. this gorgeous boy just saved your ass from getting harassed, and you were acting like an ungrateful bitch. “i’m just not the best at dealing with… whatever that was,” you cleared your throat. “but thank you, it was really kind of you, and you didn’t really have to say anything, but-,”

“but i would’ve been the biggest asshole if i hadn’t said anything,” he chuckled, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “i couldn’t just let those two fuckers say those things about you. about anyone for that matter. what kind of person would that make me?”

you nodded, though if you had to be real - you were too distracted by his eyes to focus on what he was saying.

“okay, that sounded so pretentious,” he said, frowning, as if cringing at his own words. you couldn’t help but giggle at his expression. he looked really adorable despite his disgusted look.

and that didn’t mean anything good. you knew yourself, and you knew how easily it was for you to fall for a person that showed you an ounce of kindness, even if they did it just because they were a good person. and that was probably what was happening now - he saw you getting harassed, he stepped in, said a couple of words, and that would be it.

but you. you’d think about this for the rest of the olympics. about his teasing voice, the slightly curly hair coming out of his beanie, the fact that you’d never know what kind of athlete he was. the freaking hazel eyes.

“i’m vernon, by the way,” he, or vernon, extended his hand.

you cringed at the thought of your sweaty palms, still closed in fists. and it wasn’t like you could wipe them right in front of him. now that would just send you straight into a coma. but you took it anyway, it couldn’t get worse than the comments about your flat ass, you figured. and if he noticed he didn’t say anything, just smiled and nodded when you told him your name.

“so, do you have any plans for today?” he asked, letting go of your hand way too soon for your liking.

“i was planning on eating breakfast, but…,” you shrugged.

“well, i might have an idea then,” he said, a proud smile on his face. “have you ever tried skateboarding?”

…

you did not think this through.

trying to skate on a wooden board with four wheels sounded kind of appealing at the moment, but now - now that you were about to actually stand on it? huh yeah, you’d rather stick to keeping your own two feet on the ground.

“it’s not going to kill you, you know?” vernon laughed, as you looked at the board in front of you with pure horror. there was no way anyone could survive skating on that thing, let alone doing tricks and flips or whatever they did with that torture device.

“just,” he pulled the board closer to you with his foot, “lean your weight on me first and i’m going to hold you, just so you can get comfortable standing on it,” he said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

would he think you were a complete loser if you ran away? maybe you could blame it on a sudden stomach bug or something.

“mhm, yeah,” you breathed, grabbing his extended hand. “easy peasy.”

luckly for you, the skatepark was still relatively empty since most of the village was trying to fight others in the queue for food, so the chance of you skating into someone by accident was almost non existent. but that did not change the fact that you were on the verge of a panic attack. why did you say yes to this? why did you step out of your comfort zone so easily? comfort zone was good - you loved your comfort zone. that was what kept you safe from agreeing to skateboarding on a whim.

but it was so easy to say yes when vernon looked at you with so much kindness. you just weren’t able to decline - there was something about him that put you at ease, whether it was his voice or mannerisms - he oozed with so much calmness that even your erratic heart was screaming “say yes!”

“put your right foot in front of the left one,” he said, still grasping your hand tightly. “and keep your knees bent, it’ll help with keeping your balance.”

you watched him as he showed you how you were supposed to stand correctly, and tried to mirror his stance the best you could.

“that’s perfect,” vernon said with a bright smile, as if you just won the gold medal for not falling off the board on the first occasion. “told you you’d do a great job.”

“this is ridiculous,” you muttered, as your legs wobbled. “i’m looking worse than a baby trying to walk.”

he rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically, making you giggle. “i love your form of self motivation. now,” still holding onto you, vernon walked around the board, “uh, is it okay if i put my hand on your waist?” he asked, and your heart skipped a beat.

usually, you’d immediately say no, but… there was nothing usual about vernon as it turned out. if this was your day of breaking your walls then so be it. you nodded in agreement. “try to put your left foot on the ground and push yourself forward,” he said.

your thin t-shirt did nothing to conceal the warmth coming from vernon’s hand, but somehow, instead of making you more nervous, it only calmed your wobbling feet and shaking hands, grounding you on the board, making it less scary by the second. you’d never met anyone before who had been so gentle with you, so patient and understanding so quickly.

“like this?” you took your left foot off the skateboard, but before it could reach the ground you wobbled backwards. “vernon!” you shrieked, ready to fall ass first on the asphalt, but that never happened. your back met his solid chest before you could move more than an inch.

“‘s okay,” he said, gripping your waist tighter. “i’m right here.”

you breathed a sigh of relief. “i don’t think this is a good idea,” you looked over your shoulder at him. “what if i break your board?”

“i have ten others,” he stated as a matter of fact, not bothered at all even if you actually broke his board. “try again, i’ve got you.”

the next try went a little bit better, at least you managed to put your foot down without bumping into him again.

“okay, now push yourself forward.”

“just… don’t let go, okay?”

“i won’t,” vernon said. you could feel him so close to you, his breath creeping down your neck. “i won’t.”

you never thought you’d feel so accomplished by such a simple thing, you were a gold winning athlete for god’s sake, but when you finally moved, when the board skated forward and you were still standing on it - you felt a flicker of pride settle in your chest.

“that’s it,” vernon said, giving your hand a squeeze. “you’re doing great. try doing that again.”

and so you did just that. you pushed yourself forward, again and again, until your feet weren’t wobbling at all, and your moves were getting more confident.

“i’m doing it, i’m…,” you laughed, “vernon, i’m skateboarding,” you said, pushing once more.

“yes, you are!”

wait. why was his voice so distant?

that’s when you realised you couldn’t feel his hand on your waist anymore, nor were your fingers intertwined with his.

“vernon?” you asked, alarmed.

“just don’t turn around-,”

but it was too late. you took a look behind you to see vernon standing a couple of metres behind you, and that was enough to lose all of the balance, all of the control.

“shit,” you heard him scream, right before you closed your eyes shut, readying yourself for the impact.

the board flew forward as you slipped backwards, your hands flying to your slides trying to hold onto something. but there was nothing, just air.

but then - the strong grip, the warm embrace, the hands that you trusted so much - you could feel him all around you. no pain, no broken bones - just vernon.

“shit, i’m so sorry,” he said, still holding onto you. “i shouldn’t have let you go.”

gently, he helped you sit on the ground, his eyes scanning all over your body, looking for any injuries.

“it’s fine, i just panicked,” you said, and put your hand on his shoulder, pulling his gaze back to your eyes. “seriously, it was actually quite fun.”

at that, vernon’s expression softened a bit, and after a second he even flashed you a smile.

“that’s good, that’s…,” he exhaled. “that’s a lot for one morning i think.”

you laughed, and shook your head. “yeah, i think you’re right. but you know,” you looked over at the board that was still rolling on its own. “i think i’ll stick to watching you skate. i don’t think i’m built for this.”

his body shook with a silent giggle. “i’m still proud of you.”

“thank you,” you said quietly. and you truly meant it - not only for catching you, or trying to teach you how to skate - but for standing up for you when he could just ignore it and move on with his day, for pulling you out of your little safe bubble. that thank you meant a lot of things and you hoped that vernon knew that.

“were you serious, though?”

you frowned, not really sure what he ment.

“that you want to watch me skate?”.

any other day you’d say no, but…

“yes. i’d really love to.”

a beautiful smile bloomed on vernon’s face, and you knew right there and then that the feeling of gratitude was forming into something more than just that.

“my eliminations are in two days, uh and maybe, only if you want, you could come?”

you nodded eagerly. at this point you weren’t sure you were able to tell this man no at all.

and you couldn’t wait to see where that would get you.

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mysteryshoptls · 2 months ago

Text

SSR Vil Schoenheit - Room Relaxation Vignette

"Happy Birthday"

[Beside Mister S's Mystery Shop]

[students clamor outside shop]

Vil: Sigh… What a waste of a trip. This is what happens after I made the effort to come all the way here?

Deuce: Schoenheit-senpai, hello! That was a pretty big sigh… Did something happen?

Vil: I had just come by Sam's shop here to pick up something I ordered and there happens to be a sign posted on the door saying he's not in right now.

Deuce: Eh!? Really? Man… I had some shopping I had to do for my dorm, too.

Vil: It said he'll return within 30 minutes, but I have plans after this already. Unfortunate…

Vil: Especially since I don't have much free time what with the birthday party we're throwing at our dorm tomorrow for my birthday. I guess I'll have to come back another day…

Deuce: Oh, is it your birthday tomorrow? Then, I can pick it up for you!

Deuce: I gotta buy some stuff of my own anyway, so think of me doing this as my gift to you.

Vil: Well now, if you say so, I'd like that. Would you be able to bring my merchandise to my dormitory after classes tomorrow?

Vil: If you time it right, you may even attend my birthday party.

Deuce: The party!? I mean, I guess I am curious what kind of food you guys'd serve… But is it okay that I join, even if I'm from a different dorm?

Vil: I don't mind whatsoever. I'll let the party planner know. I appreciate you picking up my order. See you later, then.

[Pomefiore Dorm – Ballroom]

Vil: ―98, 99, 100! Whew…

[door opens, Rook greets Vil]

Vil: …What terrifyingly perfect timing, Rook. I had just finished my exercises for the day.

Vil: Then, go ahead and start your report. The first matter at hand are the equipment requests? I see. Show me their applications. I'll look over them.

[flips pages]

Vil: ―I see no issues; I'll submit them as is. How are the ballroom reservation requests looking?

[Rook speaks]

Vil: …Oh, there seems to be quite a lot this week. Have you already put out a coordination notice? Good.

Vil: This ballroom is a place that allows our students to refine themselves even further… So we should do what we can so that they can use it as much as possible.

Vil: We can use the schedule you laid out without any changes, Rook. Next topic.

Vil: Have the students who were cited during last week's surprise dorm uniform inspection fixed their attire?

[Rook speaks]

Vil: Everyone successfully passed re-inspection? Good… As proud Pomefiore students, I do hope that no one fails next time.

Vil: Alright, we'll call it there for today. I'll go take a shower and head back to my room.

[Pomefiore Dorm – Hallway]

Vil: …Whew. I dislike how I can't take my time with my skincare regimen while using a shared washroom.

Vil: It's enough of a struggle just trying to spray my lotion enough across my body. I should head back quickly to finish the rest of my care routine.

[Pomefiore Dorm – Vil's Room]

[door slams, Vil rushes in]

Vil: The sooner I can apply the rest of my skincare after taking a shower, the better my skin will look tomorrow…!

Vil: I took in an abundance of the sun's rays today during flight class, so my top priority would be to mitigate any UV damage!

Vil: I'll apply this beauty cream with a cooling factor thoroughly by hand first… Next comes the face pack.

Vil: The air was rather dry today, so I'll use one with moisturizing cream.

Vil: I need to apply it quickly so as to not let the cream's moisture dry up. Quickly, gently, smoothly… Use a spatula to carefully make everything fall into place…!

Vil: Whew. That should be enough. Now I'll leave it on for 15 minutes…

[sets alarm]

Vil: Now then, time waits for no one. I should finish "this" up while I wait to take off the face pack.

「Survey on Quality of Life Improvements for the Student Body」

Vil: Improvements, hm… I know I have many things I'd want to ask for. Above all else, I am sorely in need of a shower and washbasin installed in my room.

Vil: I can't say I'm fond of doing only the minimal care I can in that shared space and rushing back to my room to finish everything else.

Vil: I wouldn't even be so egregious as to ask it for every single room. Even if it were only my… the Housewarden's room, that would be enough.

Vil: To be perfectly frank, I would like my own personal ballroom, as well as a heated pool, sauna, and jacuzzi…

Vil: It would be perfect if I could have an oxygen chamber, as well. That is a vital piece of equipment for our dormitory's pursuit of beauty.

Vil: Who knows how seriously that Headmage of ours would be taking the responses to this survey…

Vil: However, nothing will happen if I don't make the request in the first place. "I would like a shower and washbasin in the Housewarden's room."

[alarm beeps]

Vil: Oh, it's time. Time to take off the face pack. I'll soak a cotton ball with the moisturizer, and gently, carefully pull it off… Hum-de-dum♪

Vil: Perfect. I am still so beautiful today. I'll finish with a massage to help with blood circulation.

Vil: Start with the forehead, then around the eyes, nose, mouth and the face line in turn… Gently massage the treatment oil in…

Vil: …That should be it for skincare. Next, I'll focus on each body part individually.

Vil: This body cream doesn't spread very well, does it? I really expected better from this latest product… Well, what a shame.

Vil: ―What a lovely fragrance. This oil can be used for moisturizing both body and hair, I see. It goes on the shelves… Oh, next month. I should make sure to order some in advance.

Vil: …Delicious. Of course, I blended this herbal tea myself, so it's no surprise I like the taste.

Vil: Whew, I'm finally finished with everything. There is simply too much to do after showering...

Vil: However, every little bit of self-care I do lends itself to my growing beauty. I cannot allow myself to go a single day without putting in the effort.

Vil: Now, early to bed is the key. Beauty cannot be made by neglecting good sleep habits.

Vil: I'll just pour some water in the humidifier… And start my sleeping playlist…

Vil: …That was a wonderful effort today. Sleep well, and look to tomorrow.

Vil: Goodnight, me.

[Pomefiore Dorm – Vil's Room]

[alarm rings, turns off]

Vil: Mmm, ah, that was a good night's sleep. I feel completely refreshed both in mind and spirit.

Vil: Ah, I shouldn't dally about. I need to soak a cotton ball with the moisturizer and wipe off the residual skincare products, then…

[takes off cap]

Vil: UV rays may be the antithesis to radiant skin, but there is still a need to soak in some sunlight in order to maintain a healthy appearance.

Vil: All right, time to fully awaken my body. I'll start with stretching my upper body.

Vil: First, bend both elbows and interlock the fingers in front of my chest… Stretch them forward, far away from the body while exhaling.

Vil: One more time, bring the palms back to my chest… Then reach as high up as possible, stretching both the arm and back muscles―

Vil: Whew… In these moments when I can just focus on working my body like this, I can feel just how gradually everything becomes limber.

Vil: Every little bit of effort I can provide for everything under my skin also helps in maintaining my beautiful looks, as well.

Vil: I should wash my face while my circulation finishes warming up.

Vil: Since I don't have a washbasin, I'll fill a bowl with warm water using magic, then lather up a good foam with some facial soap.

Vil: Carefully and gently, so the fine lather stays plump, rest it on the face's T-zone, then spread it to the rest of the face.

Vil: A book I read a while back recommended using cold water when doing this facial, but it didn't suit me well…

Vil: With how my skin looks right now, I think I can get away with not using a hot towel steam face pack today. I'll dive right in to moisturizing…

Vil: Oh, that's right. I should try out the sample skincare booster I received when I last went shopping in Foothill Town.

Vil: Oh, my. This booster has an abundance of reparative ingredients.

Vil: I can see why the sales consultant said it was one of their prime products.

Vil: However… I think this is too much for my taste. It's a shame, but I'll go with my usual one.

Vil: The one I'm currently using isn't anything too high-brand, but it is perfect for my skin especially during a fickle time like spring.

Vil: Of course, I absolutely would be interested in using a more high-quality brand-name skincare product… But this has far more ingredients in it than I would like.

Vil: It could lead to pimples or rashes, so I truly do need to be selective with what I use.

Vil: I should leave the thought of using those highly sought after skincare products for 10 or 20 years down the road.

Vil: I wonder what today's weather looks like…? Oh, clear skies all day. Heh, perhaps the sun is trying to celebrate my birthday, as well?

Vil: It looks like the UV index is fairly high considering the time of year. I should apply a stronger, longer-lasting sunscreen today.

Vil: Alright… This should be good enough.

Vil: Well then, I'll try to bask in some of the sun's rays while jogging…

Vil: Once I finish, I'll take a shower, go through my skincare regimen once more, and then apply my makeup!

Vil: The question then becomes, should I use the special makeup set I received directly from a manufacturer specifically for my birthday, or use the products that I purchased myself?

Vil: There's so many products I want to try; it's a dire shame that I only have one face! I wonder what will suit me best today―

[Main Street]

Deuce: Good morning, Schoenheit-senpai!

Vil: Good morning to you, Deuce. Were you successful in completing my request?

Deuce: Yes, sir! Just as I promised, I'll bring it by your dorm after school. Anyway… Happy Birthday, again!

Vil: Thanks. Do enjoy the party once you've delivered my order.

Requested by @farfalla049.

#twisted wonderland #twst #vil schoenheit #deuce spade #rook hunt #twst vil #twst deuce #twst rook #twst translation #mention: crowley #mention: sam

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luveline · 2 months ago

Text

𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬

Joel remembers, and Ellie learns. (Or, loosely, three times Joel takes care of Ellie.) 5k words.

cw: the events at silver lake (including the attempted sexual assault), assault, all the awful bits of the canon, canon typical violence

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

He’s watching Ellie stare out of his window in the Boston apartment, and her eyes look so brown, and she seems so young asking if they’re gonna be okay, and all Joel can think is Fuck, I gotta get away from this kid.

—

Ellie’s never seen somebody hit like that before. The sound of it. Never seen knuckles turn so red they’re almost blue.

—

The weeks after Henry and Sam are quiet.

Joel doesn’t know what to say. Ellie keeps like a mouse, skittish footing, twitchy nose. She hasn’t been able to wash her hair in four days and Joel’s getting that tight scalp that says he needs a wash too. They’ve got dirt to the knees, but the wilderness isn’t bad.

She likes being outside. Joel can see it when she forgets what they’re doing and where they’re going, her head tipping back as she traces a thick line of trees to the summit. Her baby hairs turn to silver in the sun. They’ll stop before evening. He can see a cul-de-sac in the distance with orange-brick houses where they can hole up for the night, maybe scrounge a couple of cans of food or, at least, find Ellie a sink to wash her hair in.

The first time they did it, it was in silence. Wastes less water if Joel washes it for her. He didn’t do the best job, he knows, eager to stop touching her, to stop remembering what it was like, even if the hair between his fingers in his memory was thicker, tighter, coiled and bouncy and practically impervious to water. Ellie’s soaks it up. Half a big bottle of water gets the roots damp enough to scrub it clean with clary soap he lathers in his hands, and the other half washes it down to her thinner ends. There’s no smell of apple cider vinegar, no shea butter, no jojoba oil for the scalp. Ellie’s hair makes enough of its own oil. Joel’s makes double, it feels like.

They climb up a drying banking of brambles to the end of the street, its asphalt faded in the sun and driveways invaded by moss. They scuff their shoes down the pathway to shuck off the mud and leaves, pushing into the third house from the end.

Joel holds a finger to his lip, mouthing Stay here.

He sweeps the house. Ellie doesn’t listen, following him up the stairs and down them again when he finds the house uninhabited. As far as he can see, it’s a rarity; the house is untouched by infected, mycelium, or damp. It’ll make for a good camp tonight.

He locks the door and pulls down the kitchen shutters. Ellie drops her backpack onto a dinky table by the fridge.

Joel leans back against a counter to rub at his face.

“What are these?” she asks, poking at the side of the fridge.

“The magnets?”

“Where’s Cancun?”

“S’in Mexico.” Joel lets his pack fall onto the counter behind him, his sore shoulder twinging in a mixture of relief and new pain. “Was a big holiday destination.”

“Is that what these are?” Ellie scoops a couple of magnets off of the fridge. “They went to a lot of places.”

“Sometimes people would bring you one back. Called a souvenir.” Sarah’s friends did it sometimes, but they’d bring back friendship bracelets with shells or pens with the evil eye dotted on them in enamel paint. “But maybe they did.”

“What other souvenirs would people get?”

“My brother’s friend went to Egypt once.” Sarah’s friend. He isn’t sure why he lies. “They brought him back a sarcophagus.”

“A sar-what-acus?”

Joel tries not to smile. “I thought you liked history?”

Ellie wrinkles her nose at him, ire in the pinch of her fine eyebrows. “Dude, obviously I do.”

“Dude,” he says, not really thinking as he turns away from her to open his pack.

“So what is it?”

“You know about ancient Egypt?”

“The pyramids?”

“Right. Well, they used to bury the kings and stuff in the pyramids, and they’d put them in these fancy coffins. That’s a sarcophagus.”

“Why didn’t you just say coffin?” Ellie asks scornfully. “I know about those guys, the pharaohs. Wait. Somebody brought your brother a whole sarcophagus from the fucking pyramids?”

“It was a miniature. It was a keepsake box.”

“What sort of sakes did you keep in there?”

“Pretty sure that’s where he kept his smokes.”

“Sick.”

Joel agrees, but it’s not the truth. Sarah used to keep all sorts of things in the sarcophagus, notes from friends, erasers, paper clips, until one day the lid smashed into two pieces and she stopped having it on her desk. Joel told her ten times he was gonna fix it for her when he had five minutes with a little bit of wet plaster or mastic or hell, super glue would’ve done the job, but he never fixed it. It might still be in her desk in their house in Austin. Joel won’t ever know.

Joel pulls a can of ham from the pack, and a can of beans. He misses nothing from the QZ, but most of the time they could eat a real meal. He feels cruel passing Ellie an open can of beans. He won’t. He gets the shitty cooking stove out and flicks the gas canister to remind himself how little they have left. (He should’ve saved it, let them eat cold ravioli and beans, kept it for when there’s nothing left to eat but game. But he warms up her meals for the same reason she said No one’s gonna find us and he repeated it back to her.)

“Joel?”

“Yeah.”

When Ellie doesn’t answer, he turns around. She’s sitting at the table now, stupid enough to take her shoes off. He thinks they’re bugging her. He’s gotta get her a pair of boots soon.

“What?” he asks.

She squeezes one of the magnets between skinny fingers. “Can I ask you something?”

“No. Last time you said that you pulled out that book.”

“It’s a real question.”

He wants to say Ellie, just ask me. C’mon, girl.

She puts the magnet back on the fridge. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”

He wants to say No, tell me.

“Alright. Gonna fix this, then.”

“You broke it?”

“Fix us something to eat.”

“Cowboy,” she says, though she’s not quite talking to him anymore as she sits down on the kitchen floor and stretches out.

“You can go sit on the couch,” he offers.

She doesn’t bother. Joel cuts the lids off of the cans and dices the ham. He puts it in with the beans, tips it all into the cooking pot to warm over the plate. He lets it bubble for a couple of minutes before pouring it into a bowl. It’s not a lot each. He gives Ellie the bigger portion, figuring she needs it if she’s uncomfortable enough to sit down anywhere, and tired enough to stay there. She’s not gonna like washing her hair tonight —last time she complained it hurt her shoulders afterward. She was quiet the entire time. Could’ve told me.

“Ellie? We’re gonna wash your hair after this.”

Usually she complains about the idea, too. She says she can deal with it, throwing it up into the usual ponytail and forgetting about it.

“‘Kay.”

They eat their dinner. Joel finishes first, shoving his bowl on the counter to remain unwashed for the rest of time. Back aching like he took a lashing, he follows a shred of beige light up the stairs to the bathroom for soap. Most shampoos have gone like juice now, sediment at the bottom and water at the top. With a real good shake, some of it is still usable, and it’s not as harsh as the soap. Joel’s noticed his hair stays cleaner for longer with shampoo, so long as it’s not completely gone bad, so he searches the bathroom for a bottle and opens it imploring. If Ellie followed him up now he wouldn’t check, but he sniffs the bottle and pours a little of the shampoo out into the sink. It’s miraculously fine. Tess would call that a silver lining, Tex.

Conditioner hardly ever goes bad. He finds a tub of it on a bottom shelf, real expensive stuff he remembers from carting Sarah around a Sally’s. He was good with her natural hair by then. Couldn’t braid or flat iron for shit, but Sarah Miller had hair she loved, and Joel loved it too.

It was easier before Ellie to stop thinking so much about Sarah; she’s a frame of reference now. Maybe one day Joel will like thinking about her, but tonight it still burns.

“Alright,” he says, the both of them shed down into their bare bones, t-shirts and holey socks. The countryside they’ve found themselves in means infected are few and far between. The antsy thrumming of waiting for something to go wrong makes his chest ache a little anyhow. “Come on.”

She gets up dutifully. The pond they found a half a mile back means he can use what’s left in his pack to wash her hair the right way, and the collapsible litre they collected earlier will be double boiled before they go to sleep tonight. Still, Ellie doesn’t sound like she’s expecting it when he empties a half a bottle onto the top of her head. She actually laughs. “S’fucking cold!”

Her voice echoes off the sides of the sink.

“Sorry.”

He could’ve warned it up. He didn’t think.

“It’s fine,” she says, before falling into silence as usual.

And fuck Joel’s fucking life, as Ellie might say, but he hates it. She took a while to come around already after what happened in Kansas City, and he doesn’t like her when she’s not talking. Or, he likes her still. Loathes to like her. Can’t believe he left her in a room with an infected, can’t believe she was screaming his name on the motel floor and all he could do was scowl in his panic. “I got something to tell you about the way we do this.”

“What?”

“Reckon it’s something you probably don’t already know, if all you had was FEDRA textbooks.”

“Tell me.”

Joel gives the shampoo a shake and squirts it into his hand, bringing it to a lather and then carefully encouraging it into the roots of her hair, behind her ears, a thorough job. The bubbles squelch.

“This isn’t too different from how astronauts used to wash their hair. They used a squeeze bottle with a long piece of tubing, they had to conserve water up there on the space station. They had this stuff called dry-shampoo, too, like a powder.”

“Gross,” Ellie says. She sounds ecstatic. “They washed their hair in space?”

“What, you think they all went up there with buzzcuts?”

“That’s what they did to us in school. If you can’t wash your hair, you can't have it.”

Joel rubs his fingers back and forth over her scalp gently. He’s never gonna make her shave her head, but it’s not like she needs him to say that out loud.

“Is that why you like your ponytails so much?” he asks eventually.

“I don’t like it when the hair is on my shoulders.”

“You could… cut it shorter. I could cut it.”

He’s relieved when she says no.

Joel rinses the soap from her hair with another bottle of water and squeezes the excess before he gives her the towel he stole from the master bedroom’s linen closet. It still smells faintly like laundry sheets but the fabric is rough as loofah. He cringes internally as she stands up and scrubs her face clean. When she emerges from her hair, her face is red.

He smiles to himself when she twists the towel into an updo. Looks like all girls are the same, if their hair allows it.

He’s back to neutrality by the time she’s stopped fussing.

“How’d you know that? About the astronauts?” she asks.

Science project. “Think I saw it on TV.”

—

You’re not my daughter, and I–

—

He finds her aflame in the snow.

Joel doesn’t know what Ellie was trying to say until they’re in an empty dentist’s office break room five miles from Silver Lake. He can’t be sure who’s looking for her. He walks until he’s popped three stitches, leaning on her too heavily, knowing she needs to lean on him, too.

When he sits Ellie down in the back of the room on a rigid looking couch, she’s like laffy-taffy in the cold, drifting slowly backward, going hard, his jacket falling to either side of her and her sweatshirt ridden up her stomach. Her jeans are unbuttoned. The zipper is caught at the bottom of its teeth.

He tried to.

“There you go, baby,” he mumbles, pulling the sides of his jackets tight around her. He can only warm her with his own body. He slips into the seat next to her and drags her face into his arm. “There you go. Alright.”

The room is spinning like a copper dime, but he has Ellie again.

“Are you bleeding?” she asks. She stopped shaking hours ago, but the tremble in her voice remains.

“M’fine, Ellie.”

“You’re bleeding.”

He tips his head back rather than look down. “It’s healing. You– you stitched me up.”

“Joel.”

“I’m okay,” he says, firmer now, but his palm a soft touch where it’s curled over her shoulder. “Just let me– Can you give me a minute?” His eyes close.

She was gasping like somebody had their hands around her neck when he tried to hold her.

The dentist office doesn’t feel like they used to. It’s musty, the smell of wildlife permeating the air, but Ellie smells like copper and clary soap, and Joel smells like infection and five days in a sagging mattress. He’s exhausted and Ellie’s fucking exhausted but he relaxes, because she’s here.

She presses her nose into his arm and whines from the back of her throat.

“You’re alright, Ellie,” he says.

She sinks into him.

When they wake up the next day, they’re both agonisingly sore from sleeping on top of one another on that shitty couch. They’re crusted in blood. Joel’s stitches are angry red eyes on his stomach. Ellie licks her lip and winces when she tastes whatever’s waiting on her skin. Ash or blood.

He stretches as much as he can but his abdomen feels like it’s about to burst. Ellie lays out across the couch without his bulk in the way, her fingers drifting down to her jeans. She tries the zipper, then buttons them without fanfare. Joel ignores how it makes him feel, like he could march right back to Silver Lake and cave his skull in. He isn’t as angry as he is worried.

“Ellie?”

“Mm?”

“How’s your nose?” He crouches down by the couch. “What about the rest of you? You said you’re fine but, now you’ve slept on it, anythin’ really hurting?”

“My nose still hurts.”

“Alright.” And?

“Think… got my ribs.”

“Can I look?”

“Can you look?”

He nods sincerely. “Can I take a look at you?”

“It’s… just a pulled muscle or something.”

“I won’t look if you don’t want me to.”

She glares at him and lays back, yanking her sweatshirt up to her bra, then shifting all of it up a little further to show the expanse of her bruise, dark purple and yellow and red and painful from her hip to her chest. He can barely see the dents of her ribs. Carefully, Joel brings his hand up and feels along the front of her for signs of anything pointing the wrong way, but he knows deep down it’s useless. If anything’s wrong, he won’t know from looking.

“I need to put my ear on your chest so I can listen for fluid in your lungs,” he says softly. “Can I do that?”

She doesn’t give him another look, no pretending he’s being weird now. She just looks up at the ceiling and whispers, “Yeah.”

Joel nudges her sweatshirt up further and closes his eyes. “Take a deep breath, baby. Deep breath, there you go. Let it out.”

He can hear her heart plodding along, ever so slightly quick. Her airways sound clear.

He sits up and grabs her sweatshirt, pulling it down with care as he tries to catch her gaze. “It sounds alright. Hurt to breathe?”

“A bit.”

“We can only keep an eye on it.”

“Sorry,” she mumbles, turning away from him.

He lets his hand rest in neutral ground on her side, just above the bruise, not an ounce of pressure to his touch. “Now what are you sorry for? Ain’t done anything wrong.”

“I had to leave you there.”

“Yeah, you had to. I know you didn’t have a choice.”

“If I didn’t…”

Joel shakes his head, inching closer despite his screaming knees, his still-aching wound, “You should’ve gone when I told you, but you didn’t. ‘Cos of that, I’m alive. You ain’t got nothing to be sorry for.”

She curls up like a pill bug on her side. He takes it for a dismissal and begins cataloguing their current standing. Not much food. Nothing in the way of first aid besides that bottle of penicillin and a dirty needle. Ellie’s bag has matches, her knife, her one change of clothes, and her books. Joel’s pack has most of the camping stuff they got from Jackson and a box of 9mm plated bullets he has no use for. Ellie must’ve used his change of clothes at some point. They’re missing. As are his lighter, the flask, and any of the maps they’ve collected over time. He can’t fucking beleive it when he finds the can at the bottom of his pack, dented to all fuck, which is why they never tried eating its contents to begin with.

“What happened to all our stuff?” he asks her.

She’s out of it. When he gets back onto his knees to peer at her, he realises she’s sleeping again.

“You sleep, girl,” he mutters with a fierceness he isn't necessarily prepared for.

Ellie snores. Joel brings the ailing stove out of his pack and searches the office for a bucket, finding a metal tool dish under one of the counters. He fills it with snow, brings it inside, heads back out again to snap branches stiff with ice off of small trees. They’ll burn bad if they burn at all, dark smoke, but Joel doesn’t have many options. There’s a shit ton of paper work for kindling no one will miss. He puts a couple of branches over the stove as the smaller ones burn by the door. He only does it for a little while, scared of sending black smoke up into a white sky with Silver Lake at the bottom of a long hill, just long enough to judge the wood. Then he brings it inside and does the bulk of the work in a room at the opposite end of the office. He’s lucky he doesn’t give himself carbon monoxide poisoning, but at the end of an hour he has three jugs of potable water, two warm bowls of spaghetti strands.

Ellie must be sick to her teeth of tomato sauce, but she doesn’t complain. She flinches when he wakes her up, even as he does it with all the gentle stops, poor sick Sarah red-hot with the flu kissed from temple to temple. “Ellie,” he says, because he knows what girl he’s taking care of, even if his head’s twisted up and wrong, and his stomach shoots with sharp pains every time he breathes in, “it’s me, just me. Let’s get some food into you while it’s hot.”

She sits up, blinking sluggishly, hands already open for her portion. While she’s out of sorts the spaghetti seems to go down no problem, it’s when her eyes clear and the bowl is empty that she purses her lips, tipping forward, lungs heaving like a bird’s. Joel should’ve guessed she was gonna chuck it all back up —he should do a lot of things. Only thing he can do now is pull her hair from her face as she pukes between her fingers, spaghetti strands and bile. She heaves until she’s red in the face and her eyes are rimmed with tears, choking out desperate, exhausted apologies.

And Joel. He grimaces at the feeling of a split stitch, saying, “It’s alright, I don’t mind. It’s okay, baby, it’s fine, just get it out.”

—

Swear to me that everything you said about the Fireflies was true.

I swear.

—

“Do you think Maria will let me hold the baby, when she has it?”

Joel’s squinting into the dark recesses of their stove when Ellie speaks up. It’s one of her quiet days. Joel nearly forgot she was there at all.

“‘Course she will.”

Ellie pulls at the collar of a new t-shirt. New clothes, she says, feel like they’re choking her. But new clothes have to get worn to get worn. She’s toughing it out. Joel is proud of her.

She lets her head tip back until the end of her ponytail is skimming her shoulders. The sunshine gives her hair a sweet hue of auburn, and the good weather has warmed her skin. Jackson seems to live in a near perpetual state of snow, and to have escaped it has heightened her mood somewhat, but she’s still tentative. Of him, of Tommy and Maria and the residents of the commune she has yet to properly meet. She hates the dining hall, and won't step foot in the Tipsy Bison. Joel’s tried to take her to movie nights and greenhouse mornings and she just wants to go on walks. She seems to hate being with him as much as she hates being without him; she goes shy and grouchy when she follows him around for his odd jobs, and she’s never quite herself when she stays home and has to wait for him to return.

The solution was Maria. Ellie could warm up to Jackson by following Maria around for her council duties. Then Ellie doesn’t have to look like a clingy kid, and she doesn’t have to worry about being alone. Joel felt awkward as a cow on ice asking Maria to do it, but Maria didn’t give Joel her distrustful long look, she just nodded.

“I’ve never held one.”

“No?”

“I just don’t think she’ll let me.”

There’s this tone of voice Ellie uses when she knows something’s true, and she might not want it to be, and yet she’s learned not to want more, either. Joel doesn’t know what word to ascribe to it. It’s not hopelessness, not self-pity. I’m not family. And she’s a mirror. He’s noticed that whatever emotion he projects is one she ends up mimicking, so maybe it’s his fault that she sounds serious when she does. He didn’t exactly encourage her to share her feelings to begin with. How is she supposed to know she can speak her mind?

“Why do you think that?”

Ellie pokes at his mug on the counter. “What if I drop her?”

“It’s harder to drop a baby than that, you don’t just drop ‘em.”

“But how does Maria know I won’t?”

“I doubt the idea has even crossed her mind.” He crawls away from the oven and creaks to his feet. “I can ask Tommy about it, if you want. Do some probing. I don’t see why you can’t hold the baby, but Tommy’ll know best what Maria’s feeling about the whole thing.”

He rinses the degreaser off of his hands and wipes them dry on a rag. Ellie’s still shifting on her feet restlessly.

Joel doesn’t know what this is about, but he resolves to get to the bottom of things before dinner. He leans against the sink with his hands at his sides, taking Ellie in, in all her little-ness, fifteen years old and as short as the day they met, stringier —though that half inch of stubborn baby fat in her cheeks remains— and her dark brown eyes. The other day he found her glaring at the TV with her knees to her chest as she massaged her calf in clumsy hands. I don’t know what the fuck I did, they’re just hurting, she’d said with a huff. It feels like glass.

“You got those growing pains again?” he asks now. “Want me to rub ‘em again?”

She shakes her head.

“What’s the matter, then?”

She isn’t perturbed by his gruffness. “Nothing.”

“Any other questions you wanted to ask me?”

She looks at their fridge, smuggled Cancun magnet on the side pinning a drawing she did of Shimmer next to a handwritten schedule Maria made for the both of them. Neither adhere to it very diligently so far. “Does Tommy hate seeing me this often?” she asks.

“Tommy likes seeing you more than he likes seeing me, baby. He ain’t interested in old Joel anymore.”

Ellie actually laughs. “Maybe old Joel should learn some new tricks.”

“I’m trying. Been trying to fix the damn element on the oven all morning, but I guess we’re back over Tommy and Maria’s until I figure it out.”

Ellie nods.

Joel sighs. He’s tempted to coax her into a hug, but it’s not something they’ve fallen into doing naturally. He only hugs her when she’s crying, and he’s worried giving her one now will make her start.

“I know I ain’t been a good listener in the past,” he says, shrugging. “We both know I’m not good at this.”

“Yeah, you’re… you’re getting better.”

“Thank you.”

She shifts. If Joel gives her space—

“The growing pains aren’t that bad. When did you say they stop?” she asks.

Ah. “Whenever you’re done growing.” He gestures for the living room. “Resting will help.”

They head into the living room and she sits in the armchair, which isn’t ideal. Doesn’t matter. She frowns as he sits down by the chair and the coffee table, her legs up to her chest, but she doesn’t stop him from pulling one of her legs straight and feeling down her calf.

“Sitting like that won’t help.”

“Honestly this is one of the most alien things that’s ever happened to me in my life,” she says.

“The growing pains?”

“No.”

He shakes his head. Joel has done worse for her now. Washed the grease from her hair. Held it all back when she was throwing up, wiped it off of her cheeks. He’s rinsed the blood out of her jeans and seen her spit phlegm into grass all across the Rockies. He knows exactly how gross teenage girls can be. Rubbing a cramp out of her leg is the least of all that, but he won’t embarrass her by saying so. It’s not like it makes her any lesser to him.

“If you don’t want me to do it, I won’t,” he says gently, thumbing at the elastic of her sock, “but if you think I care about doing it for you, I don’t. I fed and clothed you this last year–”

“Exaggeration–”

“– an’ I told you already. You get a paper cut, you can tell me about it. Even if all I can do about it is feel sorry for you.”

It took them near enough four months to get to Salt Lake City after Silver Lake. Four months of trying to take care of her the right way, too little too late. Four months of waking up to her snuffling in her sleep or shuffling across the bamboo roll to press her nose against his arm. That close together, he knew when she needed him. Jackson has more room to hide.

“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, dick.”

“I do feel sorry for you. What are you, five foot nothing? Sooner these pains are over, the sooner you can reach the good shit on the top shelf.”

“Like you’d let me have the good shit.”

“Maybe I will. Starting to feel pretty sorry for you, all these short pains.”

“That’s not what they’re called.”

“How would you know? You didn’t even know they were a thing until I told you.”

“That’s not fair!” Ellie tenses as Joel digs his knuckle into her muscle, but she doesn’t move away. “I don’t know about tons of stuff, it’s not like I chose to live in propaganda-land. You don’t know about a ton of stuff, too. I looked in the library when we got here– Do you know how a siphon works yet? ‘Cos I do.”

“Which one of us can siphon gas, me or you?”

“How do you spell ‘mesozoic’?”

“How much detergent do you put in the washing machine?” Joel asks with a self-satisfied grin, his hands using muscle memory as he taunts her. “Here’s a hint, honey, it’s not the amount you used last time.”

“You motherfucker.”

He rubs the front of her calf for a bit, then puts another round of pressure on the back. She has a bruise peeking out of the hem of her jeans that he skirts around. “How’s that feeling, Ellie-girl?”

The last time Tommy called her that, she wrinkled her nose and started calling him Tim. But Joel must be doing something right. Ellie doesn’t kick up a fuss.

“Will you do the other one?” she asks carefully.

“Yeah. Could get Tommy in here to do both at the same time.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Can we move this parlour to the couch? Otherwise I’m gonna have to work the knot out of my back when we’re done.”

Ellie doesn’t like the sounds of that. They move onto the big couch and she lets him pull her leg into his lap. He works the pains out of them the best he can. She slips sideways and prattles off a story about that book on siphoning gas, how Maria gave her a suspicious look when she asked, and how the town library doesn’t have a single book on dinosaurs or prehistoric creatures. Maybe it’s easier for her to accept his help when they aren’t looking at one another. Maybe she just wanted him to know. Eventually she quietens.

“I used to think you were scary,” Ellie murmurs after a while.

“I used to feel scary,” he says, trying to let her off of a hook he hadn’t realised she was caught on.

“When you beat up that FEDRA soldier the first night we were together… It’s not like I thought you were gonna hit me…”

“I ain’t gonna hit you. Not ever.”

She shakes her head, the wavy bits of hair around her face shaking with it. “I know. You’re not that kind of scary.”

Joel passed his hand down the flank of her calf slowly.

“Do you think Maria will let you hold the baby?” Ellie asks. She pouts a little when she’s finished.

“If that baby is anything like Sarah, she’ll run out of people to hold her. You couldn’t put her down.”

Joel’s thinking it as he’s holding Ellie’s leg. His girls are the same when it comes to that. All this fussing and aching when what they really need is a soft touch, a shoulder to curl into, or a lap where they can kick their feet up.

She turns limp in his hold. Ellie trusts him, even if things between them aren’t perfect. Joel isn’t stubborn enough to pretend he isn’t grateful.

“I hope it’s a girl,” she says. “There’s too much fucking testosterone in this place.”

Joel lets his fingers run down to her bony ankle. “I got all the girl’s I can handle,” he admits softly.

I got you, he’s saying. Promise.

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scandistar · 2 months ago

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— what color is your writing?

Thank you so much for the tag @forget-me-maybe! Sorry for the late response, but I'll be better at responding to tags in time <3

I'm tagging, but no pressure: @dearest-and-nearest @wasteful-sam and @toasterdrake

This is at least what I am aiming for. Emotionally heavy stuff. I've not written too many complete works yet, because I'm never happy with them, and it takes ages to finish a fic. I feel what I've made so far has come across the way I intended, though.

the Uquiz

#tag game #uquiz

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anakinstwinklebunny · 5 months ago

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STUFF WE DID..

Kind of don't like it :///

It’s been weeks now since they kicked you out. Weeks since the memory of your mother’s screams replayed on a loop in your mind. The anger in her voice, the tears in her eyes. Your father, silent as ever, but his disappointment hung heavier than her shouts. They shattered you. Love, once unconditional, spat back in your face. Your clothes tossed from the window. Your name reduced to disgrace, slut, a waste of potential.

And now, it’s just you, Sam, and your little Vinnie.

Sam’s barely seventeen. A kid himself. But there he is, holding Vinnie, rocking him in his arms as if trying to anchor you all to something—anything—that feels stable. He kisses your forehead when you’re about to break, whispers soft words to calm you down, but you can see it. The fear in his eyes mirrors your own. The fear that wakes you in the middle of the night, clawing at your chest, telling you this can't, won't, work.

You’re drowning, both of you. Slowly, but surely.

Vinnie’s growing too fast. Faster than you’re ready for. Another pair of shoes is too small for his five-month-old feet, and it terrifies you. Is that normal? Should he be this big already? Questions swirl in your mind, but you can’t focus long enough to find much answers when all you have is nothing. Not enough money for food. No way to buy clothes. The thin blanket in Vinnie’s crib barely keeps him warm at night. And Sam—he’s trying, but it’s not enough. You’re both barely treading water.

So, when Sam isn’t looking, you slip out. You take the bus to the corner store and tell yourself it’s just this once. Just a can of beans or a loaf of bread. Something to keep you all alive for one more day. At first, the shame is unbearable. Your hands tremble as you tuck the food into your bag. But when Vinnie looks up at you, his tiny fingers reaching for yours, the shame fades. He has to eat.

Yet, it doesn’t stop at food.

A month later, Sam’s asleep, Vinnie curled up in his crib, and you’re back at the store. This time, it’s for a duvet. Something soft and plush, something that’ll keep Vinnie warm. Your hands shake as you slip it under your jacket, and your heart pounds louder than ever as you walk toward the exit.

Then you see him. A security guard who definitely wasn’t there before. His eyes narrowed, and fuck. Your breath catches, and for a moment, you freeze, imagining the worst—he stops you, finds you stealing things, and you can say good-bye to any job for a long time but say welcome prison.. But you play it casually, smile gently, keeping the walk.

But you keep walking. In those slow, steady steps. A forced smile. And when you step into the cold night air, the weight of the duvet presses against your chest like a secret you can’t confess.

When you get home, you lay the duvet in Vinnie’s crib. Your fingers trace the soft fabric, but it feels like a lie. Like pretending everything’s okay when it’s not. But..it's for the greater cause, right? Because at the end of the day, we do terrible things for the people we love

Sam comes in, few seconds later, eyes falling to the duvet immediately. He doesn’t say anything at first, just stops in his tracks, yet you can still feel his gaze on you

“I got it,” you whisper.

“You got it?” he repeats, voice breaking nonetheless, even if he tries to keep the whole independed vibe

“Yeah,”

"So.. um..you mean you stole it?" He shifts on his feet, finger brushing his nose

"I--" Sam knows you too much, too well to see so easily through your lies "I--yea..I---i stole it.."

But...Sam doesn’t yell. He doesn’t scold. He just takes a shaky breath, steps closer, and wraps his arms around you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, with your face buried in his chest.

It’s late. The only faint sound in the house is the soft flicker of the candlelight dancing back and forth on the tiny, wooden, older than you table. You and Sam sit across from each other, hands crossed, fingers digging into your skin, drawing white lines cause you know what's about to happen, and you hate yourself for it

“I think…” voice cracks, and he looks down, unable to meet your gaze. “We need to let him go.”

Your stomach drops.

“No,” you choke out, shaking your head violently. Tears blur your vision, and your hands dig into your arms, nails leaving red crescents.

“Y/N…” voice trembles, heavy with guilt. “He deserves more than this. More than this shit hole, more than an empty fridge every goddamn day”

You both know he’s right, but that doesn’t make it hurt less. You can't help but picture Vinnie’s tiny face, his chubby hands, the way his eyes light up when you sing to him. The thought of not waking up to his babbling or feeling his little fingers clutching yours—it’s unbearable.

But at the end, you know he's right

“Who do we…?” Your voice breaks, hands anxiously running over your face and Sam looks away, swallowing hard.

“Sarah and Mark.” His response is immediate, firm. “They’ll take care of him. Better than we ever could.”

The day came way too quickly.

You place Vinnie in his stroller, bundling him in his favorite jacket and tucking his stuffed bunny beside him. He grips the bunny tightly, babbling to it as if nothing’s wrong. You want to tell him, explain, but how do you tell a baby you’re leaving him?

The note feels heavier than it should as you place it beside him. You wrote everything—the way he hates carrots but loves mashed potatoes. How he can’t sleep without his bunny. How his giggles sound when you make silly faces. The way he clings to your finger when he’s tired. You write it all, desperate to hold onto him even as you let him go.

Leaving the note in Vinnie's pudgy hand, you stand there for what feels like hours, looking at the house then back at Vinnie who is clueless that his father is saying his last goodbye to him. ,

It feels like someone just stabbed your most sensitive places - chest, head, neck. It hurts knowing that you’ll never be able to see him again. Knowing Vinnie will never come back to you. Knowing you'll miss so much of his milestones

It’s Sam who finally takes your hand, pulling you away before you can break down again.

You don’t look back as you walk down the street. But you hear the sound of your heart breaking with every step when you hear the couple's shocked, surprised yet so welcoming for the little one reactions

That night, you and Sam sit in the grass under the moonlight. You can’t stop crying, the pain so deep it feels like you might drown in it. And Sam just holds you, hands running through your hair, his own tears falling silently.

It’s a week later, then a month, and the pain doesn’t fade. It deepens, carves a hole in your chest that nothing can fill. But you tell yourself it was the right thing. You tell yourself Vinnie’s safe, loved, taken care of.

You tell yourself it is love.

Even if it feels like the kind that leaves scars that aren't going to heal at all.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca

#Spotify #hayden christensen #sam monroe x you #sam monroe fanfiction #sam monroe x reader #sam monroe #sam monroe x y/n #hayden christensen fanfiction #hayden christensen x reader #christensen hayden #hayden christensen x you #hayden christensen characters #hayden christensen x female reader #life as a house #angst

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crowsofdarkness · 5 months ago

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Moment Of Weakness: Chapter Three

*gif not mine. credit to owner*

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Content Warnings: language, 18 + smut, angst, fluff, affair, cheating, violence, kidnapping.

Summary: Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader?

Authors Note: If anyone is interested, tags are open for this! Just send me a message or comment!

My knee bounced with nerves and I did my best to calm my breathing, unsure of what was about to happen. I had been staring at the closed door for awhile now, wondering what was taking so long in this meeting. From what I was told, it was only for Bucky to talk with Tony about funding his next project; half hour tops. So why was it nearing an hour now?

I think it was more so that I was nervous about Bucky wanting to talk with me afterwards.

“Have a great day, Mr. Stark. We will see you next month.”

I watched as Steve bid a goodbye to Tony before standing to my feet. “How bad did you get in trouble?”

He chuckled. “I think you forgot that Bucky and I are good friends. He knows that if he fires me that I would be back the next day.”

“Oh, right,” I nodded.

He motioned towards the open door. “But he does want to talk with you.”

“Great,” I muttered.

Steve gave me a warming smile of luck as I walked past him, into Bucky’s office.

He was sitting on his couch with his legs spread wide, a silent invitation to take a seat between them. I almost accepted that invitation.

Almost.

“You wanted to see me?” I clasped my hands behind my back.

Bucky pointed with his chin to the chair across from him. “Sit.”

I didn’t waste another second and followed his demands; with a fire burning in my stomach.

“Can you explain why Mr. Stark didn’t receive your call?” He asked.

I let out an annoyed breath. “I already told you. I did call him and left him two voicemails. It’s not my fault that he chose to ignore them.”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t appreciate your tone, Y/N.”

“And I don’t appreciate being made as if I can’t do my job,” I shot back. “Also, who I flirt with, if I was, is none of your business.”

His eyes narrowed. “It is when it’s interfering with your work.”

I bit my tongue, not wanting to snap at him in fear of losing my job.

“It’s not, believe me. Unlike your and Natasha’s morning rendezvous,” I said with my arms crossed.

Bucky’s shoulders stiffened, face dropping a bit. “You heard?”

I scoffed. “Kind of hard not too when you guys are not even trying to be quiet.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N if it made you uncomfortable. I told her that we shouldn’t do it here,” Bucky sighed while pinching his eyes shut.

“Didn’t sound like you were complaining,” I muttered to myself.

He was looking at me with a sheer intensity, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Sounds like you're jealous, doll.”

Heat engulfed my entire body at his nickname and I shifted in my seat, hoping he couldn’t tell how it was affecting me.

“Are we done here? Can I get back to work? Or unless I’m fired,” I asked.

Bucky shook his head. “There’s no way I could fire you. But I do have an assignment for you.”

He handed me an empty leather bag. “I need you to go to Thor’s place to receive his monthly payment. He’s late and I’m tired of waiting.”

I raised a brow while taking the bag from him. “Monthly payment?”

“I allow his men to deal on my streets for a price,” Bucky informed.

I slowly nodded, the revelation unsettling me. I knew that Bucky was into some sketchy and illegal stuff but he usually did a great job at hiding it from me. Which also confused me on why he was sending me to get this money. It seemed like something Steve or Sam should do.

“I’ll get Steve and head out,” I said while standing to my feet.

Bucky quickly followed. “No, I have him running another errand for me. Take Sam.”

“He’s out sick, remember?” I reminded him.

He cursed before nodding after a few moments. “Let me grab my coat.”

“You’re coming with?” I asked, shocked.

Bucky never ran his own errands. That’s what he paid his men for.

“There’s no way I’m sending you into Thor’s place alone.”

Fear filled me when I wondered what I was about to walk into.

“Well if you’re going, do you still need me to?” I asked, trying to find a way out of it.

Bucky opened the door, motioning me along with his head. “Think of it as time for us to get to know each other.”

The car pulled to a quiet stop in front of an older, somewhat abandoned, warehouse on the other side of town and I couldn’t help but look up towards it in slight angst. We had driven for about twenty minutes and the only words spoken from Bucky were to his phone as he had a conversation, in Russian. The arousal that itched at my core had burned between my legs the entire drive, up until we stopped in front of the building.

Asgardian Industries.

“So is Thor another mob boss? I questioned.

Bucky nodded. “He runs this side of town. Everyone thinks he’s some sort of God.”

I didn’t miss the tone of his voice; annoyance.

“You don’t think so?” I smirked.

“He’s an arrogant prick,” he stated.

“Should I stay in the car?”

He immediately shook my head. “I don’t trust this neighborhood. I’d feel a lot better if you were with me.”

Bucky told his driver that we would be back shortly and I decided on following him close, not wanting to fall behind.

I gave him a smile of thanks as he held the door open for me and continued to follow him through what I originally thought was an abandoned warehouse. The outside looked old and run down, but inside was bright and lively. Music was blasting throughout, echoing off the brick, as large groups of people danced and drank, not caring how early in the afternoon it was.

“Stay close,” Bucky breathed in my ear, his vibranium fingers gently grasping at my elbow.

Chills ran over my body at the sensation and when I felt his hand slide down to my lower back, I did my best to keep my excitement at bay.

“Woah, you know I can’t let you in there.”

A woman appeared almost out of thin air and placed a hand on Bucky’s chest, stopping him from entering through the door. Bucky’s eyes bounced from the hand to the face of who had halted us.

“Valkyrie, we’ve had the same conversation how many times now? I don’t need an appointment to see him when Thor owes me money,” Bucky sighed.

Clearly this wasn’t the first time this happened. My hands twitched nervously as I watched between the two of them.

“He’s busy. Why don’t you come back another time,” she smirked.

Bucky sighed once more and he pushed me past the woman, Valkyrie, both of us walking into the room; the protests being shouted behind us. It all seized when Bucky shut the door.

A man, a very large man, sat at the end of a long table and as he looked up from the papers in front of him, his long blonde hair wisped around his face.

“Barnes, why didn’t you tell me you were stopping by!”

Even with the smile that broke out on his face, I could tell that he was in fact not happy that we were here.

“Thor?” I quietly asked Bucky.

He nodded. “He’s probably six cups deep in Asgardian Ale right now.”

I averted my gaze back towards Thor, who in fact stumbled over his feet as he stood from the table, ready to greet us. Reluctantly, Bucky shook his hand and it quickly was in its previous spot on my lower back. His fingers pressed lightly into my body and I shivered at the feeling.

Thor’s bright eyes landed on me, a sly smirk playing at his lips.

“Who is this?” He asked with a hand extended.

I looked at it before looking at Bucky, who simply nodded.

“Y/N, I work for Bucky,” I introduced while shaking his hand.

My own felt small in the size of his and there was no warmth to it, only bitter coldness. I quickly pocketed my hands into my coat in search of warmth.

“So, let’s cut to the chase,” Bucky said while thrusting the bag into Thor’s chest. “50k. And don’t try to low ball me like last time.”

Thor ran a hand over his beard. “Did I? I’m pretty sure I gave you the correct amount.”

While they bicker back and forth about the amount, I let my eyes wander around what I assumed was Thor’s office. A large throne-like chair from where he was previously sat at the table, and a large glass case that looked like weapons shone bright in the room.

A hammer and large ax caught my attention. Thor must have noticed because he snickered.

“Mjölnir and Stormbreaker.”

My eyes fell on him. “I’m sorry, what?”

Thor nodded towards the weapons. “Those have been passed down in my family for generations. Norse mythology states that they both wield immense power, only certain men can hold them. They must be worthy.”

“You do know that mythology is basically made up stories, right?” I informed him.

Thor scoffed. “Why don’t you stay a little while and I can show you how true it is. I’m sure Bucky won’t mind if I bring you back to work afterwards.”

At the mention of his name, I peered over my shoulder and noticed he had walked to the other end of the room, bag open on the table as someone had been stuffing it full of cash. However, his attention was elsewhere, watching intently the interaction between Thor and I.

“Thank you for the offer but I’m fine,” I gave him my best smile and tried to walk away.

He quickly stepped in front of me, blocking the path towards Bucky. I sighed, annoyed.

“One hour, that’s all I need,” Thor winked.

My face scrunched up in disgust with his innuendo. “No thank you.”

We did the same dance of me trying to step away only for him to block my path once more.

“You will not be disappointed, Y/N. I promise you that.”

I went to speak, some not nice words ready to be spewed, however Bucky was back to my side with his hand on my lower back. He pulled me closer towards his chest. The safety I felt brought a small smile to the corner of my lips and I eased into him.

“Ready to go?” I asked.

Bucky nodded. “I’m sorry I walked away. Needed to make sure I got everything I was owed.”

I waved him off, letting him know it was alright.

Thor’s eyes danced between the two of us. “I thought you were married, Barnes. To a redhead.”

My shoulders slumped but did my best not to let Bucky see.

“I am,” Bucky nodded. “But it’s none of your business.”

“So then why don’t you let Y/N stay here awhile,” Thor’s eyes glazed over every inch of me, his tongue slowly rolling over his lips.

It was as if he was imagining tasting me and I shivered at the mere thought, not liking how persistent Thor was.

“Everything alright?” Bucky’s lips brushed against the skin of my ear.

His warmth breath caused my skin to burn and I looked deep into his blue iris’. Bucky looked breathtaking this close up and as much as I wanted to nibble on his bottom lip, I couldn’t ignore the way Thor continued to watch me with hunger in his eyes.

“Can we go?” I asked quietly.

Bucky quickly nodded, leading me away with a gentle pat to my back.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Thor,” He called over his shoulder. “See you next month.”

“Feel free to send Y/N alone!” Thor yelled back.

My skin crawled at his words but it was short lived as Bucky wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer to him, a way to protect me as we walked out of the warehouse, farther away from Thor’s hungry eyes.

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