#you almost forget that it’s a metal block of a building and imagine that there are tapestries on the walls and gold chandeliers overhead

[cynicalmusings]

IMAGINE A MASQUERADE BALL WITH XIAO???

…see, you’ve done the very dangerous thing of reminding me of the 100 followers special continuation i was planning that includes xiao and heizou… and a little of my cinderella au with him, too. 

but i need to brainrot about this now.

thing is… we could go down the usual route of fantasy masquerade ball with big fancy chandeliers and a nice ballroom, but i feel like a spin could be put on it to make it more interesting.

namely, cyberpunk; a setting that i think fits xiao very well. (let me generate some ideas for a second…)

maybe this masquerade ball is inspired by old fragments of books and paintings uncovered in the wreckage of historical buildings, and a group of people are trying to resurrect it, just for fun. it’s likely nowhere as grande as the ‘proper’ ones, and takes place in some abandoned warehouse or the basement of a pub. the music is an electronic, bass-y version of some classical pieces, performed by a mini-orchestra of electric classical instruments. there are some asymmetrical make-shift chandeliers welded from old bits of metal hanging from the ceiling, sporting some LED light bulbs. 

people come wearing all sorts of clothing; most try to imitate the gowns and suits worn in the old days but with a spin of cyberpunk, with metal masks and hand gauntlets, while a few wear visors and their typical fashion.

xiao’s mask is no doubt based on his yaksha mask, put together with metal and cogs and some pieces of wood, and there are neon blue lights around the eye sockets, which mirror his original mask’s glowing eyes. the fangs are made of steel and bronze. 

the atmosphere is lively, although the location is quite dark. as they dance, people try to guess who the person behind the mask is. xiao prefers not to know. 

xiao is a really, really good dancer. he meets you in one of the dances, and you’re floored by his dancing. his movements are fluid and graceful, almost like water, and each step and twirl is precise, like he’s been doing this all his life. he’s actually quite courteous while dancing, too; he’s a guy who prefers actions over words, so it’s no wonder that he lets his dancing speak for itself. he finds it so much easier to carefully spin you around than start a conversation, in which he’s certain he would come across as brash.

meanwhile, you try your very best to figure out who this person is, and whether you’ve met him before, but his identity eludes you. you only spend a brief time together before the music changes and you’re both met with new partners, but somehow he still stands out to you the most. 

after the dance, the crowds disperse, and you try and look for him, absentmindedly taking off your mask because the dance is over. for a moment, you catch a glimpse of glowing blue in the crowd, meeting your eyes from behind a familiar metal mask. when you blink, he’s gone, and you don’t find him again afterwards.

(meanwhile, xiao probably just ducked behind some wall or pillar because he was not prepared for you to be so stunning behind that mask and needed a second to gather his thoughts.)

[funnywiccanwritingcorner]

Le Joyau le plus precieux - Candyfloss

Chapter III

The entrance to the candy shop was ridiculously squashed at the sides by the facades of the two adjacent buildings. It consisted of a microscopic shop window and an equally small door, all supported by a chocolate-coloured frame. The sign above the entrance displayed in large letters "Billy's Candy".

Jesse's first impression on coming across it was that the architect had been inspired by some bizarre building from a Tim Burton film. He grabbed the brass door handle and opened it; the sound of an old bell alerted the owner of the presence of someone.

Billy emerged from behind the counter; when he realised it was the actor he smiled: -Hello, stranger! Not even a day has passed and here you are!- But the other was not listening to him. He was too busy looking at the rows of shelves full of jars filled with all kinds of delicacies, each with its own label and the price written under the name. The furniture was all the same colour as the door, even the counter looked like a chocolate bar. Of all this, Jesse made an almost murmured summary: -It's bigger on the inside...- -Ah! I see where you got this one from!- -Huh?- -The quote.- -I didn't make any quote.- -... Forget it. Back to us, were you really that eager to see me again?- The actor snorted: -You told me where to find you, I simply...- -Wait wait, I'll be right back.- Billy disappeared again under the counter; after a minute Jesse, not seeing him not return, decided to peek over it. There was an open metal trapdoor in the floor.

-What the...- He went behind the counter and approached: a wooden ladder led down, and a smell of caramel was rising along with a strange bubbling noise. Taking small steps down the ladder, the actor gradually detected other aromas such as mint, vanilla and chocolate, and even biscuits. He then found himself in a space as large as the one upstairs, full of ovens and cookers but also strange stills for distillation and pots of various shapes and sizes hanging from the ceiling. Two large refrigerators in the corners of the same wall sent out a low hum; on the opposite side a large red brick oven had just been switched off. Right around it was bustling Billy, who with red oven mitts was placing trays of biscuits on a shelf. All the furniture, curiously enough, was in the the same shade of colour as that of the shop.

-Just in time! The lady would kill me if I screwed up her order!- exclaimed the blond man taking the last batch. -Do you bake the sweets yourself?- -Sure, what did you think, that I had mini workers cooking down here?- -I thought you had at least one helper.- -I can't afford staff.- He removed his gloves and bent down to take from the lower counters some white boxes, like those you see in American movies for carrying doughnuts. -That's a lot of biscuits.- -Yeah, they're for the owner of a tea shop I know; she's three blocks away. She's a bit of a cranky spinster but not a bad one, and she pays well.- Being careful not to burn himself, he transferred the biscuits from the baking tins to the boxes. -How long have you been open, exactly?- -Three months. But things have only been running for two.- -And you did all this by yourself?- -Not really. There used to be a Chinese restaurant here, but they closed it down after the owner served accidentally bad shrimps for dinner. Twenty people intoxicated, can you imagine? Everything was already set up, I just had to redo the wiring and tidy up a bit here and there.- He closed the chat along with the last box: -Now I gotta make the delivery, man, so...- -Naturally. But could I know the shop's closing time?- Billy looked at him puzzled: -Why...?- -If I may be so bold, I would like to continue our conversation later.-

The blond was stunned. Was he making fun of him? After all, he was an actor, even if he was a little weirdo. -Do you want a date?- Jesse didn't flinch: -I'd say more like a walk. What do you think?- -That you're crazy.- He loaded the stacked boxes into his arms and walked towards the steps. The other followed him:  -Remember when I told you about being interested in someone?- -Vaguely.- -What if I told you that my interest is seriously about you?- Billy placed the boxes on the counter top and took some string from a drawer: 

-You don't have many friends, do you?- -You don't answer a question with another question.- -And I'll ask you another: why would someone like you would ever have an interest in me?- -Like me?- Tightening the knot of the string, the candyman added: -Yes, well, you seem to me a cultured an refined fellow, whereas yours truly is just a high-school graduate.- -You shouldn't belittle yourself like that.- -I'm used to it.- He picked up the boxes again and headed for the exit: -Thanks anyway; it's been a while since I had heard an excuse, even if it was a bit trite, to convince me to go out. It's almost flattering, daddy.- While talking, he had opened the door by pushing the handle with his elbow, and without giving the other time to reply, gave him a playful tongue with a wink, and ran out.

Astonished, Jesse stood motionless on the spot for a moment, trying to put the sequence of events in a logical order, but he was unable to do so, and he also had the feeling that he had been somehow misunderstood. But one thing became clear to him: the boy had a problem relating to others. And neither did he get angry at being mocked. With a sigh, he adjusted his scarf and prepared to leave. He noticed that the shop's timetable had actually been placed in a corner of the window in the form of a sticker.

-I was expecting you ten minutes ago, boy! Where have you been?- -I've been having trouble, ma'am...- -Miss!- Next thing you know, she'll be getting yelled at by that nutcase, so Billy handed her the biscuit tins and reiterated: -Miss Jane, if I discount you ten euros will you stop yelling at me?- She took the boxes under her arm and, huffing, adjusted a lock of her carrot-coloured hair behind her ear: -I'll go get the money, wait here.- Billy watched her disappear into the diner; meanwhile he felt a slight dizziness. "Here we go again..." He took from his inside jacket pocket a chocolate cigarette and began to eating it. When Miss Jane returned, with cash in hand, she could not help but ask: -That hypoglycaemia problem again? Have you gone to see a doctor?- -It's all under control. One sweet treat and I'm fine.- -Except your teeth will rot from all the damn sugar you swallow. -She shoved the money in his hand: -And now get out of here, I have to open the lounge. -Evening, Miss.- Shoving the money in his pocket, he walked back to his shop at a brisk pace. When he entered, he saw that Jesse was gone. Not that he had expected to find him still there, after all. "I almost feel sorry for ditching him so badly... Ah, but who has time to think about that; I have to prepare the gummy crocodiles and grenadine!"

Jesse returned to the front of the shop five minutes before closing time. He was clutching a brown paper bag with one hand, and found himself fiddling with the hem of his scarf with the other, just to pass the time. Finally he saw Billy come out to lock up; he approached him at a leisurely pace as he put the padlock to the shutter: -Hey, hello.- The other jumped up with a shriek, and putting his hand on his chest, recognising the actor he shouted: -You almost gave me a heart attack!!! Does tha look like the way?!?- Th darkie stifled the impulse to laugh on the spot: Billy had such a funny face at that moment. He handed him the bag: -I have a peace offering.- -Uhm?- Grabbing the object, he immediately opened it to examine its contents. It was sandwiches cut into triangles. -They're all for you. I thought you'd be hungry by now- the actor added, -In return I only ask to accompany you to... whatever place you need to return to.- -I don't need to be accompanied...- His stomach muttered slightly; the sweets he had eaten earlier had not been enough to satiate him, only delaying the need for a full meal. He grabbed a sandwich: -But if you want to, it's fine; I should warn you, however, that I also speak with my mouth full.- -I'll avoid watching you do it, then.-

The two set off towards the centre of Paris, in the residential area, wandering through increasingly deserted streets. It was Billy who broke the silence: -How come you brought me food?- -I thought I had offended you in some way, seeing how you cut the conversation short this afternoon.- Filling his mouth with a sandwich, his cheeks swollen, the other mumbled: -What the hell? No!- Jesse looked at him: with those funny protruding teeth and cheeks full of food he looked like a hamster. A smile came to his face. -What is it?- -Nothing.-

As Miss Jane threw out the rubbish and was about to close up in her turn, she noticed across the street Billy walking with a strange, tall, distinguished man. She stared at them for a while, muttering to herself: -Where did that handsome guy come from? Yeez. The little boy has more taste than I thought.-

Jesse took the conversation to another tone: -About today... I was serious when I was talking about taking an interest in you. I actually don't have many friends outside of show business, and we end up almost always talking about the same old things.- -Really?- Filling his mouth with another sandwich, he mumbled, scattering crumbs on the the floor: -You must be pretty bored if so little interests you.- -Little? For pity's sake, what drives you to have such a contemptible opinion of yourself?- -Ah, the list is long, but the sad story of my life can be summed up in a few words: absent parents, troubled adolescence, running away from home as soon as I turned 18... Take your pick. As for me as far as I'm concerned, I try to live day to day worrying only about my business.-

The actor did not know what to say. That boy who at first sight had seemed to him immature, cheerful and irreverent had, after all, his own reasons for not talking about his private affairs.

-Fortunately I'm not one of those who gets depressed about his past misfortunes, otherwise you would have called me a whiner!- joked Billy, who, having finished his meal, rolled up the bag and, locating a metal bucket, threw it in an attempt to go to the basket; he narrowly missed the target. -Argh!- He ran to retrieve the waste, followed at a slower pace by Jesse, -I never get it on the first shot!- He threw the paper ball into the basket, huffing. The other took a handkerchief from his pocket: -You have some sauce left on your cheek, wait...- -Huh?- Jesse wiped his face with a corner of the handkerchief, then smiled: -Done. The pink of the tuna doesn't match your freckles, you know?-

He received no reply. Billy stood motionless, staring at him with wide blue eyes. -Are you all right?- He slowly saw the boy's face turn redder and redder, going from a more mild to a true purple. Still without answering, he ran away so quickly that it took the actor a moment to realise he was gone. -What did I say?-

Back at home, if you can call it that, a tiny flat in total disarray, Billy  closed the door behind him and let his uniform jacket slip off his shoulders, took off his shoes without even untying the laces and threw them off, letting them go their way to finish the path by throwing himself face-first onto the bed, raising candy wrappers and wrinkled clothes, sighing heavily. He then curled up on his side, hugging the pillow, and threw his face into it, which had turned red like a traffic light; he began to make a sound like a little girl shrieking. It was not very common that they were kind to him.

[tricksters-captain]

Bucky Barnes Imagines - Look after you

AN: Requested by Anonymous - Bucky Barnes and ‘Look After You’ by The Fray - I hope you like my interpretation on it

(Want to request your own character and song inspired imagine? Send me an ask!!)

Summary: Bucky saves you from a mugger and you stay the night in his apartment

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 1,409

Warnings: Man cornering woman in an alley, some violence, some strong language.

You felt the hairs stand up on the back of your neck as you turned your second right corner. 

The man who you thought might be following you, turned as well. 

You felt sick. 

What were you going to do? You didn't have your pepper spray on you and your phone had died at work. 

You felt like such an idiot but you didn’t expect to be put on a double shift. You were meant to finish at 6 not at close but Julie had called in sick whilst you were already on shift and you needed the money this week. 

You thought the corner you turned lead into another street but instead it was a long narrow alleyway. Your eyes searched your surroundings; you needed to find a way to get rid of your stalker. 

You clutched hold of your bag as you heard the footsteps behind you pick up and then you took a deep shaky breath. 

You took off. 

Your follower was chasing after you but you refused to turn around in fear of falling over at the speed you were sprinting. 

You felt a hand grab hold of your hair and yank you backwards. 

You let out a scream as you collided with the concrete. 

You scrambled around on the floor and managed to kick off your attacker. 

That’s when you heard it. 

The cock of the gun. 

Your attacker had stood back, aiming a small handgun at you. 

“Give me the purse and any other money you have on you.” The hooded man demanded. 

“I don't have any money on me.” You felt tears in your eyes as you felt a throbbing in your ankle. You must've twisted it when you were trying to get the attacker off you. 

Your attacker sent his foot into your ribs which made you cry out again. 

“Don’t play stupid with me, bitch!” Your attacker hissed. 

“Now that’s not a very nice way to treat a lady.” A different voice spoke up with  lay sarcasm and that’s when a rather large arm grabbed your attacker from behind him. 

You watched the mystery man throw your attacker against the wall, stripping him of the gun and landing a fist straight to his face. The attacker fell to the floor unconscious. 

“You alright?” Your saviour came towards you and helped you off the floor.

“T-thank you.” You were still in shock but could manage to thank the man. 

“Come on. This is my apartment building. You wanna call someone?” The man looked up at the building to your left and you nodded your head. 

“I’m Bucky.” Bucky finally introduced himself and you responded with your own name. 

When you tried to walk, Bucky noticed you wince and fall down slightly on your ankle. 

“I’m sure it’s just a sprain.” You whispered as he ducked down to help you. 

He wrapped your arm around him as he held you up and you hobbled beside him to the front door. 

You took the elevator up to his apartment and Bucky helped you inside. 

“I’m sorry, I haven’t got much furniture.” Bucky apologised as he sat you down on his couch. “I don’t get many visitors.”

You watched the man go over to his fridge-freezer and take out an ice pack. You noticed that he wore black gloves when he cracked it in his hands. 

Bucky told you to sit back on the couch and propped your leg up on his knee. Wrapping the ice pack around your ankle. 

“No bed?” You tried to make conversation as you looked around the small apartment. 

Beside the couch was some blankets and a pillow.

“I don’t sleep much.” Bucky muttered, his eyes flickering from your ankle to your eyes and back again. 

“Veteran?” You questioned. One of your old friends from your hometown had done a couple tours and always found a bed too soft after.

“How can you tell?” Bucky asked. 

“Bedsheets on the floor. My friend, Robin, he couldn’t sleep in a bed after his tour.” You explained as you shifted slightly under Bucky’s grip. 

“Did you want to call someone?” Bucky asked you after a moment of silence. 

“I only moved here a month ago. I don’t really have anyone to call.” You admitted quietly, slightly embarrassed at the fact the only reason you were up here was because you agreed to use the phone. 

Bucky looked up at you again momentarily. 

“You live round here?” Bucky asked. 

“A few blocks over.” You informed him. 

There was another silence. 

“I know I don’t know you... But... can I stay tonight? My apartment is kinda rough and I don’t know if I can sleep there tonight after...” You felt yourself getting worked up again thinking about your attacker. 

“I––” Bucky went to speak, pulling a face of uncertainty.

“I’ve leave straight away in the morning. I just... What if he wakes up and he knows where I live?” You pulled your arms around yourself as you started to overthink. 

“Um, you can sleep on the couch.” Bucky didn’t know how to say no when you looked so scared. 

Bucky rose to his feet, placing your ankle down on the floor gently. He walked over to a small cupboard and pulled out a blanket and some clothes. 

He handed you the blanket before awkwardly excusing himself to the bathroom. 

When he returned he was in a pair of jogging shorts and a long sleeved t-shirt. He still had the gloves on. 

“What’s up with the gloves?” You asked, purely out of curiosity. 

“Um...” Bucky looked down at his hands, “Uh, poor circulation.” He told you. 

He sat down on the floor where his own blanket was and then switched on the television. 

“I- uh- I can’t sleep without it.” Bucky didn’t look at you when he spoke.

“It’s okay.” You whispered, tucking yourself up on the couch. 

You wouldn’t usually stay at some random guys apartment with no knowledge of him but Bucky had a weird calming effect on you. You felt safe. 

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep but just as quickly as you fell, you were rudely awakened by a sudden screaming. 

You shot up, forgetting where you were for a minute before you heard the screaming again. 

You fell off the couch, crawling over to Bucky where he was writhing on the floor. 

He was covered in sweat and his shirt was soaked through. 

“Bucky!” You touched him lightly, “Bucky! Wake up!” You applied more pressure, shaking the man as his screaming pained your chest.

The man jolted upwards, his cries stopped when his eyes snapped opened. 

His hand grabbed your upper arm with a painfully tight grip. 

“Hey, it’s me.” You cupped his face, trying to get him to look at you. 

His breathing started to slow and his hand released when he caught your eyes.

“Hey...”You whispered, brushing his wet hair off his forehead. 

“I’m sorry.” Bucky’s voice came out strangled and so you limped over to the sink and poured him some water. 

“Thanks.” Bucky took the water before he pulled his t-shirt off. That’s when you noticed his arm. 

It was metal. He must've suffered his loss during his time served. 

Bucky didn’t see you see him. 

“That must've been one hell of a dream.” You sat opposite him on the floor, crossing your legs over. Resting your sore ankle on top of your knee.

Bucky didn’t say anything. 

“It’s okay.” You assured him as you reached out and told hold of his hand. 

Bucky almost withdrew but when your skin was on his, he felt something wash up his arm. 

“Why are you being so nice? If the guy I was rooming with was screaming in the night I would’ve left.” Bucky tried to be light-hearted. You smiled weakly at the man. 

“You helped me. Only right, I do the same.” You explained. “Also, can’t exactly get far right now.” You reminded him of your ankle. 

Bucky smiled for the first time since you met him and you felt your heart flutter. 

“I’m sorry I woke you.” Bucky apologised again. 

“You can make it up to me with breakfast.” You squeezed his hand before hauling yourself up onto the small couch again. 

“And here I was wasting my time with online dating.” Bucky mumbled but you expect he didn’t mean for you to hear that last remark. 

AN: Hope you like it!

[navegandoaciegas]

Broken Wings {2/2}

Pairing: Lee Bodecker x Reader

Summary: You’re a small town girl with big city dreams, set on leaving Knockemstiff and its Sheriff behind for good. Lee Bodecker would do anything to make sure you stay with him.

Warnings: smut, explicit language, non-con, breeding kink, unprotected vaginal sex, creampie, overall dark themes, kind of a slow build up to the nasty.

A/N: Sorry for the delay, I’ve had an eventful couple of days. This is part 2, read part 1 here.

The adrenaline that rushed through your veins blocked out the pain in your body and the noises around you. Your breathing came out in short, panicked huffs as you sprinted through the woods, Lee hot on your heels.

You thought back to the past 12 hours, and how they’d changed your life.

Leaving Knockemstiff and boarding a bus for New York, with your big dreams and a small bag. Almost reaching Pennsylvania’s border before your hopes were snatched away. Lee chasing said bus, blasting the sirens of his patrol car and pulling the driver over. The dread that settled in your stomach when you met his enraged stare, your hopes of a better life shattering in a million pieces, the anger and humiliation that had filled you when he’d dragged you, kicking and screaming, out of the bus, under the judgemental or pitying stares of the passengers.

“You can’t run from me, dove.”

His voice echoed in the woods, tantalizing and terrorizing you all the same. You’d managed to bolt away and hide in the woods before he could handcuff you, but you hadn’t made it too far before he’d found you.

In the event that he’d ever caught you, you’d imagined that he’d fall on his knees and beg you to stay. Lee dragging your ass out of the bus like any drunk bastard he’d escorted home after a fight was certainly not the reaction you’d expected.

You pushed the branches out of your face, feeling a new tear in the skin of your cheeks whenever you’d barrel through a bush. You had no idea where you were going, all you knew was that you had to keep running until your feet bled. Hide. Disappear.

Just a couple more miles and you’d find another town, you could catch a bus then, and maybe you’d be safe-

One second you were sprinting through the trees, and the next your foot was caught in an exposed root, and you tumbled down the slope with your arms stretched out to protect your face.

You hissed in pain when you lifted your palms from the ground. Debris stuck to the abrasion, and it burnt and stung when you flexed your hands. You tried standing up, but fell back among the leaves, feeling lightheaded.

You registered some more cuts on your knees, but you couldn’t tell whether it was blood or tears that streamed down your face.

The branches contorted around you, and the shadows they casted danced around the edges of your vision.

New York, new life, new beginning. Your mom’s smile in her Sunday dress when she’d waved you off. The stench of alcohol in Lee’s breath when he’d caught on the bus.

You thought you’d heard a voice call your name in the distance before your vision went dark, and you let the void envelop you.

-

The sky had turned dark when Knockemstiff’s rusty welcome sign came into view, and he hadn’t spoken a word to you since you’d woken up in his car, with his dark leather jacket draped over your shoulders and bandages on your bruised skin.

You’d stopped sobbing, and you’d run out of pleads, apologies, and tears.

For the first time in your life, you were afraid of him.

His car pulled to a stop in a deserted parking lot. He killed off the engine, and clenched his jaw, inhaling a deep breath before he spoke.

“What was goin’ through that dumb head of yours, sweetie? What made you think you could up, and fuckin’ leave me like that?” he bit through gritted teeth, chest heaving. “One of the boys called me this morning, said he heard your mother talk about you to one of her old hags, babblin’ ‘bout leaving for good, New York, a job.”

He let out a bitter laugh, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

“He thought she’d finally done lost her goddamn mind. Ain’t no sheriff’s girl leaving town for good, he said.”

“I’m sorry, Lee, I should've told you, I was selfish-”

“Yes, you fuckin’ were, fuckin’ selfish is what you are.” he screamed, and you jumped in surprise, because he’d never raised his voice at you.

“I’m sorry, I can’t give you what you want. I don’t want that. You know I don’t belong here Lee, just lemme go, forget all about me.” you pleaded once again, voice small and broken.

He stayed silent for a moment after your little rant, before bursting into a fit of laughter. His body shook with the vibration, and he clutched his stomach, as if no joke had ever sounded so fun in his ears.

“Forget about you? Sweetie, you know I can’t do that. I love you too much.”

“If you love me, let me go Lee, I’m begging you. Please.” you sobbed, gripping his hands in yours, hoping your wobbling lips would move him.

He sighed, and enveloped your hands in his warm ones, bringing them to his lips. He left a trail of kisses from the inside of your wrists to your knuckles.

“Come with me, then. Leave this shitty place behind for good, Lee. Ain’t nothing good’s come out of ‘ere anyways.”

You thought you’d seen his resolve break. You thought he’d choose you for once. Choose you over his thirst for power.

“You know I can’t do that,” he snapped, raising his voice again, “I’m so close to gettin’ myself elected, the campaign is going well, I can’t give up now.”

“Can’t or won’t?” you pressed, anger hardening your stare.

He held your gaze for a moment before looking ahead, eyes unreadable for the first time since you’d met him.

“You know I’m selfish too,” he shrugged.

He reached for his belt, and held up the metal handcuffs, wordlessly securing them around your wrists, ignoring your protests.

“Just stay here.” he grumbled before swinging the door open.

The cold, unyielding cuffs dug in your wrists as you attempted to tug them free from the metal hook on the dash where they were attached to.

It was useless, but it made you feel like you were actually trying. You were mad at Lee, of course, at whoever had tipped him off, and at yourself.

Especially at yourself for your wistful thinking, for convincing yourself that Lee would have given up on you as you’d had on him. For not running fast enough, being strategic enough.

You huffed in annoyance when the metal hook refused to give in, and fell back on the headrest with a groan.

Your calves and shins were sore from your crazy sprint in the woods, and the palms of your hands were scraped from your fall. Lee had cleaned the cuts, but they still stung when you’d inadvertently brush them against each other.

You were mostly unscathed, except for your wounded pride.

You wished your glare could incinerate Lee on the spot when he opened the door to the driver’s seat with a smirk on his lips. The car creaked and swayed when he sat down.

“Fries and vanilla shakes, your favorite.” he announced, opening up the brown paper bag on his lap.

“I’m not hungry.” you mumbled, turning your head to observe the diner’s feeble neon lights in the distance.

Your stomach chose that moment to betray you, and let out a growl when the waft of fried food reached your nose. You hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and you were starving.

“Your tummy seems to think otherwise, dove.”

You used to think that his cocky loopsided grin gave a youthful glow to his face, but now you couldn’t help but hate the satisfaction it oozed.

“Open up.” he chirped, a handful of fries in his hands.

You rolled your eyes, sighing to yourself. “You’re not actually going to do that, are ya? Just uncuff me, Lee.

“I won’t uncuff you until I’m sure I can trust that you won’t run off on me, dove. Might take a while, tho. Now open up.”

You parted your lips, deciding that this one wouldn’t be the hill you’d choose to die on. Glaring at him, you took a bite out of the fries. He hissed when your teeth snapped hard against his fingers, but let out a chuckle seeing you in the state you were in, amused by your pathetic struggle.

“Good girl.” he praised you, feeding you some more like you used to do on those long nights patrolling the streets. Back when feeding each other was an act of love, not a humiliating punishment.

“So how was your little trip in Ohio, sweetie? Enjoyed the fields?”

He hummed when you refused to speak, and brought the milkshake to your mouth, studying your lips as they closed on the striped paper straw, and your cheeks hollowing when you sucked.

“Could’ve drove you myself if you’d asked. Could’ve brought you somewhere nice on holiday this winter. Someplace outside of Ohio.” he continued, taking a sip for himself, “Maybe we can go to a beach on our honeymoon, whaddya say, huh?”

You snorted at his audacity, almost inhaling the milkshake.

“What honeymoon are you talking about, Lee? Ain’t no way I’m marrying you now.”

He shook his head again, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Yes, you are, dove. You are marrying me.”

Your eyes almost bulged out of your head as you gave him an incredulous look. Had you been blinded by love, or was he showing his true colors now?

“What, you’re gonna drag me by the hair and force me to sign the papers? Don’t think the preacher or the fine citizens of this shitty fuckin’ town are gonna like that too much.”

You scoffed, feeling your vision blur with tears again.

Lee levelled his face with yours, eyes darting between your own. You’d never noticed the darkness in him, and it made your heartbeat spike for all the wrong reasons.

“I don’t need to drag you, dove. You’re gonna come to that altar with a smile on these pretty lips. And you know why?” he whispered in your ear, and you felt a shiver go down your spine.

His calloused hand caressed your thigh, slowly hiking up your pleated skirt. “Because I’m finally gonna put a child inside you tonight, and nothing’s gonna stop me.”

Before you had time to react, or panic, he’d climbed to the passenger’s side, caging you in with his large body. He slanted his mouth against yours, forcing his tongue between your lips that you’d parted in a surprised gasp.

You pushed your shoulders against his, trying to pry him away, but he groped you relentlessly. Panic gripped you when you realized you were bound and at his mercy, and he wasn’t joking about his intentions.

“Gonna keep you chained until I knock you up, dove. Keep you in my house, can’t trust that mother of yours,” he huffed between kisses, hands roaming over your body.

“Stop, Lee, have you lost your goddamn mind? Don’t fuckin’ touch me, you asshole. Lemme go.”

You managed to kick his stomach, but in the frantic haze that had overcome him, he barely took notice, continuing his exploration of your body.

You shrieked when his hand dipped in your panties, and to your utter shame, found them soaked.

“You really want me to stop? Because your pussy is telling me a whole ‘nother story, sweetie. Feel how wet you are for me, you like this, don’t ya?”

He brought his finger to your lips, forcing your mouth open until you’d sucked him clean of your juices. He hummed when he dipped down and kissed you again, tasting your arousal on your tongue.

Your teeth snapped on his bottom lip until you’d drawn blood, and he released you with a hiss. His hand gripped your jaw, and tears began blurring your vision.

You couldn’t find adoration, love, and care in his eyes, only cruel determination.

The screams you let out sounded like a muffled gargle.

“Scream all you want, no one’s gonna hear you, and if they do, what’re they gonna say to me? I’m the sheriff sweetie, I’m the law. You were just stupid enough to think you could escape me.”

You pushed, kicked, screamed, thrashed until the metal cuffs had scrubbed your skin raw, fighting the hands that were pushing your bra down until your tits spilled out.

His fingers grazed your heated skin like they’d done a million times before, staining your loving memories forever.

“Fuck sweetheart, you’re gonna look so good with my baby inside you, all round and swollen.” he groaned, nipping at the juncture between your neck and shoulder, sucking on the skin hard enough to hurt you, “All the men in this town are gonna be jealous of me. Might have to keep you locked up all the time.”

You couldn’t deny the throbbing in your core when his tongue licked a stripe behind your ear, nor the arousal soaking through your panties when slid his hand over the hair on your mound, teasing you.

“Gonna keep these tits full of milk for a long time sweetie.”

You moaned when his thick fingers breached your entrance, feeling the pressure build up as he kept pumping them in and out of you. He kept his thumb on your clit, the way he knew you liked, until you were so sensitive and overstimulated that you couldn’t tell pain and pleasure apart.

“You can never leave me, never again. Don’t you understand, I’m nothing without you. I need you.”

He played your body so well that it made you sick.

“Please Lee,” you panted, clenching your jaw to suppress your wanton sounds, “Don’t do this. There’s no turning back from this. Please.” you pleaded, lips wobbling.

“That’s the point,” he huffed, struggling to fit in the space between the passenger’s seat and the dashboard.

He forcefully spread your legs open, making a quick work of ripping your cotton panties to shreds. Bringing his face down to your glistening cunt, he inhaled a deep breath before delving into your folds, tongue lapping at your juices. The lewd, slurping sounds soon mixed with your moans that you could no longer keep in.

By that point you didn’t know if you were fighting to keep his head where it was or to rip it out of his neck.

“You taste like heaven, so fuckin’ sweet.” he grunted before latching onto your bud, hollowing his cheeks arount it as he sucked you off.

Fireworks went off in your lower belly when pleasure exploded inside you. Waves of pleasure crashed through your body, rendering your limbs limp and heavy.

All rational thoughts thrown out the window, you melted into his body when he surged forward to slant his lips against yours. He swallowed your moans with his hungry kisses, cradling your face like the most precious artifact.

It felt wrong, yet so right. He was still Lee. Your Lee. The one who’d drive and sing with you, who’d found your dad a job after he’d lost it, who’d made love with the most care unlike any other man who’d ever laid a finger on you.

At least, that’s what you tried telling yourself when he pushed his hard, leaking cock inside your swollen cunt, and your body welcomed him in your warmth without any fight.

You both snarled when he sheathed himself inside you.

“I love you so much sweetie, I can’t lose you again.”

It was wrong and dirty, but it was okay to feel good because it was your Lee between your legs.

He hoisted your legs over his shoulders and slumped against the seat. His cock reached deeper than you thought possible, and you felt every ridge and veins slide over your walls.

Teeth clattering, bruising touches. You ached to touch him, maybe claw his eyes out or caress his chubby cheeks.

Electricity jolted every nerve ending on your body, and the next words he whimpered in your ear would have been a cold shower, had you not been so far gone already.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ cum inside you, dove, fill you up with my cum over and over again until I’m sure I’ve put a baby in you. Fuck-”

He snapped his hips harder against yours, thrusting his cock in and out of you. Your cunt quivered around him, gripping him tightly. He pushed you over the edge over and over again, until you were a drooling mess who couldn’t form coherent thoughts anymore.

“I told you sweetie, it’s only a matter of time.” He punctuated each world he panted in the crook of your neck with a harsher thrust of his hips. “Ain’t no more parking lots, just a big ole bed. Yeah, people like me in this town, you know that, dove. I’ll get myself elected-, get a- cushy place up on Brewer Heights. We’ll be happy, have kids and all. My pretty wife, fuck- every man in this shitty town will envy me.”

You bucked your hips against his, wildly chasing your release. He could feel another one of your orgasms near by the way you clenched around him.

“Fuck-, God, you’re squeezin’ me. Fuckin’ cum on ny cock dove, I want to feel you come all over me, make a mess on me.”

You pushed out the muscles of your pelvis, and the intensity of your pleasure almost blacked you out again as you gushed all over him, soaking through your skirt onto the seat.

His cock swelled and twitched, and he released himself inside you, painting your walls with his hot spurt. The feeling was unlike anything you’d ever felt before, a fullness you never thought you could experience.

Your chest heaved as you slumped on the seat, arms aching and wrists scrubbed raw.

His cock softened inside you, and he watched enthralled his seed spill out of your cunt, your abused hole still clenching around nothing.

“Jesus, I hope it takes, dove.”

He droned some more, but you’d stopped listening. You kept staring ahead, letting him dress you back again like a motionless doll.

Had you been more aware, you would have seen the shadow of guilt creep on his face, soon replaced by cool determination when he blinked the tears away and hardened his stare once again.

Your body didn’t feel like your own anymore.

Static noises interrupted his actions.

“Any cars around-...got a call from Hawk at the bar- anyone can check that out?”

“Fuck,” he groaned, picking up the radio, “I wanted to go at it a few more times, just to make sure.”

Minutes, or maybe hours, passed by in a blur. You had no idea where you were, or how long it’d been since he dragged you back in this hellhole.

New York, a new job, a new beginning. It all seemed so far.

There was only one thing you knew for sure.

“I’m getting out of ‘ere again, Lee.” You murmured in a daze, “I’m getting out and God himself couldn’t stop me if he tried.”

Drained of all energies, you let the soothing sway of the car lull you to sleep.

Lee sighed to himself, watching you so defensless, bound at his mercy. He’d take care of you until the end of his miserable life, and protect you from everything, even yourself.

“I'm the only God here, sweetie, and I can assure you, you’re not going anywhere.”

Afterall, his dove couldn’t fly away from him with broken wings.

-

I hope you enjoyed this! Please, leave some feedback. It means the world to me! 💓

[redrobbingabank]

Destruction

The air surrounding the gathering tonight was heavy with memories. Not since the Final Disc Wars had so many different members of the server been united for the same purpose. Tonight, it was all caused by the same man. As bent as Dream was on tearing them apart, it seemed he only forced them closer.

Tubbo, in his thick brown cape, stood to the right hand side of the table. The silver crown on his head was heavier than he’d ever imagined. Ranboo hadn’t been there when they were supposed to leave. Michael clutched onto his hand, gazing in rapture at Technoblade. After today’s meeting, he’d be sent with him and Phil to live in a more remote location in case Dream went for the nukes. Ranboo had promised to check on him constantly.

The Blade himself had his pig-skull helmet on, the enchantments from his armor shining beneath the red cloak. The skull shadowed his eyes enough to hide the red in them. He stood next to Philza, across the table from Tubbo. The Elytrian stood with his wings folded. His hat was low, like the wind had shoved it farther onto his head while flying. He saw Michael staring, and offered a little wave.

Quackity and Sam were farther down, having a whispered argument. Quackity gestured wildly. These days, it was hard to tell if he was talking about Dream or Las Nevadas. He’d been equally obsessed with both lately. Sam’s face was tight. Over the past weeks, there’d been more and more questions if he was fit to guard the prison. Tonight he could lose his post.

Puffy was silent near the end, a few feet away from where Karl, Sapnap, and George were muttering to each other. Other than the therapy sessions everyone knew Tubbo had forced Tommy to attend, she hadn’t spoken to anyone much. Before what happened happened, she and Sam had conferred on the Egg.

Which was currently a whole other issue that required a whole other council, away from the Bloodvines near the windows, and Purpled in the corner. Despite Quackity buying his services, the majority of the group didn’t trust him, but the need for his skills was too great. He leaned against the wall of the community house. It was too easy to forget he was there.

Tommy stood at the head of the table. The bruises from the prison were still there, black and blue against his skin. He wore the armor that he hadn’t taken off since leaving the prison. Next to him, his shield leaned against the table. Every few seconds, his hand would twitch towards the hilt of his sword, and a look of brief annoyance crossed his face. Finally, he hit the table a few times to quiet everyone down.

“Alright,” he said. All the heads in the room turned to him. Tommy swallowed. The memory of how it felt to lead had been overwritten by the prison. He forged ahead. “We all know why we’re here. Dream breaking out of the prison isn’t a minor concern anymore. It’s going to happen, and we need to be able to get him before he can hurt us.”

“I can take care of him,” Quackity said. “You know I can. Just let me in there.”

“No,” Sam said. “We can’t just kill him. We definitely can’t enjoy it.” He glanced meaningfully at Quackity, who scoffed.

“Why shouldn’t we kill him?” Puffy said. “It can only help us at this point.”

“But we might be able to bring him back!” George protested.

Sapnap looked at him sharply, jaw clenched. His eyes stormed in a mix of anger and despair. “We can’t bring him back, George. Dream is gone. If he ever was who we thought in the first place.”

“But he’s our friend,” George said weakly.

“Not anymore.”

Beside them, Karl scribbled something on a notepad before stuffing it back in his pocket. In the corner, Purpled shifted, looking at something out the window. 

“Dream is a plague,” Techno said. “We have to destroy him, or he’ll destroy us. I say we let Quackity kill him.” 

Sam braced his hands on the table as if to rise, and Puffy turned to him, mouth already opening to argue. Karl and Sapnap were watching Quackity, who was avoiding their gaze. Before the room could dissolve into chaos, Tommy banged his hand on the table. 

“Killing Dream isn’t the question right now,” he said. “He’s got the revive book, we don’t know if there’s a way he could apply that to himself.”

The others looked at him, and he knew what they saw. The sympathy in Puffy’s eyes, the guilt in Sam’s, for a boy who’d been ripped into pieces again and again by the man everyone had looked up to at some point or another. The distance in Phil’s, for his choice to side with a corrupt government that had gotten his second son killed. The skepticism in Quackity and Sapnap’s faces, two people who had fought and won and were probably better suited to stand at the head of the table. Even Purpled in the corner looked faintly amused at his words. Tommy wanted to shrink under their gaze. But then --

“He’s right,” Tubbo said. He gave Tommy his trademark look, calm and clear and loyal to the core. “We need to figure out how to contain him so he can’t get out a second time.” 

“He hasn’t even gotten out the first time yet!” Sam protested.

“Face it Sam, it’s going to happen, and it’s going to happen soon,” Tommy said. “We need to be ready when it does.”

“If we just shore up the defenses--”

“Pandora’s Vault is the most secure place on the server,” Quackity cut in. “It can’t be shored up. Not to mention whoever Dream’s got working for him on the outside!” The effect of his words were instantaneous. Suspicious glances were cast around the room, mainly aimed at Purpled and Techno.

“We don’t know that for sure,” Karl started, but Tubbo jumped in.

“Don’t you remember the TNT?” Tommy shuddered at the memory of the explosions.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Techno growled at Sapnap. “It wasn’t me.”

“How do we know?” He shot back.

Everybody started yelling at once. Tommy tried hitting the table again to no avail. The voices echoed off the walls. Together, they all started to sound like Dream. No. Tommy shook his head. “Guys!” he shouted, but was drowned out by a colossal explosion that blew the doors off their hinges. Dream stepped through with Ranboo at his side.

He wasn’t dressed in the orange jumpsuit anymore. Instead, he’d changed back into his old clothes, the green hoodie and jeans with black fingerless gloves. The clothes shivered faintly with enchantments. He was grinning like a lunatic.

Next to him, Ranboo looked listless. He was more like a shell than anything. Purple particles floated around him. 

Dream looked around at the group of people who had shot to their feet. Techno, Tommy, and Quackity had their swords drawn. Tubbo’s face was pale as he nudged Michael behind him. From the shadows, Purpled smirked.

“Oh come on,” Dream said. “You’re having a party without me?”

With a yell, Puffy charged him and the room exploded. Dream met her in the middle, sliding down on his knees and slashing at her legs as he went past. Puffy fell to the ground, and Dream rose, readjusting his grip on his sword.

A loud shing of metal rang out as Phil and Techno unsheathed their weapons. “He’s in Enderwalk!” Phil yelled to him. Techno nodded quickly, and together they ran at Ranboo.

Emptily, almost like he was bored, Ranboo raised his hands. With a precise flick, Phil was lifted off his feet and tossed to the side. He screamed as he slammed into the wall. One of his wings, already shaped oddly from the first time they’d broken, hung lopsided. Techno, who had paused to track Phil’s path with a horrified stare, let out a war cry and charged again, only to be thrown backwards. He hit the wall with a crack and slumped to the floor. Blood trickled from beneath the pig skull. 

“Ranboo, no!” Tubbo shouted. “What are you doing?”

In the middle of the room by the table, Quackity and Sam were fighting Dream. Quackity was a force of pure rage. He slashed and hacked and swung at Dream. “Why won’t you just die?” he roared. 

Dream just laughed. He matched Quackity blow for blow, and then some. None of Quackity’s hits had landed, but Dream had gotten Quackity until blood ran into his eyes and down his arms. 

Shoving Quackity away with the flat of his blade, Dream pivoted to block Sam as he swung down at Dream’s head. For a moment, they were suspended, eyes locked. Dream grinned like a hyena. “Hey Sam.”

The fear in Sam’s eyes was palpable. Don’t let him hurt anyone else don’t let him hurt anyone else don’t let him hurt anyone else protect Tommy ran through his head on repeat. Dream shoved him back and aimed his blade’s arc at Sam’s stomach, just barely avoiding doing critical damage.

Ranboo was walking calmly towards the chest that held the books. Sapnap rushed him, and Ranboo lifted his hand. 

“NO! RANBOO, STOP!” Tubbo cried, helpless as he tried to keep Michael behind him. Whatever blast Dream had set off, probably with the help of Wilbur, had damaged the building badly. The ceiling sagged towards the center, creeping ominously. 

Tubbo’s scream had drawn Ranboo’s attention. He turned, and at the sight of Michael peeking out from behind him, something sparked in his eyes. He started towards the pair. 

Tubbo’s eyes widened. He crouched down facing his son. “Michael, kiddo--”

Tommy jumped between them and Ranboo, sword drawn. “Go!” He yelled to Tubbo, not taking his eyes off Ranboo. “I’ll keep him away.”

“No,” Tubbo protested. “I can talk to him, figure out what’s happening! Something’s wrong. Tommy, take Michael.”

“No!” Tommy yelled. “Get out of here!”

“I’m not leaving Ranboo!” Tubbo yelled back. 

Tommy looked at him, blue eyes wide and scared, but determined as well. “Whatever that is, it’s Ranboo, and he’d never forgive himself if you two got hurt. Now, run!”

Tubbo looked at Tommy, face set with resignation. He looked at Ranboo, and the purple sparks coming from him. He nodded quickly, picked up Michael, and ran down the tunnel behind him. He just heard Tommy say, “Hey mate, you’d better stop or I’m gonna start stabbing shit,” before the clashing of steel wiped out everything.

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 17: Royality

@tsshipmonth2020 (does this still count so late?)

What’s that? Ly creating content? Unbelievable. (I have writer’s block, leave me alooone /j)

Thanks to @marshymoop for suggestions and encouragment when making this bad boy! Love ya <3

Day 17 - Everyone has heterochromia, one eye is your natural color the other is your soulmate’s natural color. Once you meet all eyes return to natural color. 

Content warnings: food/drink mention, alcohol, mentions of hangover, vampires, referring to drinking blood as “eating”, non-explicit blood drinking, being chased. 

Word count: 6.9k

THE CITY OF DEWMORE WELCOMES YOU

Patton tapped his fingers on the steering wheel excitedly, nearly vibrating as he passed the weathered sign. Beyond it, beckoning him forward, stood a forest more densely packed and darker than he’d ever had the pleasure of exploring, the achingly tall pine trees swaying minutely in the breeze, their tips barely visible through the blanket of fog. Just imagining what could be held within those depths made his leg bounce; forgotten, moss-drenched stone paths, broken stumps of fallen trees that hadn’t made a sound upon impact, patches of mushrooms scattered in the shadows, and whispering creeks. It was the perfect way to spend his spring break, and one his photography teacher had wholeheartedly encouraged him to take. If he hadn’t had so many midterms to mark, Patton was almost sure the man would have tried to join him. 

Almost an anxious tic at this point, he ran his free hand over the photography bag in his passenger seat, as if to make sure it hadn’t disappeared in the three minutes since he’d last checked. The thing was his prized possession, given to him by the very same photography professor at his university. It had been the elder’s own, before he got his newest camera, and gifted the whole set to his favorite (but don’t tell the others) students. It was full of perfectly kept lenses and two miniature tripods, extra batteries and memory cards, speedlights, and most importantly, the camera tucked safely into the biggest pouch. It was more expensive than Patton would ever have dreamt to buy, so it was truly a gift he’d never forget. Now it was up to him to finally take some shots worthy of the thing. 

The forests continued to grow denser and thicker until, in almost a shocking snap, they disappeared to reveal a quaint city that he hadn’t quite expected. The first few buildings he passed looked like they may have stood there for hundreds of years, weather worn and faded. Their signs were either scratched to nothingness or blaringly new, shining metal names standing out against an ancient backdrop. He was looking for a motel, figuring there had to be one, even in a town of less than two thousand people. His backup plan was to just sleep in his car. He’d brought his sleeping back and extra blankets, so it wasn’t a huge concern, but he’d still prefer a bed. But whenever he’d tried finding anything online, he’d come up blank. 

A fog still covered the town, and though it created an air of calm and mystery that Patton was itching to capture, he also knew the area was surrounded by towering mountains that he also desired so badly. To his right, the buildings stopped abruptly, revealing a grey beach, all rocks and no sand, criss crossed with logs, opening to a dark lake. The other side wasn’t visible through the mist. 

The further he drove, he realized the buildings weren’t improving in their modernity, just giving way to more and more old infrastructure. One stood out, a grocery store, it’s lights piercing through the evening dim. Patton didn’t get a look inside before he passed, once again surrounded antique houses and shops, a post office to his left, and a tavern just across from that. A sign above the door read “Vacancy” in peeling white letters, and that was all the enticing Patton needed to pull his car into the gravel parking lot in front of the building. There was only one other vehicle there, a matte red pickup truck that he parked next to, and what appeared to only be three more parking spots. From the high placed windows, a soft orange light bled, and a round of raucous laughter filtered through the cracked open door. Patton smiled. The photographer inside him was going to have a field day here. 

He stepped up the concrete steps and ruffled his hair with one hand so it covered his eye, heaving a sigh in hopes to calm his nervous butterflies, and pulled the door open. 

All at once, the chatter inside died, and Patton internally shrank as every face in the tavern turned to look at the newcomer. There was a moment of tense silence as he tried his best for a smile and met the gaze of the men scrutinizing him, drinks forgotten on high wooden tables, jubilance halted. Patton waited with baited breath, for someone to do something, why were they all just staring, when a voice spoke from behind the bar.

“Don’t worry about them, sweetheart. We don’t get a lot of new people around here.”

And the lull was broken as suddenly as it started, the men now ignoring him in favor of joking over mugs of fizzing ale. Patton swallowed thickly and turned to the voice, shoving his quivering hands into his pockets and shaking his head again to assure the curls were safely covering his eye. As usual. 

The man standing before him, leaning on the bar with an easy smile, was almost enough to take Patton’s breath away. If he were a religious man, he’d go so far as to call him heavenly. Eyes as dark as the depths of the surrounding forests, auburn hair pushed back from his face in what he could only think to describe as an intentional bedhead. His skin was too flawless, teeth just a couple shades too white, everything perfect in a way that was almost…

Patton couldn’t put his finger on it. 

“What can I get you, newbie?”

“Uhm-” Patton took a cleansing breath and sat at one of the barstools, all of them empty seeing as the crowd seemed more drawn to the tables in the center of the room, “I don’t come to bars that often. I don’t know.”

The bartender hummed, pushing up his already rolled up white sleeves and giving Patton a once over, almost investigating him. “You drink?”

“I… I guess.”

“Been on the road for a while, tired?”

“Do I look that exhausted?” Patton breathed a laugh, suddenly aching to pop his spine. He’d been driving since before dawn for the past three days, barely hunkering down for a decent sleep before he was off again. He’d been really excited to get here, plus he didn’t want to waste more of his meager break driving. 

“I got just what you need, darling.” With a wink, the bartender straightened up and pulled down a series of bottles, cracking his knuckles with flourish before measuring them into a silver canister. “So what brings you to Dewmore?”

“I’m a photographer,” Patton said, “Or, a photography student. Down in Florida.”

The man whistled as he shoveled ice cubes into the mix, “Long drive for some pictures.”

“I’m… dedicated,” Patton laughed, scratching at his neck nervously. “My prof recommended it, said it might be a nice place to spend my break.”

“I assume you’re looking for a place to stay then, as well?” He plopped a cap on the canister and began to shake it above his shoulder, grinning widely, “These guys are always just like, ‘Gimme a beer’ this, ‘Gimme a beer’ that. It’s great to actually make fun drinks again.” With hands flying too fast for Patton to process, he grabbed a glass, popped the lid of the shaker, and poured the deep orange drink, tossing on a green sprig and sliding the drink over. “Enjoy.”

Patton took a cautious sip of the drink and had to fight not to sigh, the refreshing taste a welcome relief after three days of gas station Gatorade and hotel sink water. He could barely taste any alcohol, more focused on the ice cold sweet tartness at the back of his tongue. The bartender looked pleased, huffing a satisfied laugh and beginning to put away his bottles. He was taking another sip, satisfied with the backdrop of joyous chatter and clinking glasses, when he remembered why he’d come in. 

“Yes, I am. Uhm, looking for a place to stay, that is.”

The bartender looked at him over his shoulder, “We haven’t had visitors in… a while, at least. You’ve pretty much got your pick of the rooms.”

“Do you have anything facing the water?” He took another sip, the photo possibilities already flowing through his mind. One through the window, just far back enough to catch the flow of the curtains and the chipped wood of the window ledge, a monochromatic lakeshore in the bottom third, a barely visible mountain looming ahead… 

“Sure thing, sweetheart. Let me just finish this up, and I’ll get you on the ledger.”

“Patton.” He downed the rest of the drink and rested his elbow on the counter, chin in his palm, an easy smile playing on his lips. 

“Hm?”

“My name’s Patton.” 

“I’m Roman.” Tossing the towel over his shoulder, Roman gave him another wink before disappearing into the back room, coming back moments later with a thick black book. He was already thumbing through the pages, finally landing on the one he wanted, and spun a pen between his fingers.

“What’s your last name, sweetheart?” 

Patton spelled it out for him, and was surprised when the man clapped the book shut after the final letter. “That’s all you need?”

“Yup.”

“No… ID, or anything?” It was at that moment when it occurred to Patton that, although he was legal, his baby face often prompted bouncers and servers back home to ask for identification. Roman hadn’t even blinked before serving him.

“Got anything to hide?” 

“Uhm… no, I-”

“Good enough for me. It’s not like we’re a high traffic tourist spot. I don’t think we’ve had anyone take a room in, like, two years, and who knows how many before that. Frankly, I wouldn’t care if you were on the run for murder. Don’t kill me, and we’re solid.”

Patton blanched, unable to tell if the man was being sarcastic. Finally his expression cracked into a smirk and he brandished a key towards Patton, dangling it by the ring. “I’m messing with you. I mean, don’t kill me, that’s legit. Here you go, cutie. Let me know if you need anything.”

With that, he sashayed away with a tray of beers (when on Earth had he filled those?), and the men whooped loudly, startling Patton. 

“Easy, boys,” Roman purred, beginning to round the tables, and Patton hopped off the bar stool to get his things from his car. He couldn’t wait to pass out in bed with the knowledge that he could sleep in however late he wanted. 

-0-0-0-

But apparently sleep didn’t have the same ideas as him, because even after he was in comfortable clothes and tucked into the covers, he continued to toss and turn. Maybe it was the concept of being alone in a strange town, or the full moon shining through the thin curtains, or just plain excitement, but he suddenly felt wider awake then he had since he started this trip. 

There was a soft rattling somewhere across the room and, with begrudging acceptance that he wasn’t going to sleep any time soon, fumbled his glasses on to search for the offending sound. With a grumble, he threw off the blankets and padded across the room to the window and tossed back the curtains, giving the moon a scalding glare for shining so darn brightly. It was the window, fitted loosely in its frame, being shook by the gentle wind that was causing the noise. Patton gave it an experimental tug, followed by a more forceful yank, and found it didn’t budge down at all. Instead, it continued to rattle mockingly, in what sounded almost like whispered giggles as he crossed his arms across his chest. 

Fine. He turned his attention to the scenic view before him, letting out a minute shudder as a small gust of wind blew through his thin pajama shirt. Moonlit waves crashed against the rocky shore, tossing up silver spray against the dark backdrop of the forest. Patton took a breath, feeling an overwhelming sense of peace just staring at the silent town, the stone spires rising above the forest-

Wait, what?

Patton blinked sharply a couple times, leaning forward until his nose bumped the window and squinting through the glass. Those… things... definitely looked like manmade objects- the shape made it impossible for them to be natural- but you’d think he’d remember something that looked like a castle directly outside his window. In fact, he’d spent a significant amount of time upon first entering the room just admiring the view, and a castle one hundred percent would have been on his radar. Oh, if the thing was abandoned, imagine the photo opportunities, and even if it wasn’t he could totally just get some of the outside-

Yeah, there was no way he was sleeping now.

Before he’d even processed what he was doing, he’d slipped out of his pajamas and hurriedly pulled on the outfit he’d laid out on the desk chair, because there was no way he was digging through his suitcase to scrounge out more clothes. He threw a beige sweater over his white shirt, however, remembering the chill the night had brought and, after he’d adequate tucked them into his slacks, he threw his camera bag over his shoulder and trotted down the stairs.

Unsurprisingly, the first floor tavern was empty of all customers, overhead lights traded for softer electric lamps on the walls and the illuminated sign above the bar, where Roman was wiping down the counter, seemingly unbothered by the late hour. 

“Can’t sleep, sweetheart?” The bartender called out without turning around, tossing his rag across the counter and into a full soapy bucket behind the bar. 

“Uh, yeah, something like that,” Patton responded, shaking his bangs so they covered his eye. “I think I’m just too excited to start getting shots.”

“Mmm, you and me both.” He waggled his eyebrows and pulled a bottle of what looked like whiskey off the shelf. “What’s your poison?”

Patton snorted but shook his head, patting his camera bag, “I want to go out, and it’s probably not smart to drink before going out in a strange town at night.”

Roman shrugged before pouring himself a shot and downing it in one smooth motion.

“You’re allowed to drink on the job?”

The bartender hummed, replacing the bottle and locking the cabinet presumably for the night, “Once my tavern is empty, I consider myself off the clock. And I’m my own boss, so I hereby give myself the night off. I have a coffee machine in the back room, one of those Keurigs, if you want something fancy. Hasn’t been used in ages, but I’m sure if you wanted something, I-”

“No, it’s okay. Really.” Patton ducked his head and messed with his shirt, making sure the white collar stood above the neck of his sweater. He made his way over to the bar and took the same stool as before, leaning on the counter as Roman dumped out the dirty cleaning water into the sink. The clock above the bar, barely illuminated enough to see, revealed it was just after midnight. “Are there any old structures, like churches or anything, in the forest?”

Roman tilted his head, giving Patton a look over his shoulder he couldn’t quite understand. 

“There’s nothing there besides wolves and ticks, sweetheart,” he said slowly with an almost condescending smile, “Why? Hoping the little town in the middle of nowhere has a mystery?” He rinsed out the bucket and placed it in the cabinet under the sink.

Patton shrugged, scratching at his temple, “I saw something outside of my window.”

“Like a tree?” The rag was rinsed as well and draped over the faucet.

“No, definitely not.” He tried not to feel too offended that Roman was clearly teasing him, but he was certain what he’d seen hadn’t been a tree. They were too tall, too angular, and too symmetrically placed for that.

“Pattycake, I grew up hunting with my dad and partying in those woods, and I would know if something were there.” 

“Are you sure?” Patton implored, “There’s definitely something man made, could it be, like, an old castle, or something?”

There was a moment of silence between the two as Roman continued to look at Patton like he was crazy, the barest hints of an impish grin tugging at his lips, before he sucked in a sharp breath; as if he realized something. 

On a dime, Roman’s expression contorted into one of anger, eyes alight with fury as he leaned into Patton’s space. As he spoke, his voice almost reverberated, like a choir speaking in unison.

“There is nothing in those woods, Patton. Understand? Don’t go wandering into places you don’t belong, or you won’t like what you find.”

Patton reared back from the forceful words, hand coming up subconsciously to readjust the hair on his face. Roman leaned just a tad closer, growling out a warning, “Got it, sweetheart?” The electric lamps on the walls, once creating such a homey, soft environment, suddenly flickered and Patton flinched, whipping around to face the large room as it seemed to strobe under the malfunctioning lights. Goosebumps spread across his arms as the flashing grew faster and his hand clamped over the back of his neck when a shiver raced up his spine.

“What’s going on? Why are-”

And then the lights went out completely, an eerie quiet settling over the tavern. Roman was silent. Was he even still in the room? Could he have left so quickly? The only sound in the empty room were Patton’s shaky breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth, as he fought down a scream. He wasn’t a fan of the dark.

A single street light barely shone through the window, too dim to even light up the tables near the glass, and Patton turned to focus on it. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In… out… in… out-

A silhouette appeared in the window. 

The lights were back to their original gleam before he could even open his mouth to scream, filling the room with a dull hum as if nothing had even happened. Blinking rapidly, Patton took a calming breath (it’s just old lights, it’s just old lights, relax) and swiveled back in his chair to find that Roman was smiling at him innocently, cleaning out a glass with a rag.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?”

“Didn’t you see that?” Patton asked incredulously.

“See what?”  The bartender placed the glass into the last space in a row of them, giving Patton that same condescending grin as before. 

Patton sighed and lifted his glasses to rub his eyes tiredly, shaking his head. “I think travelling for so long has me seeing things.” Careful as ever, in the same fashion he’d so masterfully perfected in elementary school, he shook his head to cover his eye- his stupid, left, ‘soulmate’ eye- before removing his hands and letting his glasses fall back into place. 

Other kids won’t like it, sweetie. I don’t think the teachers will either.

I know you can’t help it, my love. If I could take this burden from you, I would. But this is yours to handle until… well, you know.

I don’t know why, Patton. You’ll find them someday. And then you’ll understand. 

“Why do you do your hair like that?”

“Hmm?” Patton blinked.

Roman smirked, leaning casually on the counter in front of Patton, “Covering half of your face like that. You shouldn’t, you know. You’re a stunner.” With that, he reached forward, intent on moving that hair out of his face.

No.

“NO!” Patton yelled, stumbling off the barstool just as Roman’s hand made contact with his face. He ducked his head, roughly scraping his hair back in place with shaking hands, but the damage was done. A single cute guy compliments him and he forgets the habit he’s built up for years? How could he be so stupid-

“Everything alright? I’m sorry for scaring you, sweetheart.”

Was it possible he hadn’t seen it? Maybe Patton had moved fast enough, maybe the bartender had been too surprised to get a good look, maybe everything was fine. Roman didn’t seem horrified, or at all perturbed. Instead, he just looked… worried. 

Either way, after that reaction, Patton was aching to be left alone to stew in his embarrassment. His rented room held nothing for him that he wanted, and sleep felt farther than ever, so his only choice was outside. The promises of a maybe-crumbling ancient building, illuminated by a full moon, were far more tempting than anything inside had to offer. 

“Actually,” Patton said nervously, “A coffee would be great.”

Roman squinted at him, biting on the inside of his cheek before huffing a breathy laugh through his nose. “Alright, darling. Give me just a second to dust off the Keurig.”

The moment he disappeared behind the door to the backroom, Patton tightened his hold on the camera bag and sprinted from the tavern, into the grips of the cool night.

-0-0-0-

What would he say when he got back to the tavern? Would Roman make him leave the inn? Had he crossed a line he hadn’t known existed; would he have to cut his trip early because he couldn’t help his curiosity? Was bothering the only innkeeper in town really the smartest decision to make?

All wonderful questions that Patton wished he’d considered before running.

But if he did have to leave, and if this was his last night in this delightful and equally terrifying little town, he was going to make the most of it. At least, that’s what he’d thought he would do as he’d left the few city lights behind and treading deeper into the forest. He had a flashlight with him, thank goodness, so he wasn’t completely screwed, and he’d already gotten a few great shots. He stayed in the areas that the full moon could still shine through the trees, and some of the clouds had rolled away, so he was having the time of his life working with silhouettes against the star filled sky (thanks to the little to no light pollution Dewmore offered). 

The more prominent thought in his mind, however, were the spires steadily growing closer above the treeline. He couldn’t understand what Roman had been talking about. How could anyone living in this town not see whatever he was walking towards? 

(Admittedly, curiosity was also a huge reason he was chasing something he’d been warned to avoid. He’d never been that great at impulse control.)

It had to be nearly two in the morning when he came to an incline; a steep path constructed entirely of rocks fist-sized and larger. At the top, Patton could just barely see what looked to be the back of the castle, and he bounced slightly on his toes in excitement. He couldn’t tell from this distance the state it was in, or if it was possible anyone still lived there, but dang it if he wasn’t going to give it a go before he left. He’d walked all this way, after all.

The first few steps up the hill were the loudest thing he’d heard since he’d started his midnight adventure, and he cringed as they dropped away under his feet, knocking against each other as they fell to the ground.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Patton spun around, his flashlight slipping out of his hands. It rolled down between the rocks, casting split second light beams in every direction as it bounced towards the source of the voice, and stopped dead in the middle between the two of them. It settled on an indent created by Patton’s steps, aimed at the newcomer. Patton breathed a sigh of relief.

“Roman, goodness gracious! You scared the bejesus out of me,” Patton laid a hand on his chest and let out a huge gust of air. Roman didn’t move, and for the first time he noticed the absolute glare the bartender was giving him. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uhm… sorry about the… leaving. Thing. Are you mad?”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Well, apparently they weren’t going to talk about it. “Oh- I’m sorry, is this private property? I didn’t see any signs, I’m- Wait, but look, Roman! See, that’s what I was talking-”

“You. Shouldn’t. Be. Here.”

Patton blinked at the harshness in his words, taken aback. How was this the same easy going bartender that he’d met earlier tonight? Whatever was beyond this hill, though, Roman obviously wasn’t going to allow Patton to see. Maybe it was dangerous, or something? Either way, he couldn’t deny his disappointment.  “Yeah. I’m sorry, I’ll leave-”          

“How did you get here?”

“I… um, walked?”

“No!” Roman hissed, finally stepping forward and plucking up the flashlight from the ground, “You shouldn’t be able to see the castle, or go near it, how the hell did you get here?!”

Before he could answer, the other man froze, whipping around as if he’d heard a noise from his left. And then Patton blinked, and Roman was in front of him, pulling him back down to solid ground. He dragged him by the arm to a fallen tree that was propped up against its own splintered stump, leaving it angled just a few feet off the ground.

“How did you- You were just over there, how-”

“Get down!”

“What?”

“Get. Down!” Roman shoved his shoulders and Patton had no choice but to collapse, blending into a pile of ferns beneath the bend of the tree. “Take off the backpack, put it in front of you. It blends in better than you do.” He yanked off the dark green camera bag as he spoke, situating it in front of Patton. “Don’t move, don’t make a sound, don’t fucking breathe, Patton, I swear.” The flashlight flicked off and thumped to the ground as Roman walked away, leaving him standing in the pale moonlight. Patton debated reaching for the flashlight, but that would mean exposing himself from the foliage he was tucked in and under, and Roman had seemed really scared. 

There was a rustle in the underbrush in front of Roman, and the photographer shoved his fist into his mouth before he could gasp. 

“Roman, it’s so nice to see you back home. It’s been far too long.”

“It’s been hardly a month, mother.”

The woman that emerged from the tree’s shadows wore a black cloak, nearly blending into the forest around her as the fabric swirled hypnotically by her ankles with each step. Silver embroidery made up the tight bodice and strung together the corset front, meeting at the bottom in an intricate knot and trailing almost down to the earth in two strands. How her intricate updo had stayed intact through a walk in the forest, Patton couldn’t understand. 

However, if this was Roman’s mother, he did understand where he got his looks. The only word that came to his mind was ethereal; all smooth pale skin, those same impossibly dark eyes, red lips curved in a constant, easy smile. She was beautiful, but she was terrifying, and Patton backed up more into his fern hiding spot. 

She lifted her flared sleeves towards Roman as she stepped into the moonlit opening and he pulled her hands towards himself, kissing both of her cheeks before releasing her. 

“A month is too long, darling,” She purred, letting the back of her hand trail down his cheek. “I don’t understand why you find it necessary to stay amongst those humans when you could be with your family.”

“Because I want more than just… lounging, and talking with my brothers. Do you have to bring this up every time I visit?” Despite his slightly aggravated tone, he leaned into her touch. 

“When you’re older, you’ll look back at these choices with embarrassment and resentment.”

“Maybe.” 

“I just don’t want you to blame me when you do.”

“I could never, I promise.”

She sighed heavily, “They miss you, Roman. We all do.”

“Which is why I’m here, mom. You act as if I’ve been gone a millenia.” 

“Worrying is what a mother does best,” She smiled fondly, tapping his cheek with her finger, “You’re home, darling. Drop the glamor? It must be tiring keeping it up constantly.”

There was a moment of hesitation, where Patton couldn’t help but tense up along with the man in front of him. Then the air shifted, like it had been holding a breath it could finally let out, and though there was nothing different that Patton could see from Roman’s back, a certain jolt of fear hit him out of nowhere. 

“There’s my boy.” The woman drew him in for a proper hug, one hand reaching around his back to rest on his head. She pressed a kiss to his hair when he wrapped his arms around her in turn. Suddenly her nose wrinkled and she pulled away, holding his shoulders at arm’s length. “Dearest, you smell like humans again.”

Roman chuckled, but there was a new quiver in his voice. “The only flaw in being surrounded by them so often. Let me change, and I’ll come meet you for dinner.”

She didn’t move, eyes narrowing as she watched his face. “No… it’s not you.”

“What? What else could it possibly-”

“There’s a human here.” Her voice was utterly calm, but she pushed Roman behind her resolutely. “There must be.”

“What?!” 

A low growl filled the air, and it took Patton a few moments to realize the sound was originating from her. She stepped past Roman, her dress flowing soundlessly along with her as she glared into the woods around them. 

Her eyes flashed red.

Once again, Patton shoved his fist into his mouth to hide a scream. That same alien jolt of fear returned as she moved closer to him, seemingly zeroing in on his location. 

“Mother, come now. You’re being silly. Humans can't even come near here, remember? You made sure of that yourself!”

Patton tore his eyes away from the advancing woman and his breath caught in his throat. Roman had followed his mother, trying to placate her gently with a hand on her arm, and in doing so, had turned towards Patton’s hiding spot.

When Patton opened his eyes shortly after being born, he was taken away from his mother, despite his parent’s strong objections and his wails. He was returned hours later, much to their relief. On his birth certificate, his right eye was labeled blue. His left eye, the side usually taken by the natural color of his soulmate’s, was labeled ‘Defective’.

When he was set to start school at six years old, his mother sat him down on his bed and taught him how to properly cover his left eye with his hair. They’d grown it out enough to do so. Patton had asked why it was necessary, and subsequently learned the truth that not all people were as accepting and loving as his parents. 

When he was ten, he returned home from school crying. He dropped into his mother’s arms and she held him until his sobs turned to sniffles, until he could explain between sharp breaths that a bully at school had revealed Patton’s eye while trying to force him into a fight, and… well, his classmates hadn’t taken it well. Those who weren’t downright afraid of him, refused to eat or sit with him anymore. But it wasn’t fair. He couldn’t help it!

His eye was labeled ‘Defective’, because never before had the doctor’s seen a child born with a red eye. Not the pale color that came with pinkeye, or an allergic reaction, but the iris itself was such a bold, blood red color that it had left the team scrambling for any record of such an incident. They were left with more questions than answers. But the world had yet to understand how soulmates worked in the first place, so they chalked it up to another universal mystery.

Every day for as long as he could remember, Patton had stared into a mirror first thing in the morning, greeted with calm, airy blue on one side, and fiery, almost electric red on the other. 

So it was jarring to see such a sight, yet reversed, on another person. But as Roman tugged again on his mother’s arm, there was no denying it; the man’s own color was a gleaming ruby, and the other was Patton’s very own blue. 

“Mother, look,” Roman blurted out, scooping up the discarded flashlight from the forest floor, “This is a human tool. I’m sure this is what you’re smelling.”

She ripped the device from his hand, shaking it in his face, “That is still far too close to home, Roman! Humans have been here, and I guarantee they are still nearby.”

“And you don’t know how many there are, Mom!” Roman insisted, taking her hands. “It doesn’t matter how they got here, or why they did,” A slow grin spread across his face, highlighting a pair of glinting fangs, “Why don’t you gather the family, and we can find them together? I can’t even remember the last time I really ate.”

The woman was satiated by this answer, though she still cast the forest cautious looks. “Stay put, Roman. We’ll be back shortly.” Her nose wrinkled again. “Along with a change of clothes for you.”

And then she was gone, the only remaining trace being the tiny cloud of dust she’d left behind. Roman was calm for a moment, making sure she was really gone, before his demeanor dropped. The cocky smirk was gone, and he no longer held the confidence he’d had, either as a bartender or in the presence of his mother. 

“We don’t have a lot of time, c’mon! Let’s go!” He crouched before the log, extending his hand to Patton.

“What the hell are you?!” Patton shrieked. Interesting, that those were the first words from his jumble of thoughts that came out.

“Oh, come on, do you really need to ask? I’m pretty sure you already know!” 

And yeah, Patton was pretty sure he knew. He wasn’t an idiot. He’d had a teen Twilight phase, so of course the obvious answer was there. It just… it wasn’t possible. His brain was scrambling for any kind of other solution, anything that made sense, but it all kept circling to the same answer. 

The cute bartender at the inn was a vampire. 

… 

Okay then.

Next problem.

“I… yeah. I think I got it.”

“Good! Now let’s go!” Roman grabbed Patton’s hand and yanked, effectively pulling him from his hiding place and nearly tearing the arm from it’s socket. Patton stumbled from the sudden movement and tripped on his camera bag, yelping as he crashed into Roman’s chest. 

The vampire’s hands instantly wrapped around his waist, steadying him as he found his footing. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m all good, I just-”

Roman was much taller than he’d thought; that was the initial thought that came to mind as he looked up at the man holding him. The second was, well, the fact that his jaw had dropped open upon seeing Patton’s eyes, and for the first time since they’d met, the guy was completely speechless. 

Patton felt his left eye began to tingle as they shifted into its own natural color. He ignored it.

“You really didn’t see it? At the bar?” Patton whispered.

“No, you moved too fast,” Roman murmured, bringing a hand up to Patton’s cheek. “You… you’re my-”

He must have sensed something, or heard something that was too quiet for Patton’s ears, because his head whipped towards the castle. 

“We need to go. Now.” Roman intertwined their fingers and pulled him into a run towards the town.

“Wait, no! My bag!” He tugged hard to try and get his hand free, but he was truly no match for Roman.

“Not important right now, sweetheart!”

 Without the aid of his flashlight, and enveloped by the darkness of the forest, Patton was totally blind, relying only on Roman’s grip to keep him from falling. Branches hit his face and roots reached up to trip him, but every time he stumbled, the hand tightened and pulled him back upright. 

A howl cut through the air. 

“What now, werewolves?!” Patton shrieked.

“Don’t be ridiculous, werewolves aren’t real!” Roman scoffed, “They’re normal wolves! What, you think just because we’re vampires, we’re unable to have pets?”

“Is this really a conversation we should be having at this exact moment?!” Patton shot back.

“You’re right, you’re right, okay.”

The howls were growing closer, and it was clear by Roman’s increased pace that this wasn’t about to be a friendly reunion.

“Can we outrun them?!”

“I take it you’ve never met a wolf!” 

Patton looked up at him desperately, already struggling to keep up the conversation and keep up with Roman. 

“I thought vampires had… like, super speed!”

“I wouldn’t be able to go for long, especially carrying you. Jump!”

Patton leapt blindly, feeling the side of a fallen log scrape the toes of his shoes. The landing was rough, sparks of pain shooting up his legs, but he was quickly pulled back upright. 

“I don’t have the energy! I haven’t eaten in months!”

There were more yowls, definitely closer this time, followed by the sound of multiple animals fighting, barely louder than a voice shouting (presumably) at the racket. Whether it was the wolves having a spat, or a prey animal that had gotten in the way of the hunt, Patton didn’t know. It drew out a small whimper from him either way.

He didn’t want to be next. 

“Do you trust me?” Roman suddenly gasped, holding his hand firmer. 

“What?!”

“Do. You. Trust. Me?!”

Patton didn’t exactly think he had a choice right now. His feet were aching, his lungs were burning, and he wasn’t sure he could run another minute without his legs giving out. “I- Yeah! Sure!”

“Good enough,” Roman grunted bitterly, screeching to a halt, and using his grip on the other’s arm to stop him too. Before Patton could even bring himself to complain, or scream at him, or just incoherently yell, the vampire was drawing him to his chest, puppeting his arms so they were around his shoulders.

“Hold on.”

Obediently, Patton tightened the grip. “Why-”

And then there was a sharp pain in his neck, and his eyes widened. The sting almost immediately morphed into a pleasant warmth, the distant howling being replaced by a faint humming, the buzzing of his own mind calming, becoming numb until the only thought in his head was Roman, Roman, Roman- 

He could feel Roman’s hand on his head, not restricting it, but cupping the back of it so he could lean against him as he stared up at the night sky, the full moon, and the slow blurring of the tops of the pine trees. His other arm was wrapped around his waist tightly, holding him up, and Patton was beyond grateful for the support as his legs began to turn to jelly. The last thing Patton felt was the vampire scooping up his legs and his head being cradled against the soft material of Roman’s shirt. 

Then everything went dark. 

-0-0-0-

Patton woke up slowly, squinting against the harsh sunlight streaming through his window. He dropped an arm across his eyes lazily, letting out a low groan at his pounding headache. There were voices downstairs in the tavern, and what sounded like dishes clanging, and he wondered if somehow this place was also a restaurant. How on earth could anybody run an establishment like that? It’s like the place never slept-

A wave of nausea pooled in his gut due to the speed of which he sat up but that wasn’t important, not right now. He flung his blankets back and… oh. He was dressed in his pajamas. Last he could remember, in the woods, running with Roman, he’d been in day clothes, in the sweater and shirt that was now draped on a chair across the room. His camera bag was... on the desk. His shoes were by the door, dirt free.

He raised his finger tips to his neck, expecting to feel a raised scab, or scar, any sign that he’d been bitten. There was nothing. 

He swung his legs over the sides of the beds and immediately shut his eyes, fighting off an explosion of dizziness induced sparks that shot across his vision. It sure felt as if he’d lost some blood. As much as he didn’t want to believe he had a hangover from one drink, that could also be an explanation. He’d always been a bit of a lightweight.

A dream. Was it all just… a dream?

A feeling of disappointment washed over him and he sighed, running his hands up through his hair. Something soft snagged on his fingers and he carefully detangled it from the curls, pulling it out curiously. He blinked at the fern leaf between his finger tips. That definitely hadn’t happened between his car, the tavern, or the room... So- 

He sucked in a breath sharply as his eyes locked with the mirror’s reflection in front of him, every thought coming to a halt.

Because staring back, for the first time ever, were two perfectly blue eyes.

I have a bunch of world building ideas that weren’t included in this fic, shoot me an ask if you have any lore questions!

General taglist:

@max-is-tired

@private-snippers

@joylessnightsky

[athenasbloodyspear]

The Viper: Chapter Two

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Find this fic on Ao3.

This fic is 18+ for violence and eventual sexual content. Please read at your own risk.

Master list

“I know where to find her.” Nat pipes up from her spot at the table. 

No one had moved since the Viper had shot out the security camera. 

Tony whipped his head to look at her and scoffed. “Oh? Are you an omnipresent God who knows all? Because if Friday can’t find her, I think we’re fucked.” 

“I know a place in the city where someone like her could disappear. Where I would disappear if I were her. It’s a hunch, but I have a feeling it’s where she is.” 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Care to enlighten us?” 

“The Mist.” Nat said simply. 

“Okay that just sounds fake.” Sam scoffed. 

“It’s not.” Nat snapped, “It’s an underground nightclub in Brooklyn. Famously has no cameras anywhere. The name is a nod to the fact that it’s a blind spot in the city. It’s filled with people in similarly seedy professions and rich and powerful people looking for illegal fun.” 

“Alrighty then. Sounds like my kinda place.” Tony rubbed his palms together. Steve just groaned. 

“You’re telling me this woman would hide out in a nightclub full of people who potentially know there’s a bounty on her head?” Bruce chimed in. 

“Yes. It’s highly frowned upon for outside business to interfere with the fun inside, so if anyone is hoping to make the hit they would have to wait for her to leave. Hence why I bet she waits there a long time.” 

“How do you know about this place Nat?” Steve countered. 

“How do you think I know about this place, Rogers?” She spat back. 

“Whatever, you two. Suit up for an evening at the club and meet us all back here in an hour.” Tony interrupted before Steve could stick his foot in his mouth. “Banner, you’re excused.” 

“Thank god.” Bruce sighed. 

“The rest of you are going. I’m staying here to monitor cameras with Friday and see if I can scrounge up any more interesting tidbits on our new friend.” 

“Great.” Bucky muttered to himself. A club. His favorite thing in the world. 

Not.

--

After a particularly complicated series of sneaking into various clothing stores in Manhattan you’d finally stolen something acceptable to wear for your evening of fun. 

You could feel the adrenaline pumping through you still. This whole thing was a massive gamble and you knew that. 

At any moment it could all come crashing down. In a lot of ways. 

You hadn’t been this out of control in a very long time. It was terrifying. 

But you would gamble with your life if you had to. It didn’t matter to you anymore. There was only one thing that did and you would give everything for it. 

So you’d continue to spiral out of control. To rely on others' choices. 

You didn’t have any other options. 

--

Bucky was relieved to discover that while this underground club was a club it at least wasn’t deafeningly loud. At least not in every section of the club. 

He was horrified to discover that the “underground” descriptor wasn’t only figurative. The club space was in the basement of a non descript warehouse that screamed Hydra wannabe. Everything in the club was a shade of black.  There was an upper floor, where the team was currently spread out, with many lush couches and smaller tables. It was more reminiscent of jazz bar’s he’d been to in the 40’s. The upper level had a metal railing that looked over into what could only be described as a pit. There was a large black marble bar along one wall of the lower floor and the rest was a dance floor. Or at least that’s what Nat had said, all he could see was a sea of bodies smashed together writhing. Apparently that was dancing. 

Even more horrifying was the fact that there were no windows. Not a single one. And the only exit that anyone knew of was the single door they came in. It was eating his skin alive. He felt so suffocated. Trapped in a way he hadn’t felt in years. 

He knew if he voiced this to Steve, he would immediately tell him to go home and the rest of them would probably be fine on their own. However, there was something keeping him here. He felt a pull towards this enigma of a woman and he needed to see her with his own eyes. Something in his gut told him she needed his help. He didn’t really know how or why, but his instincts were rarely wrong and he was tired of ignoring them. 

Even if his instincts were fighting within him at the moment. 

“Anything?” Nat questioned through the coms from where she sat on a sofa, pretending to chat with some diplomat from a country Bucky couldn’t think of right now. 

“No one who looks like what I think I’m looking for.” Steve replied. He’d been the only one who had offered to venture downstairs surprisingly. Bucky didn’t know how he could do it. 

“Sam?” Nat prompted. Sam had taken to exploring some of the strange and windy back hallways of the upper floor that lead to restrooms and stock rooms and who-knew-what-else rooms. Again, Bucky didn’t know how he willingly ventured into this creepy hell hole. 

“Nada.” Sam mumbled, “Have seen lots of faces I recognize from front pages of magazines. Most in compromising positions. Gonna be hard to forget.” 

“Gross.” Bucky muttered. He heard Nat’s soft laugh filter through the com. “I haven’t…” Bucky started. His thought cut off abruptly. 

He was standing at a railing, looking down on the pit from an aerial view, when he saw her. 

She was stunning, even though he knew she was trying to keep a low profile. It wasn’t anything in the way she looked necessarily, even though she looked amazing in her slim black velvet suit. When she shifted he noted that she wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath the blazer and he hoped that there was some sort of tape involved to keep the lapels in place on her chest. The smooth expanse of skin he could see between the jacket was nearly too much to handle already. 

No, it wasn’t the outfit that made her stunning. She simply was so commanding and present that her energy was intoxicating, even from his perch a floor above. He didn’t understand how everyone around her wasn’t staring at her. He couldn’t really remember what he was supposed to do now that he was faced with her. 

She was the new him, he realized. Her hair fell to her shoulders, almost a direct replica of the mop of tousled locks on his head, only darker. He noticed she didn’t look nearly as robotic in this space compared to the videos he’d seen of her. 

I knew it. He thought. This is the real her. 

“Care to finish that thought big guy?” Sam chuckled through the coms, snapping Bucky out of whatever trance he’d fallen into. 

“I uh…” Bucky started again. “I’m lookin at her.” 

He heard voices come through the coms, asking where the hell he was and where she was but he couldn’t speak.

He watched her, you, toss back a shot of some dark liquid. 

As he stared, your eyes shifted up and locked with his. 

Every sound in the world disappeared for him. Bucky couldn’t hear a thing but the pounding of his own heart. There was a string between the two of you that went taught as you stared at each other. 

Some part of his brain registered his increasingly frustrated friends trying to get his attention through the coms but he didn’t even dare blink, let alone speak. He was convinced that if he even twitched you would disappear into the smoky haze of the room. 

“I see her.” He heard suddenly through the com. Steve must have spotted you across the room from him downstairs. “I’m closing in.” 

Bucky watched the corners of your mouth peel into a tiny little smirk. His dry eyes forced him to blink and when his lids opened again, you were gone. 

Fuck. He thought. 

“What the hell was that, Buck?” Steve snapped through the coms. “I lost her. Anyone else still see her?” 

“The only way out is the front door.” Nat breathed. Everyone shifted instantly to beeline for the front. Even if you snuck out before them, Bucky knew you couldn’t have gone very far. 

--

You careened out the front, gasping in fresh breaths of air as you peeled to the left and down the sidewalk at a quick pace. You felt grateful you’d forgone the heels for high top sneakers tonight as you needed to haul ass. Fast. You didn’t really know why you suddenly felt the need to flee. Your intention had been to attempt to speak to them inside, where you had the upper hand.  

But every well laid plan had flown out the window when you’d locked eyes with the Winter Soldier. Or Bucky as he was now called. 

He looked the same. 

He looked different in every way possible. 

It ripped a hole in your chest. 

So you ran. 

You paused briefly to stuff your fingers to the back of your throat, forcing the liquor you’d nervously pounded out of your stomach. You were gonna need every bit of your cunning. They were all there, and you were vulnerable out on the street now. 

You were so fucking stupid. 

Why had you run? Why did you run from him? 

You heard the door crash open a half a block behind you. 

--

Bucky was the first one out the door. Sam had to wind out from the back of the building, Nat had to disentangle herself from conversation and Steve had to make his way up from the bottom floor. He was at an advantage. 

His instincts were telling him that he needed to be the first one to intercept you. He felt territorial about it. He didn’t know why, but something shifted while you had stared at each other. It was a glimmer, nearly lost in the recesses of his mind, but he knew you. Somehow. 

When he looked to his left, he captured the image of you, curled over your knees, emptying your stomach onto the curb. 

What the fuck? 

“Please don’t run.” Bucky yelled. “Please I swear we don’t want to kill you.”  

He watched you straighten yourself up, wiping the back of your hand across your mouth. 

“That sounds exactly like something someone who wanted to kill me would say.” You chuckle. 

Your voice. It’s… exactly like he imagined it. 

It’s nothing like he imagined it. 

Before he can process the whirlwind of emotions in his head, you’ve taken off. He bolts after you. After a few strides he hears the door blow open behind him as the rest of the team flies out of the establishment. 

He has to get to you first. 

--

You sprint as hard as you ever have. It hurts more, now that you’re fully in control. You hate it. 

You love it. 

It makes you furious.

You careen around corners and slip between crowds of people, trying your damnedest to throw them off their trail. Eventually you skid to a halt next to an older BMW parallel parked on a busy street, slamming your elbow into the corner of the back window, shattering the glass. You reach through the now open hole and manually unlock the drivers door, not caring that the remaining glass catches and opens your skin. 

“Wait!” A voice calls across the street. It’s him. You fight the urge to cover your ears. That voice. 

You scramble into the front seat, reaching under the dash to rip the wires of the starter out of the plastic covering. As you fumble with your hands you glance up, watching the Winter Soldier fling himself expertly through moving traffic towards you. 

“Shit shit shit.” You mutter to yourself. You finally free the wires,  ripping the ends open and tapping them together until they spark and the engine roars to life. 

Thank god. 

You shift into drive, rip up the E-brake and prepare to step on the gas. You glance once behind you to monitor the traffic roaring down the one way street. There’s an opening. 

When you shift your body back forward to grab the wheel, he’s almost to you. His eyes are wild. 

Pleading. 

What are you doing? 

I’m holding your hand. 

Why? 

I don’t know. 

The pain in your chest is nearly unbearable now. You force your facial features to shift into a wide smirk and flip him off before slamming on the gas as hard as you can. 

The e-brake holds the front wheels in place as the back wheels squeal on the ground, spinning the vehicle around in place until you’re facing the wrong way down the one-way. 

Finally. 

You punch it. 

--

Bucky watches you tear off in the stolen car, panting for breath. 

There was a moment. Just a moment where he’d seen something in your face and then a mask had locked down over your features. 

He couldn’t make sense of it. The agony in your eyes when you saw him just now. 

He must know you. 

How? 

“I lost her.” Bucky pants into the coms. “I… lost her.” 

Nat and Steve came sprinting up behind Bucky, placing her hands on her knees to suck in hair. 

“I’ll tail her.” Sam called. Swooping up in the skies and taking off in the direction where Bucky’s eyes were trained. 

“I don’t understand.” Nat pants. “She would never have been found if she didn’t want to be.” 

“Why did she run?” Steve questioned. 

“I don’t know.” Bucky murmured. He couldn’t keep his eyes away from the last place he’d seen your car. 

“What happened in there Bucky?” Steve turned to look at him. 

“I… don’t know.” He murmured again. 

“I’m gonna need more than that pal.” Steve prompted, placing his hands on his hips. 

“She… She looked at me.” He choked out. Steve guffawed, dropping his head back to look at the sky. Beside him, Nat eyed him curiously. “I can’t explain it, but it felt… like I knew her. Like we were connected somehow.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean Bucky?” Steve clipped. “You just stood there while she ran.”  

“Shut the fuck up Steve.” Nat snapped. 

“What?” Steve turned to her then. “Don’t you think it’s a little weird that he was basically paralyzed in there?” 

“No.” She snapped. “I think that there’s some deeper story here we don’t understand and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s a part of it.” 

Steve looked to Bucky then, a little more sobered now, and murmured. “You know her?” 

“No.” Bucky said immediately. “At least, not really. But there’s something. She looked at me like…” 

Like you did when I was falling from that train. 

Just then Sam dropped out of the sky and landed next to them. 

“She must have noticed me and ditched the car a few blocks over. Went into a subway station.” Sam sighed. “Needless to say, I lost her.” 

The whole group stands together, panting staring down the street where they’d last seen you. 

Bucky finally breaks his silence.

“I need to find her.”

--

His damned voice.

TAGLIST:

@maxsaturdayhatesnarwhals

[heyheydidjaknow]

I would’ve posted this earlier but, alas, I passed out early. This is a longer one, but tumblr got its act together so I can post it all in one part. You guys know where the other chapters are, and if you don’t, they’re at the end of the chapter. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go eat straight Nutella.

Chapter 10

“I’m thinking about getting some gloves.”

He looks over at you as he laces up his skates. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling slightly to yourself as you look your hands over, trying to imagine what they would look like. “Like, badass, fingerless gloves.”

He smiles. “Dude, those would look metal as fuck.”

“Totally, right?” Your smile widens. “With studs and shit.”

He gets to his feet, hopping onto the ice. “Hell yeah.” He drops a puck to assault as you go back to your backed-up coursework the best you can—your handwriting has gone to hell, but you are working with what you have.

You flinch at the crack of his stick, the cross of the T ending up underneath the letter somehow. A cheer from Casey tells you the rubber cylinder’s fate.

‘I swear I learned this.' You squint at the basic algebra, the pencil, crudely held in your fist, hovering over the packet. ‘Why can’t I do this?’

“How’s your pile coming along?” Another crack.

“It’s comin’.” You run your fingers through your hair. “Just… trynna remember how to do ne—… subtraction.” ‘Not debate. Negating is debate.’

He laughs. Another crack. “Man, that thing really fucked you over, huh?”

“Thoroughly.” You decide against continuing to torture yourself, having been at it for the past five hours—most of it in the library before Casey invited you to watch him practice some more— and set the large stack of homework back in your bag. “Are you actually making the shots?”

“Casey Jones doesn’t miss shots.” Another crack.

“Pardon me, oh almighty king of the ice.” You stand on your good leg, grabbing the side of the wall to watch as he went back to collect his pucks.

You two have managed to bond over a mutual respect/love of heavy metal and hockey and, seeing as you are staying out of the Hamatos’ hair for a while—not upon request, but out of courtesy—you have managed to spend a lot more time with him than you may have otherwise. Your school has not assigned Biology any big projects yet, so, until you are assigned it, you do not have anything other than your health to stress about.

“Pardon accepted.” You watch his form as he performs another slap shot.

“You…” you trail off, trying to remember what you were going to say.

“What?”

You shrug. “Dunno.” You lean your head on your arms. “I’ll remember eventually.”

He drops the second puck. “Got any plans after this?”

You sigh. “Nope. Probably gonna head home and try not to cut my fingers making dinner again.”

He takes another shot. “Then let’s go out after this. You and me.”

You smile. “What, don’t have any plans either?”

“Nah.” He drops the third. “Dad doesn’t care if I’m home late anyway.”

“True, true.” You have decided against prying into his home life; it is not your place and does not concern you in the slightest. “Where do you wanna go?”

“Wanna catch a movie? Heard there was this new pizza place just a couple blocks down if you wanna try to sneak it in.”

You snicker. “In the box and all?”

“Yes.” He grins mischievously and hits this one off the walls. Some way, somehow, it still makes it into the goal. “I bet your sweatshirt is big enough to stick the box under.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Not in the mood for burns on top of scars, Jones,” you reprimand him teasingly. “That just ain't it.”

“Then you can wear mine under that one and—”

“Your sweat-soaked hoodie you’ve been practicing in all day?” You cringe at the thought. “Over my dead body.”

“I mean…” he licks his teeth, smile widening, “it’s not exactly like you’re in the best—”

You laugh. “So not cool!”

He puts his hands up in defense, gliding over. “I mean, am I wrong, though?”

“That is completely besides the point, you ass.” You balance on your foot, crossing your arms. “Damn. Making fun of the girl with the broken leg.”

He leans against the wall. “Man, you were dying before the crash.”

You roll your eyes. “Alright, whatever, Jones.” You lean against your hand. “How’s Johanna,” you sing.

He presses his hand against your face, pushing you away. “Annie is doing fine.”

You grin, steadying yourself on the wall. “Do you feel her, Johanna?”

“I’m gonna tell her you call her that if you don’t quit it.”

“Do you think that walls can hide her? Even when you’re at her window?”

He pushed his arm all the way out. You hop back.

“Her name isn’t even Johanna.”

“But she is Johanna,” you whine in protest, not bothering to hide your mirth. “She has the hair, the voice, the disposition. She’s an ingénue and you know it.” You have been teasing him about this for a while now: the girl in question—Annabelle Halshaw, a year below you two—had caught his eye when he had heard through the grapevine that she was the lead singer in some indie band. When he had shown you a picture and told you the story, you insisted on calling her Johanna for her golden hair and soft, sweet singing voice he had proudly had you listen to.

“She’s not.”

You roll your eyes, sitting back down as you grab your bag. “Lie to yourself all you want,” you goad, “but deep down, you know in your heart that the truth,” you put a finger up, “is apparent.”

He hops off the ice, sitting next to you as he unlaces his skates. “Whatever.” He smirks. “How’s The Don?”

You avert your gaze. “I haven’t seen ‘im.”

“Boo.” He tied the laces together. “Some girlfriend you are,” he ribs.

You go red. “Not my boyfriend. Not even friends with benefits.”

“Yeah, sure.” He sets the skates into his bag. “That’s why you already know his family.”

“That—”

“And why you’ve had him over to your place.”

“If you don’t cool your tits, I’m telling Lucy you’re crushing on her friend.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“What,” you simper, “think I won’t?”

He grabs his bag. “If you do, I’ll show her that video.”

You laugh, following him out of the rink. “You’re the worst.” You note how strange it is that he spent so little time on the ice as you two walk out, but you do not say anything about it.

“Hey, you’re the one throwing threats around.”

“Yeah,” you argue, “but my threat is clearly better.”

He rolls his eyes, pushing you again.

You two keep chatting on the way to the theatre about anything and everything, from new bands to upcoming games to the newest blockbuster horror movies. You are not personally on the hockey team, but, as his friend, it is your duty to care. Besides, you figure, it gives you something to look forward to.

The movie is fine. You convince him against sneaking an entire pizza in, you split a bucket of popcorn, and you give him shit for getting freaked out by the disembowelment scene. It is payback for him teasing you about crying during the last movie you two went to a couple of days ago.

You two stand at the streetlight.

“Dude, it’s like eight,” he groans. “It’s not even late.”

“True,” you agree. “Counterpoint: I still have another week’s worth of work to do by Friday on top of the homework I’ll have to do anyway, so unless you wanna help—”

“Forget I asked.” He pulls his hood up against the autumn wind. “Need me to walk you back?”

“Nah.” You shrug. “If someone mugs me, they’ll give me an excuse to not do my homework.”

“Murdered?

“I’m already halfway there.”

He grins. “See ya tomorrow, Y/N.”

“See ya, Jones.” You wave as he runs off.

The walk home is quiet and considerably easier than it was a couple of weeks ago. Seeing as you now get queasy whenever you get into a car, you have been limited to taking the subway and walking, which, among other things, has contributed positively to your physical strength. You know that you should probably at least try to take the bus or a cab around town to build your tolerance up, but the last time you tried, you had almost tripped and fallen from how shaky your legs were getting out. Oddly enough, you note as you go through the door, you do not have a considerably larger fear of heights than you did before, or of fire, but cars were tripping you up, even though you were the one that crashed it. You feel thankful that, at least, you do not think your fear is crippling. At least, you reason, you can still get into the car.

You lock the door behind you, debating whether you feel like adding to the collection of cuts you now possess— they are self-inflicted, but not intentionally so; you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge the fact that you physically cannot use your hands to cut things. You decide against it tonight, tossing your bag on the bed as you sprawl across it, admittedly exhausted. You allow yourself a couple of seconds with your eyes closed before you pull yourself up with a groan and get back to work.

A part of you wishes that you had the physical energy to stay out longer. You are always trying to find excuses not to sleep, and although the mountain of homework and readjusting your timelines for things you missed is certainly one way to keep yourself preoccupied, it is not exactly what you would consider fun. Then again, reliving your greatest traumas while you sleep is not exactly fun either.

You catch yourself peeling at the newly applied bandages on your fingers, fingernails catching under the crudely applied adhesives. Applying bandages properly requires more dexterity and patience than you currently possess, and you are hardly going to ask someone else for help with something as stupid as that. You have lasted this long without needing too much help. People can live by themselves. You will live, probably. Well? Not your concern.

‘I should eat something.’ Your eyes strain to focus on the piece of paper in front of you, your mind wandering aimlessly as you try to impress the actual importance of finishing this upon yourself, but you find that is an insurmountable feat.

You drop your bag off the side of the bed, reaching down and pulling your shoe off, leaning back into your pillows, the weight of the day practically immobilizing you. Fumbling hands switch the lamp off, bathing your room in momentary, blissful darkness before the gravity of your decision sets in.

“Alright, me,” you breathe to yourself. “What’s it gonna be today? My folks? Bradford? What’s his face? Hell,” you chuckle, “why not all three? I’m sadistic enough, I’m sure.”

You close your eyes. “Give me your worse,” you challenge as you slip into unconsciousness.

--

Two weeks.

He had kept his distance for about two weeks. It was not as if he did not care or was not morbidly curious what the crash had done to you—his glances through the curtains did not tell him much-- but, after some debate, he had figured you needed time to recuperate before you would want his company. Two weeks, he figured, would be enough time for you to get back on your feet or, at least, for you to start wanting company.

His excuse to see you had come in the form of his brother’s newfound prideful boasting. Feigning insult was as good an excuse as any to go see you; after all, he just so happened to be in the neighborhood anyway, and it was normal to pop in to see someone if you were already just a couple blocks down, right? Sneaking away was easy enough—they would not mind his absence—and he, after much prep work, knew exactly how and why he was going to say the things he would to get in your good favor. The plan, he knows, would have gone swimmingly.

His plans seem asinine when he hears you crying.

His brothers do not cry much. He does not, either; it was a habit that they had all thoroughly bullied themselves out of when they were much younger and, if they still did, he knew nothing of it. His master did not encourage this, per se, but talked, then, frequently about the importance of maintaining a more stoic disposition and not allowing emotions to cripple you in battle. Practically, Donatello was satisfied with that explanation, having not properly cried for more than a year now. To hear the sound again, especially coming from you, was novel.

Novel, too, is how you are crying. The sound is less of actual sobbing and more of you being strangled, quiet gasps for air escaping your lips as you shake on the bed, curled in on yourself and clutching at your chest as if whatever pain you are experiencing is centered and can be relieved by something between your collarbones. His eyes, for the first time, trace the lines on your skin, your sleeves riding up your arms to reveal them to him, tears racing down and along the gash in your face. Everything about the scene, from the soft gasping of panic to your position to the heavy scarring, is completely foreign to him, rivaled only by one or two particularly hard nights when he and his brother were much younger.

He slides in through the window, leaning onto the bed. His fingers flick your lamp back on as he grabs your shivering shoulder tightly, shaking you awake as he mumbles words of encouragement. He is not sure if his help will be appreciated, if snapping you out of it was even what he is supposed to do in this situation, but now is not the time to think of that. You are in pain. He can offer you this kindness. “Wake up,” he pleads, not thinking of how this would look until your eyes snap open to look at him.

Immediately, the reality of the situation sets in, and he scrambles off the bed. ‘Why did I think that would be a good idea?’ Panic. ‘You just walked into her room like a fucking creep. See, now she’s going to—’

“Sorry.”

He blinks, looking up at you from his place on the floor. “Huh?”

You clear your throat, wiping the tears from your eye with your sleeve quickly as you bring your knees to your chest, voice hoarse. “Sorry,” you repeat. “That you… I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for, but I know I should be apologizing.”

He is completely dumbfounded.

Your eyes glance to the open window. “I should probably start closing and locking my window, right?” You rub the back of your neck, voice clearing the longer you talk. “It didn’t occur to me since I’m so high up, but if you guys can get in, The Foot can too, right?”

‘Why is she apologizing?’

You push the hair out of your face. ‘You need something, right? I—uh—need to stop saying ‘right’ so much.” You shake your head to clear it. “’ Sup?”

He hears himself mumble some bullshit out about being in the neighborhood.

You sigh. “Sorry.” You close your eyes. “I’m usually up later; I’ve been so tired lately.”

‘Is she serious right now?’ He is completely lost. ‘She was just crying her eyes out in her sleep and now she’s apologizing? Did I miss something?’ You are smiling now, eyes still bloodshot, as if the whole thing is a figment of his imagination, still shivering where you sit.

He rises to his feet, kneeling in front of you on the bed. “What was it about?”

You blink, seemingly confused. “Huh?”

“Your nightmare,” he clarifies. “You were crying. What was it about?”

You avert eye contact. “Nothing too crazy,” you shrug. “Just about the crash. Nothing too exciting.” If possible, he thinks the bags under your eyes are worse than the last time you saw him.

He takes your hands loosely, turning them palms up to look, for the first time, at the patchwork quilt that is now your skin. “What happened in it?” He runs his thumb along the lines, keeping his voice low; he remembers how that used to help when Mikey used to have fits when they were younger. Leonardo and Raphael were never good at that; they took better to being more violently snapped out of their moods, but, then again, they never had this kind of breakdown; theirs were always more driven by loathing, self or otherwise.

You pause, still not looking him in the face as your muscles relax. He remembers, vividly, how he had done something similar when you two had first met, how much better, health-wise, you looked. ‘How long has it been since then? Three months? A little less?’

You take a deep breath. “Just… family shit,” you mumble, eyelids drooping as you trace his frame loosely. “Fire.”

Your gaze is piercing as you finally look at him properly. He feels something catch in his throat as you bow your head.

“It’s my fault, you know.” Your voice is so soft, barely a whisper. “That they’re dead, I mean.”

The air is a suffocating blanket that smothers you both.

“I never told you, did I?” Your focus does not shift as it might have a bit ago. It is locked solely and intensely on him, taking in every detail of his expression. “How I died? How they died? Why I died?”

Hesitantly, he shakes his head. He thinks it best to just be quiet and let you talk. He does not think he has ever heard anyone speak in quite the same tones, ever looked at him quite the same way you are.

You take another breath. “I wanted to try my hand at baking.” You force your eyes to stay focused on his. “I was—still am—not good about sleep. I always slept bad, and never at the right times. I used to take pills for it, to try to get myself back on track.”

He sees where this is going.

“I thought I could still stay up as late as I was used to.” You glance to the side, stealing yourself a second before focusing back on the boy in front of you. “I sat down in my room, turned on a movie. I set a timer. I fell asleep.” You swallow, hands shaking in his. “I can’t smell well, either. I must not have smelled the burning.” Your lips curl in a bitter smile. “Sure as fuck felt it, though, when I woke up.”

He lets you finish.

You try to blink the tears out of your eyes. “They were asleep,” Your voice rises ever so slightly. “I fell asleep at two something. I woke up when they started yelling.” You purse your lips, face reddening in shame as your nostrils flair. “They were trying to get someone out of bed when the roof caved in above them. My door got blocked.”

You feel yourself smile.

“So,” you strain not to cry, “that, Donatello, is why I’m here and why I’m dead, and why I really do deserve to burn again.” You laugh. “Hell, my body count is rivaling some serial killers, so that’s… that’s certainly something.”

He lets go of your hands, face blank.

You lean forward, placing your hands on your knees. “I don’t blame you,” You wipe a wayward tear out of your eyes, trying to swallow the frog in your throat. “Fuck, man, I’d think less of me, too, if it were me.” You nod towards the window. “I get it if you want to leave, but I thought you might want to know why—”

He stops you mid-sentence, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to him.

Your arms lay slack at your sides as you try to process what is happening.

He does not say a word.

You break.

You burry your face into him, tears welling in your eyes as you let out a strangled sob. You hold onto him tightly as you struggle to breathe, body shaking as you wrap your own arms around him the best you can. The sound roars in your ears like thunder, the deafening quiet of the apartment punctuated only by your own cries. He gently holds you there, resting his head on top of yours. Each sound you make sounds as though you are physically being choked by your guilt, and his chest feels as though it is being crushed by an invisible hand as he listens to your pain.

Neither of you knows how long you stay like that.

He considers telling you a story from a long time ago, about some training he and his brothers had back then, but thought better of it; he does not want to upset you any more than you already are, and being in good company with someone like him may not be exactly what you need right now. Granted, he does not know what you do need, but he knows listening to him talk about bashing brains would not help your sensibilities any.

Instead, he stays quiet.

You pull away after a while, wiping your face off again as you mumble out an apology.

“Don’t apologize.” He clears his throat. “It’s good to cry; it releases endorphins.”

You smile at that. “Well,” you giggle tearfully, “if it releases endorphins.”

He smiles back, face flushing. You look good, he thinks, even with your face all red. He knows that, scientifically, there is probably a reason, but he cannot think of it right now.

He stands up. “I’ll get—”

You grab his hand tightly.

He looks back at you.

“Can I ask a favor?”

He blinks. “Of course,” he agrees easily. “Anything.”

You glance off. “Promise not to take it weird?”

He feels his heart rate increase. “Y-yeah,” he nods.

He feels you pull him gently back on the bed. “Can you stay here tonight?”

His eyes widen as they flicker between the mattress and you. “What,” he clarifies breathlessly, “like sleep with you?”

You nod.

“In the same bed?”

You hesitate, nod again.

He clears his throat, face heating again. “Like, actually?”

“If it wasn’t actually, I wouldn’t ask, would I?” You grip his hand tightly. “I just really don’t want to be alone tonight.”

‘Oh.’ He mentally kicks himself. ‘She’s scared. Don’t make her uncomfortable.’

“It’s alright if you don’t—”

He is extremely quick to reassure you that he is more than happy—‘Bad choice of wording.’—to stay tonight until you fall asleep, but that he would not stay the whole night as to not worry his brothers.

You nod in agreement. “That’s fine.” You rub the back of your neck. “Not sure I would be good company when I wake up, anyway; I still have class.”

“Oh, right.” He nods in understanding, pushing himself further onto the bed. “Which side…?”

You shrug. “Which way do you face?”

“I usually lie on my stomach.”

“Then it doesn’t matter.” You slide your sweatshirt over your head after a bit of squirming around, tossing it onto the couch.

His face is now scarlet. “Okay then,” he mumbles, laying down on the side away from the window. ‘Is she going to—no, stop that.’

You look over at him, face down on the mattress. You can almost feel the heat coming off him. “Are you alright there, buddy?”

He nods.

You shrug, laying down under the blanket and curling into him, facing the window. “Mind getting the light?”

He reaches over, clicking it off.

You sigh in content, turning to face him, teetering on the edge of the mattress. “I’m not venomous,” you inform him teasingly. “I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: of the two of us, you should not be the one who’s a nervous wreck.”

“You dunno that.” His voice is muffled by the bed.

“You’re the strong one,” you argue.

“So?” He turns his head to look at you. “I’m the guy laying in the—I’m just gonna stop that sentence.”

“It’s only bad if it isn’t consensual.” You smile reassuringly. “I invited you to lay with me, right? So, unless I make you uneasy, then we’re all good.”

He breaks eye contact. “So,” he clarifies, “you don’t mind if I move closer to you?”

You shake your head.

He hesitantly slides himself further onto the bed. “Can I move closer than this?”

“You’ve already seen me bawl my eyes out. You’re doing me a service. Move as close or as far as you want.”

He moves to press his side against you. “Is this fine?”

You nod. “Look, how about this?” You rest your arm under your head. “If you do something I’m uncomfortable with, the safe word is pina colada.”

‘We already have a safe word?’ He was not sure if he is on cloud nine or just terrified of you.

You are very confused why he looks so warm. “Do you need me to turn the AC on?”

He shakes his head. “I’m good,” he assures you tightly. Slowly, he reached an arm out and over your waist, pulling you closer. You do not seem to resist in any way, wrapping your good leg around one of his to pull him closer.

‘Conscious touching.’ He glances down at you, trying to act cool. ‘Conscious, intentional touching. She smells so nice and she feels—okay, this is not going to work if you keep being a perv.’

“Thanks,” you mumble, humming softly. “I appreciate this more than you know.”

Cloud nine. Definitely on cloud nine.

“Every time.”

You giggle.

He blinks. “What?”

“Every time,” you note, already nodding off. “Like in that book.”

‘Which one?’ “They wrote it down for a reason, right?” The longer he spends like this, the smoother he feels.

“Totally.” You smile, closing your eyes. “Just know that this goes both ways, alright? If you ever need help like this, you know who to call.”

This is new. ‘Help like this? What, like crying?’ His eyebrows furrow as he tries to understand what you mean. ‘Or he means if I ever need company in my—what did I just say?’

You pick up on his confusion. “Emotional help, I mean.” Your fingers trace the indentations in his shell absentmindedly. “I mean, I know sometimes I didn’t want to go to my family about stuff. I dunno if you have that…” you trail off, realizing that you might be unintentionally bashing his brothers. You sincerely do not want to blow this.

“I mean,” he says after a bit, “I think I get what you’re talking about.” He sighs. “You mean stuff that they’d make fun of me for, right?”

You nod.

He feels his heart melt a little. “I’ll have to take you up on that.”

You forgot how safe he makes you feel. “Goodnight, Donnie,” you mumble sleepily.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

You pass out not long after that. If he has to estimate a general amount of time, he will clock it in at about five minutes. He does not move, however, until about thirty minutes before sunrise, too busy listening to the sound of your breathing and memorizing how exactly your body feels next to his. As he slips out of the window, early morning air waking him back up completely, he wonders if, someday, he could stay to see you wake up next to him. Not out of necessity, but just because you both wanted to stay like that for a while more.

‘I hope so. It’s a nice dream to have, anyhow.’

Table of Contents

Chapter 9

Chapter 11

[forehead-enthusiast]

Unmasked

Pairing: Mark x Reader

Genre: spiderman!au, fluff, a smidge of angst i suppose?

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: This night is weird and it’s only getting weirder. Still, you can’t just leave a beat up hero to die.

A/N: I can’t lie I loooove this concept! I might play around with more hero!aus in the future, and possibly write more about spidey!mark!! I really hope you like this fic~ 

You sat up suddenly, awoken by a loud clang outside your window. Morning was still hours away, and the only light in your room came from the yellow street lamps outside. You were almost too sleepy to care, and were about to flop back onto your pillow when you heard another, smaller clang. You sighed and threw off your bedsheets. Now awake enough to be intrigued, you grabbed your phone and turned on the flashlight. You approached the sound cautiously, and shone some light on the source.

Spiderman, the local hero, was laying on the fire escape outside your bedroom.

You blinked, shocked at the sight, before realizing how torn up his suit was. And how ragged his breathing was. And how much blood had seeped into the already-red fabric. And how the exposed skin was purple with bruises.

All caution thrown out the window, you immediately knew you had to help.

“S-spiderman? Sir?”

He barely moved at the sound of your voice, which only stressed you more. You reached out to gently touch him. He flinched, but couldn’t fight it, even on reflex. You took hold of his arm carefully, and started pulling him up as best you could.

“Um, Mr. Spiderman, I’m going to help you. I-if that’s okay.”

One of his eyes peered through a tear in his mask, out of focus, then closed slowly. You tried again to lift him, only to fail, and decided you’d have to go to him. As quickly and quietly as you could, you hurried to get a first aid kit and whatever bandages you could find and clambered out the window with little to no grace.

The metal of the fire escape clattered in a way that made you cringe, and you prayed you hadn’t woken up your parents. After a second of tense listening, you returned your focus to the incredibly injured man before you.

He was smaller than you’d imagined him to be. You’d never seen him in person after all, let alone this close, but on a TV screen he always seemed so… big. Powerful. The news always vilified him as some vigilante, but now he was shivering before you, barely conscious. Your heart ached. He was just a person. Doing his best to tackle things beyond him for the good of everyone else.

You shook the distress from your mind. As admirable as his morals were, his body was of greater concern now.

“S-spiderman? Spiderman?” He didn’t respond, but you asked permission anyway. “I’m really sorry, I know you wear a mask for a reason, but this is an emergency.”

You yanked gently on the mask, finding where it ended, and slipped it off entirely.

Somehow, somehow, you managed to be even more shocked in an already absurd situation.

“…Mark?!”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, having yelled without thinking. Finally, he stirred. Hearing his name startled him far more than anything else, and his gaze finally honed in on you.

“Y-y/n?”

He tried to scramble into a sitting position, floundering for his mask, but winced in pain.

It was impossible to comprehend the scene before your eyes. Mark Lee, the boy who gave the most awkward English presentation ever witnessed, the boy who stuttered every time you asked him a question in Chem, the boy whose broken glasses never stopped slipping down his nose, was sitting in front of you now, battered and bloodied, in an all-too-familiar red and blue suit.

He groaned, snapping you out of your disbelief, and you reached out instinctively as he slumped back against the railing. Your hands paused before touching him, unsure of where you could touch that wasn’t injured. His eyes flicked back to you, alive with recognition and pain and above all, fear. He was helpless, exposed. For all he knew, this could be it for him. His identity, his most vulnerable possession, discovered by someone who actually knew him. Your chest tightened as you saw him desperately looking around, trying to formulate an escape plan.

You extended a hand towards his face, halting when he flinched, before gently placing your fingertips against his cheek, on the tiny patches of unbroken skin. 

His eyes met yours.

“It’s okay, Mark.” You whispered. “Everything's going to be okay.”

Somehow, he knew you weren’t lying. Maybe it was the tremble in your voice, or the compassion in your eyes, or the way your cool fingertips felt like snow against the burning surface of his skin, but he knew. He relaxed, and you hurried to get out the antiseptic.

“Could I…” You were rapt as he began to speak weakly. “Could I… have some water? Please?” His face crumpled with a small grin, and suddenly he was just your lab partner again, despite the blood dripping off his chin. You nodded, and returned a few moments later with a bottle of water and a granola bar. “Just in case you were… hungry, or something.” It was hard to tell with the bruising, but his eyes seemed to light up at the sight. He chugged down half the water in one gulp, and fiddled with the wrapper of the granola bar with his gloved hands before sheepishly having you open it for him. Seeing him eat half of it in one bite helped you relax a smidge.

“These were my favorite when I was younger.” He chewed slowly, ignoring the taste of blood in his mouth. “Mm, I’m alive again.”

Debatable.

Still, he was at least conscious enough to wince at the antiseptic stinging every cut on him. Even though you knew it was necessary, you felt guilty for inflicting even more pain on him. You couldn’t imagine how someone could possibly get so brutally injured. Every time you shakily wrapped up a wound, he’d shift ever so slightly, and you’d notice another patch of spreading blood you needed to address. 

Mark flushed as you instructed him to shed some of his clothes so you could better access the cuts scattered across his back. You'd gotten chills for a moment. All across his back were scars. Patches of tough tissue that would never fully fade- you didn't have to be a doctor to know that. And on top of all the old scars, a new layer of fresh injuries. You swore to yourself you wouldn't let these scar too. 

It was on the third bandage you realized just what you’d made him do. You fumbled over some bandages as you looked at his bare back, astounded at yourself for managing to ask him to strip. You hadn't given it a second thought at the time, but now you were flushing fiercely, trying futilely to put bandages on him while avoiding touching him. This was not the time to think about how you were with a half naked (shockingly muscular) boy in the middle of the night! You pinched yourself, frustrated that you were concerned with such a stupid thing at a time like this.

Mark, more used to pain than someone his age should be, was possibly even more concerned with that “stupid thing” than you were. He flinched every time your fingertips slid across his stinging skin, more at your touch than the pain. In all his time swinging around town, he’d never been in a situation remotely like this before. Everything about this moment was strange- his identity had been found out, by you of all people. You were treating his wounds, and for once he felt completely at peace. That last sensation was the strangest of all. Ever since he’d started working to protect the city, he’d felt on edge. He’d always be peeking out the corner of his eye for a car flying at him, or for some building to be crumbling a few blocks away. Right now he just… looked straight ahead, at the hazy amber lights of the city he never got to admire. 

He could’ve fallen asleep to the rhythm of your hands touching him, he was so wholly relaxed. He might’ve, if you hadn’t tapped him on the shoulder.

“...Mark? I’m done with your back.”

He slid his suit up slowly, and turned his gaze to you as you picked up some of the wrappers and bits of cotton that had gotten scattered. You could feel him staring, but couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. You’d let senseless worry guide you through the last however many minutes it had taken you to patch him up, but now that his life wasn’t in imminent danger, you couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“Thanks.”

You finally looked up, a sigh of relief escaping you when you heard his voice, still quiet but much steadier. He smiled just slightly, the cut on his lip still aching as he did. No matter how fully you understood who he was, you still found yourself bewildered by the juxtaposition of Mark’s sweet face and the blood stained suit below it. 

“No problem, I'm sure I should be thanking you. Are you…” You knew he wasn’t okay, but what else could you ask?

“You should see the other guy,” he joked, but upon seeing the concern in your eyes, continued a bit more seriously, “Don't worry, I'm used to it. It happens, like, every other month or so. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“That just makes me worry more.”

He chuckled, and carefully scratched the back of his neck.

“I guess that’s, um… the normal response to that.” He fell silent, surprised that someone cared. You suddenly imagined grabbing a baseball bat and beating up anyone who made him feel that being hurt was normal. You wouldn’t say that you were close friends with Mark by any means, but still, if you would’ve imagined his problems before tonight, you would’ve imagined him missing the bus or forgetting to study for a test or trying to ask someone out- normal teenager things. Not this. Your mind swam with images of him putting his life on the line, pushing himself too far for a city that was always ungrateful. How many times had he patched himself up alone? How many times had he been unable to reach the wounds on his back? How many times had you spoken to him, not noticing how much pain he must've been in?

You fixed your gaze on the floor. The metal bars beneath you began to blur, and you cursed the tears that threatened to escape. It’s not like you had any right to cry when you were sitting there in your pajamas, completely unharmed, undoubtedly thanks to the injured boy in front of you.

“Y/n?” Mark’s eyes, swollen as they were, widened as he realized what was happening. He lurched forward, then cried out in pain. Wounds don’t heal in seconds, which he knew by now, but he couldn’t think about anything besides wanting to comfort you for whatever was making you sad.

You caught him before he could land face first against the metal you both were sitting on, and you tensed to feel his weight in your arms. His eyes met yours, and you held on carefully, too scared and not strong enough to move him any which way. He didn’t tear his gaze from yours as he opened his mouth to speak, only an inch away from you.

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m not- I’m not crying.”

“Why are you crying?”

Tears dropped onto your pajama shirt as you shook your head in obviously fake denial. 

“...I don’t get why you have to get hurt. It’s not fair.”

His breath caught as the teardrops spilling from your eyes became trails of sadness on his behalf. As carefully as he could, he lifted his arms to wrap around you and pull you into his shoulder- a hero through and through. It only made you more frustrated, to know that someone this selflessly kind was being bludgeoned and nearly killed by heartless people regularly.

“It’s not all bad, you know,” he spoke lightly, patting your head slowly. “There are really cool parts. I’m really, really strong. I could probably hold, like, an elephant. One in each hand, if there were two around.” He smiled as he felt you laugh against him. “I can stick to stuff. That… doesn’t sound that cool, but it is, I swear. It’s really cool. And I can swing across buildings, which is maybe my favorite part.” 

He turned to look at your red eyes and weak smile and pushed some hair off your face.

“Maybe... I can take you with me sometime?"

Your eyes lit up at the suggestion, and he could tell how much it enticed you.

“It’s a promise, okay? As a thank you for helping me tonight.”

You leaned forward, resting your forehead on his shoulder. The tears were still flowing, and Mark put aside his shyness to speak quietly. His words were low and careful, rustling through your hair.

"I chose to do this. No one's making me. I'd feel so much worse knowing I could be helping people but wasn't. Sure, I might get a little hurt sometimes, but if I manage to save a life because of that? It's all worth it, y/n. I know they don't like me very much in the news, but I still want to fight for all of them- all you people who can't stand up to a supervillain. I'll always fight for you." His eyes widened. "I-I meant that as like, not you as in you specifically, I meant like you as in like you guys, the people who live here. Of course, it's not like I'm not fighting for you? Anyway, um, yeah. I won't tell you… not to worry, but I wanted to say that."

You sighed, uncontrollably comforted by his soft voice in your ear. Wordlessly, you nodded into his shoulder, too emotionally exhausted to be reserved. That is, until a moment later, when you realized you’d cried to, buried your face into, and hugged Mark within the span of a few minutes. Then you suddenly remembered how to feel embarrassed. You rubbed your eyes hastily with your sleeves, acutely aware of his arms still around you.

“I-I’m really sorry. For being weird. And kinda losing it.”

“I don’t mind. It’s… It’s kind of nice, knowing that somebody will cry for me. O-of course, it’s not like I want you to cry or anything, I didn’t mean it like that, I just, I dunno, like-”

You laughed brightly, feeling the most at ease you had all night at the sound of his awkward rambling. 

A warm silence followed, and his arms grew anxious hovering around your waist.

“Can I hug you again?”

You blushed, but weren’t about to turn down a request from the boy who saved lives on the regular. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Maybe some part of you just selfishly wanted to hold him close again. Who could say for sure? You opened your arms and welcomed him into your embrace. It was clear he was still exhausted and weak, but he held you tightly, far tighter than you’d ever imagined your classmate was capable of. It was almost hard to breathe, but that actually relieved you. If he was this strong at his lowest, maybe he really could take on all the bad guys that roamed the streets.

“...Mark?”

“Mm?”

“I’m not gonna tell anyone who you are. I wouldn’t dream of it. You can count on me to keep it a secret." You squeezed him as much as you felt was safe, feeling the outline of bandages through his suit. “You can count on me to help you if you get hurt again. And you can count on me to cry every time. Whether you want me to or not.”

He laughed softly, and you could feel his warm breath against your neck, chilled by the night breeze.

“But if you don’t want me to cry, please don’t get hurt anymore,” you whispered.

“I can’t promise that.”

“Yeah, I know.”

You woke up as the sun began to rise, and flinched to find yourself still in Mark’s arms. For a moment, you paused, watching the pink light fall on his features, which looked serene despite the bruises settling in. Your back ached from laying on the metal fire escape all night, and you pitied the sleeping figure beside you, who’d feel even worse once he was awoken. Still, you couldn’t just leave him there.

“M-Mark. It’s morning. You gotta get home before your aunt calls the police.”

He grinned drowsily, a lazy hand reaching up to pat your cheek.

"This dream again?"

A second passed while you mulled over that question, then his eyes snapped open.

“What time is it? What’s going on? Where am I?”

“It’s okay! It’s still early, you’re at m-my house.”

“Oh… right. Honestly,” he smiled, halfway bashful and halfway still asleep, “Last night, when I first saw you, I thought I had died and you were an angel.”

You hoped the sunrise would disguise the glow on your cheeks. A sleepy Mark was a dangerous one. 

“S-sorry, just me.”

“Even better.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond to that, and he didn’t even seem to realize he’d said it. He stretched as much as his injuries would allow, stiff from the uncomfortable way he’d slept. He patted around for his mask, and slid it on, tattered as it was. In the morning light, you could see the tufts of hair that poked out from the tear near his eye, and the sight made you smile without thinking. He stood up, only groaning a bit as his spine loudly cracked.

“Thanks for everything, y/n. This was… uh. Nice? It was nice, I think. I don’t know what else to call it.” Even though you couldn’t see most of his face, you could picture his sheepish expression. It was strange how close you felt with him after a single night, but you supposed that was just the effect that life threatening injuries, shocking identity reveals, and emotional embraces tended to have.

“I feel the same way, Mark.”

He made a motion as though he was pushing up his glasses, only to realize he wasn’t wearing them. He ended up poking himself in the eye, letting out a soft, “Ow.” It was so positively endearing you thought your heart might just stop. In a moment of impulse, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to the cloth covering his face, right where you imagined his mouth might be.

“Y/n, w-why-”

“Drop by if you need patching up, Spiderman. I’ll see you at school.” Your face nearly matched the color of his mask as you cut him off, too embarrassed to allow the conversation to continue.

“...Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you at school.”

His visible eye crinkled with a smile, and he jumped off your fire escape.

[rosiehunterwolf]

For the Romping and the Roaring- Part 3

My submission for Day 3 of @serpentfever's Inhuman Event!

Link to read on ffn.net (Recommended if you are on mobile or haven't read the previous parts yet)

Preview:

Dammit, this was all his fault! He was so pathetic, how had he let this happen?

The hairs on the back of his neck tingled, and he glanced up and caught sight of Borg standing outside his cell, staring at him.

“You almost messed up everything, you brat. I’m not going to forget that.”

The pain increased again, and Kai screamed, feeling his eyes roll back in his head as blackness swamped at the edges of his vision.

“Turn it down, I don’t want him passing out.”

The pain dropped suddenly, and Kai gasped in relief, tears streaming down his face. It wasn’t gone completely, though- there was still a faint buzzing emitting from the collar- not enough to be painful, but enough to put him on edge.

Enough to remind him that he wasn’t the one in control here.

(Full chapter under the cut)

Prompts Used: Chase, Dehumanized

Word Count: 9,206 (welp we're back to browser-crashing length again)

Rating: Definitely T, maybe like T+

Trigger Warnings: Dehumanization (obviously), Imprisonment, Torture, Attempted Murder, Drugs, Blood, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts (yeah… this one’s pretty heavy, guys. Probably the darkest thing i've ever written...)

Consciousness came slowly, as if the air around him was thick and sticky. A metallic tang filled his mouth, and his limbs felt weighted and heavy. Everything hurt, and Kai wanted nothing more than to just fall back into the comfort of sleep, but his head was throbbing too much to do so. Breathing slowly, he opened his eyes.

At first, he just saw more darkness, and he wondered if he had even opened his eyes at all. After a few minutes of just staring at the ceiling, though, enough light made its way to his eyes that he could make out the long, steel bars that made up the far wall. Shackles dug into his wrists, the chain only giving him enough room to move his hands up to a foot apart, and another restraint, around his right ankle, was attached to a chain a couple yards long that tied him to where it was bolted to the floor in the corner. His muzzle was gone, although there was a leather band strapped around his throat, almost like some sort of collar. The cell was completely empty except for a toilet in the corner, and a sorry excuse for a mattress against the back wall.

Groaning, he raised his hands and rubbed his face, slowly pulling himself into a sitting position. Immediately, fluid rushed into his throat, and he choked, spitting and sending blood splattering all over the concrete. Running his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he felt the puncture wounds and realized that he must’ve bit down on it sometime when he had been unconscious. Coughing up the rest of the blood, he forced himself to breathe slowly, trying to ignore his stinging tongue.

When he had gotten his bearings a little better, he squinted, peering through the bars. In the cell across from him, Nya laid sprawled out on the floor, her chest rising and falling steadily as she slept. There was a nasty cut across her forehead, blood dripping into her eyes. Kai tasted the air, trying to catch the scent of any other injuries she might’ve had, but the scent of his own blood flooded his nostrils, blocking out anything else.

Against the back wall of the room, between their two cells, was the other occupied cell, where Lloyd was curled up on his mattress, the ashy gray color stained red beneath where his injured leg was stretched out. His chains were similar to the ones Kai and Nya had, although a significant amount shorter, so he could hardly even move around the cell.

Forcing himself to jerk his gaze away, he looked in the other direction. A few more cells stretched down the hallway, but they were all empty.

They were utterly alone.

The only sign of life in the place was the thin crack of light from underneath the door at the end of the hallway. Apart from that, though, the room was pitch black.

Kai leaned back against the wall with a huff. He had really done it now, hadn’t he? Gotten them all thrown in prison- they were likely either going to die or be kept here for the rest of their lives. There was no way that Borg would ever give them any freedom again, now that they knew too much.

There really was no escaping this one, was there?

Augh, if only him and Nya hadn’t had that stupid argument, they would be safe, back with the others right now.

Kai wondered how long they had been here. Had the others noticed their absence yet? Would they try to come after them?

As much as he wanted to be saved, wanted Nya and Lloyd to be safe, he really hoped they didn’t. The last thing he needed right now was the others being thrown in here with them. He hoped they ran far, far, away and never came back.

Kai wished for nothing more than to be back with them now, to feel one of Cole’s strong hugs, or Zane’s comforting presence, or even to hear one of Jay’s horrible jokes.

Kai buried his face in his knees and cried.

He just wanted to go home.

A soft moan sounded from across the room. “...Kai?”

Kai lifted his head briefly, meeting Nya’s tired, scared expression. “What?”

“What happened? Where are we?”

“Borg found us. He’s keeping us prisoner.” He lowered his face back into his knees, not even having the strength to hold his neck up anymore.

“Have you seen him yet? Borg?”

“No.”

“Have you spoken to anyone yet? Has anyone come down here?”

“No.”

Sensing the frustration in his tone, Nya fell silent. He heard the rattle of chains as she paced around the cell. For a long time, that was the only sound he heard, and after a while, he laid, face up, on his mattress, the sound of the chains the only thing reminding him that he wasn’t alone down here.

It could’ve been minutes or hours later when a noise sounded from the other side of the room. Kai sat up, glaring.

The door on the far end swung open, and light washed into the room. Kai threw his arms over his face, hissing at the brightness of it. After only a moment, though, the light faded, and Kai lowered his arms to see the door had been shut again. Flashlights clicked on, shining down the hall, and Kai squinted, catching sight of two trainers, and a vet, none of whose names Kai could remember.

With them, was Borg.

Nya growled at him, gripping the bars of her cell. “What do you want with us?”

“What I wanted was for you to do as you were told,” Borg told her, shining the light in her eyes, “but you just had to go and mess that up, didn’t you.”

Nya blinked furiously at the harsh light, but didn’t back down. “You wanted us to stand by and do nothing as you killed Lloyd?”

“Certain words are not meant for certain ears, dear. You two shouldn’t have been there that night. You really did make things much, much more complicated than they needed to be.”

“Why did you do it,” Kai snapped. “Why did you ever shelter us in the first place if all you were going to do was kill us?”

“Not you,” Borg corrected. “Only the boy. He messed everything up. The rest of you were supposed to be incredibly useful.”

“Stop dodging the question.”

“Boy, I am not dodging anything.” He turned his flashlight’s beam on Kai, his face suddenly looking a lot more threatening than Kai had ever seen it. “You are the one avoiding the truth here. I didn’t ‘take you in’ from anywhere. I made you. You and your mutant friends are nothing more than a lab experiment.”

Kai fell back from the bars, breathing out heavily. He heard Nya gasp, but he didn’t look at her. He didn’t look at anything, just at the ground.

“The truth stings, doesn’t it? You aren’t anything special, you aren’t unique. You were merely a trial for what is to come.”

“A trial for what?” Nya growled.

“You and your friends have been plenty useful. You have been resources to study, to sample DNA from, a test to see if we could contain you before we started making the others.”

Kai blinked. “Others?”

“Of course. You and your friends obviously didn’t work out- and you’re all too far gone now.”

“I don’t understand,” Kai asked. “Why do you want more… more people like us? You obviously don’t care about us.”

“I care about what you can do. Imagine the potential- a legion of seemingly normal people, such as yourself- who can, in the blink of an eye, transform into an army of great beasts! People who could fly, who could cross great distances in the blink of an eye, those who could hear our enemies coming from a mile away, or who could wield the strength of ten men. I’d be unstoppable!”

Kai and Nya exchanged horrified glances. “You’re building an army? What for?”

“Kai, my dear boy. Borg Industries is powerful, but we cannot do whatever we please. We still have so many regulations, limitations, and surveillance. Biotechnology, such as what we have developed, could change the world. But the world is deeply rooted in tradition, afraid of change. They would shun us, sue us for our groundbreaking discoveries, when we deserved to be praised and cheered for. What we need is more power. And power never comes for free. True power is only won through brute force.”

“You’ll never get anyone to comply with that,” Kai hissed. “We’re not objects, we’re living, breathing beings. You can’t just bend that to your will.”

“Oh, but we will. In time, anything can be controlled. We just need to make a few altercations to our future experiments. Something you and your friends have made incredibly easy by being our test subjects over the last couple decades. Your kind is really quite fascinating, you know.”

Kai bared his teeth and roared at him, but Borg merely laughed. “See, the problem with you is that we made you too human. Too sentient. There needs to be some balance, of course- a wild animal is untamed, it has no master- but a human being has too many weaknesses, too many thoughts of rebellion and betrayal.” Narrowing his eyes at Kai, he added, “Something we found out the hard way.

“We got closer with the child- his instincts appeared to be less humane, and he didn’t cause so much of a fuss.” He paused, frowning. “That is, until a few weeks ago.

“I think where we went wrong with him was the species. An oni and a dragon- two of the most powerful creatures known to man- we thought he would have unspeakable power. And he did- but it was too much, too much to be contained.

“But he has been a valuable resource- we shall use what we have learned with him to create a somewhat less powerful species. This time, we will get it right.”

Nya hissed at him, and he scowled, leaning over and spitting on her.

“The child has been very useful, indeed, but he has served his purpose, now. We no longer have a use for him.” Gesturing to the vet with one hand, she stepped forward, the carefully wrapped parcel in her hands now visible as she, Borg, and the trainers walked towards Lloyd’s cage.

“No!” Kai roared, jolting to his feet and racing to the bars. “Get away from him!”

“It’s for your own good. This child could off you in your sleep, if he so wished.”

Time was moving in slow motion. The door of Lloyd’s cage swung open with an eerie creak, and they filed inside. The vet unwrapped the parcel, revealing a syringe filled with a blue liquid, and a long, pointed needle on the end.

“Don’t you fuckin’ touch him!” Kai screamed, shaking at the bars of the cell. “You’re a deranged, psychotic, murdering bi-”

“Please, Dr. Borg, reconsider,” Nya whined, cutting off Kai’s violent string of curses. “We’ll be good, we’ll do what you want, just don’t kill him, please-”

“Shut up, the both of you,” Borg snapped. “We’re trying to work here. Nya, stop your sniveling, we know you’re not on our side. You’re no use to us anymore- Kai, stop trying to break through the bars, don’t you think we thought of that? Why do you think these cells are here in the first place? I had them made a while ago, as a precaution. They’re specifically tailored to counteract your special abilities. Nothing you do is going to break them.”

“I’ll kill you, I’ll find a way out of here and I’ll murder you-”

Borg sighed. “He’s losing it.” Turning to a trainer, he asked, “Turn it on, will you?”

The trainer pulled a small remote from his pocket, and turned a little dial.

Sharp, stinging pain shot through Kai’s neck, and he yelped, falling back from the bars and gripping at his neck- which was when he remembered the leather band there.

“I’m not-” he reached out, gasping as he wrapped a hand around one of the bars. “You’re not making me-”

The pain increased, and Kai doubled over, wheezing, his eyes watering. “Ahhh!”

“Kai!” Nya yelped. “Stop it, what are you doing to him?”

“Handy little device your trainers whipped up for you. Human shock collar. You like it? Except these things can deliver a lot more voltage than the kind people put on their dogs.”

“Stop it, please-” he moaned. Pins and needles were stabbing into his neck, the zinging reverberating down his spine.

“Do it, while he’s distracted.”

Kai pushed back against the pain, rolling his eyes up so that he could see Lloyd. The boy was still sleeping soundly on the mattress, although one ear was twitching slightly. Or maybe that was just the collar, vibrating him.

“Lloyd!” He screamed, the collar making his voice tremble. “Wake up, wake up, they’re going to-”

The pain increased tenfold, and Kai choked, falling to his knees. He gritted his teeth, and they chattered from the vibrations. He wasn’t giving up, he couldn’t-

“Lloyd!”

The roar ripped through the room, echoing off the walls and causing everyone in the room to flinch. Lloyd jerked awake, squealing as he caught sight of Borg and the needle. Leaping off of the mattress, he darted across the cell in a flash-

He stumbled with a squeak of pain as he tripped over his injured leg, tumbling to the floor. The trainers and Borg surrounded him, boxing him in as the vet approached slowly with the needle.

“Lloyd, fight! Fight back!”

Lloyd hissed in the vet’s face, fire shooting from his throat. The vet cried out, stumbling back. One of the trainers grabbed at him, and Lloyd whipped around, chomping down on her hand.

“He bit me,” she shrieked, pulling back. “The brat bit me, I’m probably going to get like, rabies or something!”

“You’ll be fine,” Borg snapped, “just stop him!”

Lloyd hissed in his face, jumping from the man’s hand as he reached for him-

Just as the vet stabbed the needle into his thigh.

Kai, Nya, and Lloyd screamed.

The pain from the shock collar barely registered anymore, the burning in his chest so much stronger. Kai gripped the bars of the cell, rage and fear and despair wracking his body so he didn’t even know how to function.

Borg had done it, he had killed him, he was gone-

Kai’s stomach heaved, and he turned away, throwing up across the concrete. How could this be happening, what had he done to deserve this, what had Lloyd done?

He hugged his knees to his chest, sobs shuddering through him, teeth rattling. He hadn’t even been able to save one person, he had failed everyone, Zane and Cole and Jay were going to hate him when they found out their baby brother was dead and Kai had done nothing to stop it-

Not that it mattered, it wasn’t like he was going to ever see them again.

Dammit, this was all his fault! He was so pathetic, how had he let this happen?

The hairs on the back of his neck tingled, and he glanced up and caught sight of Borg standing outside his cell, staring at him.

“You almost messed up everything, you brat. I’m not going to forget that.”

The pain increased again, and Kai screamed, feeling his eyes roll back in his head as blackness swamped at the edges of his vision.

“Turn it down, I don’t want him passing out.”

The pain dropped suddenly, and Kai gasped in relief, tears streaming down his eyes. It wasn’t gone completely, though- there was still a faint buzzing emitting from the collar- not enough to be painful, but enough to put him on edge.

Enough to remind him that he wasn’t the one in control here.

Not that Kai really cared anymore. Lloyd was dead. Nothing mattered.

Kai wanted to die.

---

Over the next few hours- days? minutes? he didn’t know, and frankly, he didn’t care- weariness dragged at Kai, but sleep wouldn’t come. No, sleep would be too easy, too peaceful. Instead, he laid awake, staring at the ceiling as darkness sapped at his limbs. He didn’t move to the mattress, just stayed on the floor. Maybe the coolness of the concrete could alleviate some of the raging heat storming inside of him.

Every once in a while, he mustered the strength to crawl over the toilet so he could throw up. He didn’t know why he bothered. Being hygienic didn’t matter to him anymore. Nothing mattered.

After the third time, though, he had thrown up everything his stomach had to give, and when his insides kept churning, he just rested his head on the side of the toilet and dry heaved.

“Kai,” Nya whispered after a minute of this. “Stop, you’re just going to make yourself sick again.”

“I don’t care,” he rasped, his throat dry and raw.

“Damn that, I don’t want to lose you too.”

“We’re all going to die down here eventually.”

She fell silent at that. She knew he was right.

“You’re scaring Lloyd, Kai. Don’t let him see you like this.”

“Are you delusional, Nya? Lloyd’s gone.”

“Not yet,” she whimpered. “It… it hasn’t kicked in yet. I guess it must take a while until… anyway, see for yourself.”

“I don’t want to. I’m scared.”

“He’s here, I promise you.”

“What if it’s too painful? I don’t want to see him if I’m just going to lose him in a few minutes.”

“What if you miss out on your only chance to see him one more time?”

Kai was quiet for a moment. Mustering all the strength he had left, he slowly turned over.

Lloyd was sitting at the edge of his cell, staring at him. He was smiling softly at Kai, but his eyes were fearful. Kai tried to ignore how his ears were drooping, how his tail hung limp, and his eyelids heavy with sleep, one he would never wake up from-

Kai broke into tears, and Lloyd churred softly, leaning against the bars as he reached his fingers through. Kai did the same, although there was still a gaping distance between them.

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Kai choked through the tears. “I’m sorry this happened to you. You don’t deserve any of it.”

“‘s not your fault,”

“It’s not yours, either,” Nya told him. “None of this happened because of you. I want you to remember that, okay? Don’t… don’t think about that, now.”

Nya buried her face in her hands, whimpering. Lloyd leaned his face on the bars. “I love you guys.”

“We love you too, bud,” Kai whispered. “More than you will ever know.”

---

Sleep found him eventually- that, or lack of fluids caused him to pass out. Either way, some time had passed by the time he drug his eyelids open again.

Squinting, he realized there were people standing in front of Lloyd’s cell. Sounds filtered in slowly, taking a moment to come through clearly.

“-don’t understand, why hasn’t it kicked in yet? He should’ve stopped breathing long ago.”

“I’m not sure. This should have worked. It might have something to do with his lineage, I suppose- perhaps his genes grant him extra immunity to fight back against it.”

“That seems logical. He definitely seems very drowsy and sluggish, so it obviously had some effect on him-”

“But not the one we wanted,” a third voice snapped. As consciousness came fully, he connected the voice to Borg. “Apparently he’s immune to euthenasia drugs, now? What next? This is only more proof of what I’ve been saying- he’s becoming more dangerous. We should’ve killed him right away, that first night, when we had the chance.”

“It’s alright, sir, we still have time. He’s not going anywhere, down here. We can develop a stronger serum.”

“Do you think it will work?”

“With the right blood samples from him, I can be confident of it.”

“How soon can you have it ready?”

“A few days, a week- it’s hard to tell until I start.”

“Fine. But it better work this time. Or you’re fired.”

“You have my word, sir.”

Footsteps echoed past his cell, then down the hall. The sound of the door swinging shut determined they had left. Kai sat up immediately.

“Nya! Did you hear that?”

“It didn’t work,” she breathed. “He’s going to be okay!”

“For now. How long do you think it’s going to take them to make the new drug?”

“If I know Borg, I wouldn’t bet on long. We have to find a way out of here before we actually do lose him.”

“But how?” He breathed out, falling back against the wall. “We’re trapped here. The securative measures aren’t exactly light. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

Nya was quiet for a moment. “We’ll figure something out.”

“I sure hope so.”

Nya turned towards Lloyd’s cell, pressing her face against the bars. “How’re you doing, Lloydster?”

Lloyd murmured sleepily at her, and she sighed. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad it didn’t kill him, but I hope it doesn’t make him sick.”

“Yeah. It seems like he’s just tired, but who knows.”

The door swung open again, and the two shied back from the light. Two people shuffled in, both unfamiliar, and Kai eyed them warily.

They were young, probably not much older than Cole. Kai was surprised that Borg was even letting them know that Kai and the other hybrids existed, not to mention letting them in their cell block alone.

The male stretched out his hand as he passed, letting his knuckles clack against the bars eerily.

“What do you want,” Kai snapped.

“Chill out, mutant boy, I’m here to feed you.”

Just at the mention of food, Kai’s stomach rumbled. His mouth watered, and against his will, he found himself leaning towards the man. He hadn’t eaten- or drank- anything since the morning of their capture- which, although he had no idea how much time had passed, felt like forever ago. He had even considered drinking out of the toilet at one point, but had decided he wasn’t that desperate.

Yet.

The man laughed at his expression. “Check it out, Em. They really are like animals.”

Kai clenched his teeth, surging up to the bars. “Listen, you punk, you don’t know-”

He was interrupted as his shock collar went off, screaming with pain as he rolled to his knees, frothing at the mouth. He heard shrieks from Nya and Lloyd too, but he was in too much pain to move. The rusty hinges of his cell door screeched as the man entered, laying two metal bowls by the wall. He felt his arms get tugged back, metal cuffs clicking around them. He wanted to kick and hiss at the man, hurt him while he was still within distance, but the pain from the collar stopped him.

There was a dry, rattling sound as the man filled his bowls, then exited the cell, locking the door firmly. Then, finally, the pain dropped away.

“What was that for,” he rasped, his voice still raw from the sudden shock.

“Couldn’t have you fighting back, could we?”

Kai grimaced. He glanced over at Nya and Lloyd and saw they had been cuffed too. “Why do we need handcuffs to eat? Isn’t that sort of counterintuitive?”

“Borg says you’re feisty. Doesn’t want to take the chance of you using anything that’s not bolted down to your advantage. Or to try and kill yourself. He wants to keep you around for a while yet, in case he needs to do any more testing.”

“You think I could escape- or kill myself- with a bowl?”

“You’d be surprised what people can do when they’re desperate. Now, eat up- unless you want to be handcuffed the rest of the night.”

Kai turned to the bowls, squinting at them. One was filled with a gritty-looking water that didn’t seem much more appealing than the toilet water. The other was filled with small, hard, brown pellets.

“What is this, dog food?” Nya scoffed.

The woman smiled. “That’s exactly what it is, sweetheart. What, you weren’t expecting a five-course meal, were you?”

“You can’t seriously expect us to eat this!”

“Would you rather have no food?” The woman asked sweetly. “I’m sure that could be arranged.”

Nya went quiet, but her nose wrinkled as she stared down at the food.

Kai sighed. As unappetizing as it was, it beat the horrible hunger pangs, or passing out from dehydration. He went to reach for the bowl-

Then he remembered the handcuffs.

“How the hell are we supposed to eat with our hands tied behind our backs?”

The guy smiled wickedly. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, kitty.”

Kai felt his face turn bright red. They wanted them to eat from the bowl like dogs. This was humiliating.

But he was so hungry. He didn’t know when the next opportunity for food would come.

Leaning down, he scooped up a mouthful of the pellets. They were gritty and sour, one of the worst things Kai had ever tasted in his life, but at this point he didn’t care. He could hear the man and woman who had brought the food laughing and jeering behind him, and he tried to ignore it. It was this, or starve.

After he had finished the food, he burped at the awful taste, trying to suppress the urge to throw it all up. But he forced himself to lick the sides of the bowl, getting every bit of food he could scrounge.

The dry, salty taste of the dog food had only worsened his thirst now, and by this point he didn’t care how dirty the water looked, setting upon it with frantic laps of his tongue. He immediately found it to be much harder than eating. Water dribbled down his chin, so by the time the bowl was empty, his front side was soaked and only about half of the liquid had actually been swallowed. The man and woman got a kick out of that, joking that he had wet himself. Kai had never felt worse than this in his life. He would rather take the pain from the shock collar. He had wanted to go hide behind the toilet for the rest of the night, but knew that would only make the teasing worse.

After what seemed like forever, Nya and Lloyd finally finished their meals and the man and woman turned their attention away from Kai. The shock collars were turned on again, and Kai was once again helplessly paralyzed with pain as the man came in and removed his handcuffs, put the more flexible shackles back on, and took away the bowls. When the cell doors were locked, the shock collars were turned off. Kai forced himself to stay still until the man and woman were gone, but as soon as the room’s door was shut, he collapsed into a ball, hugging himself and shivering.

No one spoke for a long time after that, letting him know that he wasn’t the only one deeply disturbed by their experience.

Kai’s sleep was broken and feverish that night, filled with dreams of him, Lloyd, and Nya locked up in a giant kennel. Children kept peering in, poking their fingers at them and barking at them. They dressed him up in bows and made him do tricks, laughing and giving him dog treats when he complied, and zapping him with the shock collar when he didn’t.

He burst awake in a cold sweat, crying with relief when he realized it had just been a dream.

He didn’t fall asleep again after that, even though his whole body felt heavy with exhaustion.

The next time the door opened, he scrambled back from the light, hissing. His head was aching, and the darkness offered the only sort of comfort right now.

But he was ignored, four trainers walking past his and Nya’s cages and towards the one on the end. Instantly, Kai was at the bars, watching them carefully with bared teeth. If they tried to pull something again-

Well, what was he going to do? He was helpless in here.

Glancing over, he saw a pair of yellow-green eyes glowing in the darkness and knew that Nya was watching, too.

The door of Lloyd’s cage slowly creaked open, and a pair of trainers slipped in. Lloyd hissed at them as they approached, and they stopped. Slowly, one of the trainers reached out, and Lloyd snapped at his hand, and he yanked it away, barely escaping unscathed.

The other trainer grabbed an object from his pocket that Kai recognized as the remote to the shock collars, and Kai immediately shied back, trembling as he remembered the pain.

“Behave, mutant,” the trainer with the remote snapped. “Or we will not hesitate to turn this on.”

Lloyd looked at the remote with wide eyes, his ears pressed flat against his head. Kai had been in some of the worst pain of his life the previous night- or whenever it had been, his internal clock had been all thrown off by the dark dungeon- and Lloyd was less than half his size. He didn’t want to think about how hard it must’ve been on his little body.

Reaching down, the other trainer in the cell clipped something onto his collar, then unfurled it. It was a blue, leather leash.

The trainer with the remote pulled a key out of his pocket and crouched down next to Lloyd. He hesitated, giving him a pointed glare. “Remember, no funny business.” Swiftly, he unlocked the chain around his leg.

Lloyd bolted, immediately falling to the floor as the trainer switched on the collar. Lloyd whimpered, writhing, and Kai growled, “Stop!”

A trainer outside of the cage whipped around. “Be quiet, or we won’t hesitate to turn yours on, too.”

“Turn it off,” another one said. “He needs to have strength to walk.”

Lloyd fell still, chest heaving as the collar deactivated. “You’re not going anywhere, pet,” the trainer with the leash scoffed, giving the leash a sharp tug for emphasis. “So don’t even try.”

The trainers filed out of the cage, tugging Lloyd none-to-genly behind them.

“What are you going to do to him?” Kai growled. “Where are you taking him?”

“Your little mutant has proven to be quite stubborn,” one of the trainers scowled. “But our vets are some of the best out there. With only a few blood samples, we’ll have a strong enough drug, don’t you worry.”

“He’s lost too much blood already,” Kai hissed. “You can’t do that.”

“What does it matter to us if he passes out? The creature is of no value to us- in fact, that would only make our job easier.”

Kai roared at her, and a sharp jolt zapped through him. He glared at the trainers. “It’s going to take more than that to quiet me.”

“Careful. If you cause too much trouble, we might zap the little guy, too.”

Kai snapped his jaws shut, his gaze drifting to Lloyd, who was struggling to his feet as the collar tugged tightly at his neck.

“Come on, pet,” the trainer holding Lloyd’s leash demanded. “We don’t have all day.”

Lloyd stumbled after him, but after only a few steps, his bad leg gave out and he tumbled to the floor, crying out.

“Get up!” The trainer yanked on the leash, jolting Lloyd towards him.

“Stop it, he can’t walk on that leg!” Nya cried. “It’s still injured!”

“Then crawl,” the trainer snapped, kicking him forward, and Lloyd jerked onto his hands and knees, shuffling after the trainers slowly.

Kai watched him pass, his ears flattened and his tail tucked between his legs as he was yanked along by the leash, and felt a sick feeling rise in his stomach. This wasn’t right, it was humiliating and a blatant disregard of dignity.

He didn’t understand how he had gone so long in Borg Tower without realizing the signs. How they had always been viewed as lesser, as objects for Borg’s use. No one had ever cared about them. All the toys, the trinkets, the gadgets, the outings- had been nothing but a trick to make them feel like they were worth something.

Nya had been right. As soon as they got out of here, Kai was gonna let Lloyd be whoever he wanted to be, and not make him change for anybody.

If they got out of here.

Kai crawled into the corner of his cage and curled up in a ball, hugging his knees to his chest, trying to ignore the depressing thoughts raging around in his head. He couldn’t afford to listen to them right now, right now he was just trying to focus on not throwing up. He didn’t know how long it would be until they next got food or water.

He was faintly aware of the shivers wracking his body, and wondered if he was coming down with something. He wouldn’t be surprised- he hadn’t consumed anything but dog food and stale water since they had been here, and had been wearing the same crusty clothes the whole time, too. There hadn’t even been a sink provided in the cage, not that it would do much to help him without soap, anyway.

Just another problem to add the list, he supposed.

It was funny how, before they had been captured, he had been so resentful and stressed about their situation, thinking it was one of the worst times of his life.

He would give pretty much anything to have those problems back, now.

---

“It’s been twelve hours since they were supposed to be back,” Jay yelped, pacing back and forth, his footsteps echoing sharply with an unusual agitation. “Even if something had happened, they would’ve come back by now, or at least called us.”

“They could’ve ran out of minutes,” Cole rationalized. “These damn prepaids don’t last very long.”

“But why wouldn’t they come back? Kai and Nya would never worry us like this, not unless they didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

“I know.” Cole ran his fingers through his hair. “But maybe they escaped. Maybe they ran and didn’t want to risk leading anyone back here.”

“I hope you’re right. If anything’s happened to them-” his lip quivered, and he looked away as tears pricked his eyes.

“Jay, it’s going to be okay.” Cole reached out, setting a hand on his shoulder. “We’re going to find them.”

“You can’t promise that,” Jay barked, flinching away.

“No. But I’m going to do everything in my power to try. They’re our family, Jay. Family doesn’t give up on family.”

“I know,” Jay sniffed, wiping at his eyes. “I’m just scared.”

Cole wrapped his hands around him, letting Jay bury his face in his shoulder. “Me too, bud. Me too.”

Jay and Cole jumped nearly a foot in the air as the door swung open, and Cole let out a breath of relief as he realized it was only Zane.

“Did you find anything?”

Zane shook his head. “No sign of them anywhere. I even asked a few of the shopkeepers- as many as I could without raising suspicion, anyway- by showing them a photo I had. A few of them thought they looked familiar, but no one was able to tell me where they went or if they had seen anything out of the ordinary.”

“We have to do something,” Jay insisted. “If they’re being held hostage somewhere, who knows what they’ll do to them.”

“What can we do?” Cole asked. “I want to do something as much as you do, but we don’t have anywhere to start. We don’t even know where they are.”

“Maybe not,” Zane admitted, “but we can make an educated guess. The most likely reason that Kai and Nya have not gotten back to us is that they were captured. There are two main parties most likely responsible. Borg Industries- and the Ninjago City Police.”

Jay frowned. “How do we know the police are against us?”

“We don’t. But we can’t entirely clear them yet, either. If they found out Kai, Nya, and Lloyd’s secret, they could possibly see them as a threat and lock them up.”

“But if hybrids like us are such a rare thing, the news would be all over this if the police had discovered them,” Cole pointed out. “We’re basically living under a rock in here, but you would’ve seen something, like on TV or somewhere, when you went out, wouldn’t you have?”

“Fair point. So we can most likely conclude that it was Borg that found them.”

Jay put his head in his hands. “Last time we saw Borg, he wanted to kill Lloyd. If we’re going to do something, we better hurry.”

“Where do you think he’s keeping them?” Cole asked. “Borg Tower?” “That feels too simple,” Jay muttered. “He knows that’s the first place we’d look. But at the same time, I have no idea where else they would be.”

“We can’t just storm the building,” Zane argued. “There’s only three of us. Even with our enhanced abilities, it would never be enough to get through Borg’s headquarters. If we even knew where to begin looking for them, that is. Borg Tower isn’t exactly small.”

“What options do we have?” Jay whined. “We can’t afford to waste any time. We have no idea what Borg could be doing to them right now. And, besides, even if we could wait a while, it’s not like we’re magically going to gain more allies or anything.”

“We need to come up with some sort of plan,” Zane insisted, “Otherwise we’re going to end up getting captured too, which won’t help anyone.”

“You’re both right. We can’t go in without a plan, but we can’t afford to wait, either. And no one’s going to have an epiphany just sitting around here thinking. If we’re going to make a plan that’ll work, we need more information.”

“How do you suggest we get it?” Zane frowned.

“We sneak down and scope out Borg Tower. We don’t breach it, just observe what we can from afar.”

Jay glanced at him skeptically. “You really think we’ll be able to find out much like that?”

“Does anyone else have any better ideas?”

No one said anything.

“Then it’s settled. That’s what we’re doing.”

“When do we set out?” Jay asked.

“I would like to leave as soon as possible, but it’s just too risky. If we don’t want to get caught, we should wait until the cover of dusk is on our side. I also don’t think we should risk taking the bus at all, and it’s a few hours walk to Borg Tower. We’ll leave here late afternoon.”

Zane and Jay exchanged glances, nodding. “Do you want us to do anything, Cole?”

“I dunno. Grab something to eat, get some rest if you can. I have no idea how long this is going to take. Pack up the bare essentials, just in case we’re not able to come back.

“Come this afternoon, be ready. We’re going to get our family back.”

---

Cole stared up at the looming skyscraper in front of him, his heart pounding in his chest.

This was it. They were here.

“Keep walking, Cole,” Zane whispered from behind him. “We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”

Cole picked up the pace, falling into step behind Jay, and melting into the crowd of passersby around them.

“What do we do now?” Jay whispered back to him.

“Just keep an eye out for-” Cole stopped, his gaze drifting towards the front doors of Borg Tower.

“What is it?”

“Over there,” he hissed, nodding sideways in the direction. Two people, emerging from the doors of Borg Tower, whom Cole didn’t recognize, but noticed the familiar outfits of the caretakers, had slung garbage bags over their shoulders, and were heading towards the back to toss them out.

“It might not be much, but it’s as good a place as any to start,” he whispered. “Let’s go!”

Subtly slipping past the citizens, he darted around the side of Borg Tower, Zane and Jay on his heels.

He froze in place as the muffled voices of the caretakers came into view. They were close. But not close enough. He needed to get closer if he wanted to be able to listen in.

If only Kai were here. Where was the guy with superhearing when you needed him?

If only they were all here. Cole just wanted them to be safe. He didn’t know what he would do if they found them and one or more of them were already gone.

But now wasn’t the time to think about that. Now, he had a job to do.

“Transform,” he whispered to the others. “You’ll be smaller, and easier to hide that way.”

With a flash, the three boys were gone, and a badger, a labrador, and a falcon stood in their place.

Crouching low to the ground, Cole edged around the corner.

The caretakers were hauling the trash bags into a dumpster a little ways down. Jay dropped down onto his belly and wriggled under the dumpster in front of them, Cole and Zane squeezing under after him, with considerable more difficulty.

“-giving us a lot of trouble,” the voices filtered in as they got within earshot. “I can’t wait until this whole thing is over and done with.”

“Have they gotten any closer with the drug yet?” the male voice asked.

“Somewhat, I think.” A second voice, the female. “They’re gathering a lot of blood from the kid, which seems to be helping, but it still could take up to a week.”

“What about the older ones? What’s he going to do with them?”

“Borg wants to keep them alive, for now, to see if they can give him any clues to where the rest of them are. I’m not so sure, though- they’re both very stubborn. I think they’d rather die than give up any information. Especially the lion one- he doesn’t seem like he’s gonna last much longer. We can hardly get him to eat anything.”

Cole clenched his teeth, biting back the shuddering breath. So they had been right. Borg did have their friends.

And, from the sounds of it, they were running out of time to save them.

“Do you have the key?” The female snapped. “We can’t have anyone breaking in here.”

“Here.” There was a jangle of metal as the padlock was locked, and then footsteps came sharply towards them. Cole shrunk back, watching their feet cautiously as they passed.

“Why would they need to lock a dumpster?” Jay whispered.

Zane’s eyes glinted. “The only logical solution is that there’s something in there they don’t want anyone to see. They must be hiding evidence. We need to see what’s in those garbage bags.”

“Zane, wait-” Cole hissed, but the falcon was already slipping out from under the dumpster where they were hiding, and over to the one the caretakers had put the bags in.

Jay let out a whine, and Cole crept forward, so he could peer out at Zane. The falcon was perched on top of the dumpster, sticking a talon into the lock as he jiggled it. The clanking of metal echoed threateningly through the air.

“Zane, stop,” he begged. “We can’t let them catch us, we have to wait until we know for sure they’re-”

“What the- I knew I heard something back here!”

Cole cringed back, and Jay yelped beside him as the man’s feet came into view. Cole quickly shushed him. The man had only seen Zane. Revealing themselves as well would only make it easier for him to connect the dots about who they were.

“Shoo, pest, shoo!” The man cried, running towards Zane but still keeping a respectable distance from the large bird of prey. Zane squawked, and Cole heard a flutter of feathers that he hoped was Zane flying away.

“What’s going on, Jake-” the woman called, her footsteps hurrying over and halting abruptly. “Holy shit! Is that a falcon?”

Cole cringed. It didn’t take a genius to know that falcons weren’t native to Ninjago City.

“It’s him!” she cried. “The falcon. It has to be! Quick, catch him!”

Cole shuffled forward as the two scuffled after Zane, who was shrieking and squawking as he flapped just above their heads.

C’mon, Zane, get them out of here-

The woman jumped up, catching his wing in her grasp, and yanked, sending a handful of tawny feathers flying. Zane screeched in pain, falling to the ground.

Jay yelped behind him, and before Cole could stop himself, he shot out from under the dumpster, and latched his jaws around the woman’s shoe.

She screamed, attempting to shake him off. “The other one’s here too! It’s got me, it’s got me, get it off!” She kicked, hard, and Cole went tumbling off her foot, right in front of the man, who raised his foot to deliver a kick-

The man stumbled backwards as something jerked at his leg. A yellow lab was sinking his teeth into his pant leg, holding him back. Releasing it, he barked loudly, running circles around the man as he tried to land a hit on the small dog. But Jay was too fast.

On his other side, Zane was struggling to his feet, oblivious of the woman running up behind him. Dashing past the falcon, there was a flash, and suddenly Cole was five feet taller, and punching the woman in the face with very human knuckles. She crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

The man cried out as he tripped over Jay, and before he could blink, the dog was gone, and Jay was pinning him to the ground with a foot.

The man’s face dissolved into panic as Cole approached him. “Please, don’t hurt me, I won’t tell them about you, I promise.”

Cole paused, narrowing his eyes at him.

“Don’t do it, Cole,” Zane urged, now no longer a bird, and sitting on the floor. “He’s lying. He’ll run right back to them and we’ll be captured before the day is up.”

“I swear, I won’t!” the man begged. “I needed this job! I was told it was such a great opportunity, I had no idea what I was getting into! I don’t want to hurt you!”

“Rich that you’re having a change of heart now,” Jay snorted. “You didn’t seem too concerned about us a minute ago.”

“Please, let me go, if they find me here and figure out I let you escape, they’ll kill me! I have a family!”

Cole glanced at the others. Jay looked uncertain. Zane looked angry. “I still say he’s bluffing.”

Cole glanced down at the man. The terror in his eyes was real, that was for sure. Relenting, he breathed out, taking a step back. “That may be so, but we’re not like them. Jay, let him go.”

Jay looked up at him. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Slowly, Jay moved his foot, and the man bolted to his feet. Cole reached out, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt before he could slip away. Pulling him close, Cole gave him the hardest glare he could muster.

“If I let you go, you’re gonna run. Run as far away from here as you possibly can, and never come back. If you rat us out to anyone- anyone, Borg worker or otherwise- I will personally track you down and find you. And I’ve got the best tracker in the whole city on my side, so I won’t fail. Is that clear?”

The man nodded frantically, his eyes wide. His voice came out a squeak. “I swear on my life, I won’t tell a soul.”

“You better not.” And, with barely a beat of hesitation, Cole released him.

The man was gone in the blink of an eye.

“I hope I didn’t just blow it,” he breathed.

“I can’t tell you if that was the right decision or not,” Jay said, “but you were right about one thing. We’re not like them. If he tells anyone, he’s the scum, not you.”

“I know this sounds dumb, but I don’t think he will. I just had… a feeling.”

“Feelings and survival don’t mix,” Zane snapped.

Cole turned to him, where he still sat on the ground. “I’m sorry, buddy, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it.”

“I’m not blaming you, I just don’t trust him,” he muttered, pulling his leg closer to his body with a wince.

Debate forgotten, Cole started forward. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you?”

“Just pulled out a few feathers, nothing serious. But I think I landed badly on my ankle.”

Cole crouched down, tracing his fingers along his ankle. Zane flinched back, grimacing.

“Sorry. Does it hurt bad?”

“Yeah. I think it might be sprained.”

“Hey, guys?”

“Not now, Jay. Do you think we could-”

“Guys!” Jay cried. “This isn’t really something that can wait!” Cole glared back at him. “What?”

Jay held up a small, black device. Cole squinted at it, adjusting his glasses. “What’s so important about that?”

“It’s a pager, Cole. It fell out of the caretaker’s pocket. If she used it, there’s probably Borg employees on their way here right now!”

“Shit,” he muttered. “We gotta get out of here.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to say!”

“Cole, I don’t think I can walk,” Zane admitted. “You two should go without me.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Cole fumed. “We’re family, we don’t leave each other behind!”

“I’ll only slow you down.”

Muffled shouts and harried footsteps came from somewhere nearby. Jay whipped towards them, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Hurry, guys, they’re coming!”

“Get on my back,” Cole demanded. “Now.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I’m going to carry you. Now, hurry!”

Jay helped Zane to his feet, and his friend slipped his hands around Cole’s neck, wrapping his legs around his waist. He had only just about gotten into place when Cole took off running, Jay on his heels.

The lab hybrid quickly overtook him, sniffing the air and leading them down a maze of alleys and backroads. He glanced back at them, his gaze nervously darting to something behind him. Cole didn’t even dare look back.

“Hurry, Cole! They’re getting closer!” “I’m running as fast as I can,” he huffed, although he forced himself to put on a burst of speed.

“Cole…”

“I swear, Zane, if you ask me to leave you behind one more time, I will punch you in the face.”

Zane fell quiet after that, but Cole could still feel his reluctance.

“Cole, watch out, they’ve got-” Jay’s warning was cut off with a yelp as a net came hurling through the air towards them, snagging Jay’s leg.

“-net launchers!” he finished.

“Jay!” “Don’t stop, don’t stop, I’ll be out in a second-”

Cole gritted his teeth, and kept running, even as he passed him.

“Jay, hurry!”

“I’m here, I’m here,” Jay called a moment later, already at his side again. “But they’re getting closer! This isn’t working!”

“Stop running!” A voice called from behind them, over a megaphone. “You will not evade capture. You are only making the consequences worse for yourself. Give up now, and you will be shown mercy!” “Sorry, but last time Borg showed us ‘mercy,’ we barely escaped with our lives,” Cole retorted.

“They’re right, though,” Jay murmured. “We’re never going to be able to outrun them! We need a new plan.”

“Well, we don’t have another plan.”

“I might have one. Keep running, stick to the left roads, that’ll take you out of town.”

Cole snatched his wrist before he could dart away. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m gonna distract them. Lead them somewhere else so you guys can get away.”

“Will you two stop trying to sacrifice yourself,” Cole growled, “For five minutes?”

“I’m not sacrificing myself! I know these streets. I’m faster and more cunning than either of you. I can get away, if I’m on my own. I have no intention of getting caught, trust me.”

“It’s too risky. We’re not splitting up.”

“But-”

“Cole’s right, Jay. We already are down three members, and it’s going to be a whole lot harder to save them if there’s only two of us left.”

“I told you, I won’t get caught!”

“You can’t promise that,” Cole argued. “You’re staying with us, end of discussion.”

“Then what other plans you got, badger boy?”

Cole didn’t look at him.

“Over there!” Zane pointed. “Down that alley, about one hundred feet down, there’s a path hidden behind those vines.”

“What?” Jay snapped. “No there isn’t!”

“Are you forgetting who has falcon-vision here?” Zane retaliated.

“Just do it,” Cole hissed. “It’s not like we have a wide range of options, here!”

They darted down the alley Zane had pointed them down, and Cole scanned the wall for anything unusual. “Where is it?”

“Keep going,” Jay pressed, “We need to get through it before they round the corner or they’ll just follow us in!”

“Right there!” Zane pointed.

Following his finger, Cole caught sight of a patch of vines, the brick crumbling away behind it.

“Jackpot, Zane!” Cole cheered.

Jay scrambled through first, holding back the vines as Cole maneuvered through more carefully, trying to account for Zane. As soon as they were through, Jay yelped, “Go, go, go!” Cole’s lungs were killing him by this point, but he didn’t hesitate to race after him. He would be stupid to belive they were safe now. Already, he could hear the angry shouts of the Borg security officers behind them, and knew it wouldn’t be long before they found the broken wall.

But it had given them a moment. And, right now, they needed every moment they could get.

“What are… what are we going to do now?” Cole wheezed.

“We can’t keep this up,” Zane frowned, watching him with concern. “You can’t keep running forever. Not even Jay.”

“We need help,” Jay panted. “We can’t do this on our own.”

“Who’s going to help us?” Cole huffed. “We’re alone. Nobody has our backs in this.”

“I don’t know, maybe we can go ask someone. Those are houses over there, right? Maybe someone will agree to hide us.”

“They’ll probably think we’re escaped criminals, bozo. No one’s gonna agree to hide some random fugitive.”

“Well, what other choice do we have?”

“I… may have an idea,” Zane said quietly.

They looked at him expectantly, but he hesitated. “Well?” Jay yipped. “Are you going to tell us, or not?”

“You’re not going to like it… but there is somewhere we could go.”

Jay threw up his hands. “We don’t have time for this Zane, they’re gonna find us any minute! Just get to the point!”

“We could go… to the police.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

She [4]

Warnings: non-consent sex (series)

This is dark! Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Synopsis: Steve Rogers’ life is turned upside down by a reporter.

Chapter Summary: Steve continues his observation.

Note: I’m excited to share more with y’all. I have a doctors appointment today but I don’t know, if you really want Painted Windows too, I have a chapter that can be edited otherwise I can save that for after this is done. Anyways, have fun and be safe.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Steve

Steve was up all night thinking about her. He tried to forget, tried to hide his face in his pillow and doze off but it was hopeless. He tossed and turned until the sky began to lighten through his window and went for an early run. Even at that hour however, he wasn’t alone. He saw the lens as he set off down the sidewalk but managed to lose the photographer by the next block.

He returned home and showered. He was still agitated. He wasn’t used to being angry for this long but the pit in his stomach remained. Her face stayed etched in his mind; her voice echoed in his ears. He caught himself thinking of how her body draped over the lumpy cushions and her chest rose and fell steadily. 

He cranked off the faucet before his mind could float away with the steam. He stepped out and wiped away the clouds that had obscured the mirror. He looked at himself. The wrinkles had been more obvious for a while. After Thanos, the edges had begun to fray. The serum slowed the process but didn’t stop it.

He leaned on the sink as he looked closer. He was a centenarian now but he looked closer to forty. As well as time had treated him, it was running out. How long would he do this? If he did keep his job, how long would he go? Until he was grey and bent? Still alone and even more bitter?

He heard the crack and looked down. The porcelain had broken in his grip and the sink split in a ragged line. He pulled away the chunk and sighed. Well, that would be something to keep him busy. He tossed the piece on the counter and turned away from his reflection.

He went into the bedroom as he dried off. His blond hair stuck out as he pulled the towel away and he smoothed it with his fingers. He dropped the damp terry cloth on the mattress and went to his dresser. His fingertips tapped on the polished wood. He closed his eyes and lowered his head.

“I’m fine,” He said to himself. “Just stressed.” 

He pulled on the drawer and opened his eyes. He took out a tee shirt. He searched through the levels and collected what he needed from the closet.

“I’m just going for a walk,” He said as his imagination conjured the silhouette sitting just behind him; faceless and silent. “Yep, I know. Almost out of milk.”

He dressed carefully and neared the long rectangle mirror that hung on the wall. The aged frame he’d made himself. He zipped up his hoodie and grabbed the cap he’d dropped on the little round table the night before.

“I shouldn’t be long.” He said as he pulled up the hood and turned to the bed. He saw her clearly now.

“Where are you going?” She asked as her hands clasped together in her lap.

“To find you.” He answered and she disappeared.

He was alone again but he didn’t feel so lost.

🖋️

Steve tilted his head as he watched the familiar figure stride down the sidewalk. Why was Fury there? Did he know? Had he somehow found out about Steve’s little adventure? No, he was trained and careful. He would know if he was being watched unlike that foolish woman. Damage control, he assured himself.

It was only an hour before she appeared. She was anxious, he could tell by the way she twiddled her fingers. He could hear her heartbeat above those around her. He followed as he had the day before. He liked this feeling. Of being anonymous; invisible.

She went to an electronics store and he entered after ten minutes. He saw that she was waiting in the cell phone section and he bought a cord he didn’t need before he left. She never even looked in his direction as she walked along the displays.

He returned to his vigil outside and played with the small box. He pulled out the white cord and twisted it between his fingers. He pulled it taut and his vision blurred around it. He pulled harder as he imagined it around flesh; around her brittle neck. It snapped and his trance did too. He shook his head and shoved it back into the box and buried it in his pocket.

When she emerged, he kept on. After a subway ride, she ended up at a small coffee shop in her neighbourhood. It was barely discernible among the line of shopfronts; some abandoned and others close to. He saw her through the window as she sat and stared into a cup. She fidgeted now and then but was fixated on the table.

He exhaled as he crossed the street and neared the door. If she saw him enter, his cover was blown. He shouldn’t but he had too. The chime of the door made him flinch but she didn’t move. He went to the counter and kept his voice down as he ordered a black dark roast. He didn’t really drink coffee but he would today.

He went to the other side of the shop and sat with his back to her. He took out his phone as he placed his cup down and opened the camera. He granted the permissions to access the gallery and messed around until he saw himself on the screen. He figured out how to switch to video then angled it over his shoulder so he could see her clearly. 

He stopped for just a second as his thumb hovered over the red dot. He gulped and leaned on the narrow arm of the uncomfortable wooden chair. He clicked the screen and the timer began to tick. He watched the digital reflection of her as she sipped her coffee. He could hear her tongue as she licked a droplet from her lips. 

He dragged his thumb along the line and the lens zoomed in. He sat like that until she seemed to wake up. She tilted the empty cup in disappointment and stood. She tossed it in the bin and he quickly hid his phone. He kept his shoulders slumped and tasted his cold, strong coffee. He blanched and waited for the door to ring.

When it did, he rose and dumped the coffee in the trash. He waited before he stepped out onto the street. He caught sight of her before she turned the corner. She was going home. He hung back and kept a languid pace. When he finally came upon her building, he was jittery. 

He could go home. Stop this. It had already gone too far. He looked up at the brick facade and cracked his neck. Not far enough.

He went around the alley but a homeless man was drunkenly staggering there. He waited by the mouth of the alley until the man wandered out the other end, his voice trailing behind him. Steve dipped between the building and winced at the smell of piss. 

He climbed up as he had the night before and counted the platforms. He stopped at her floor but as he looked inside, she wasn’t there. He saw her purse on the counter but not her. He ducked back down and listened. 

He heard her voice and his pulse quickened. He moved over to the other side of the escape but found himself blocked by frosted glass. She was singing out of tune. He heard her near the window and he bent down again. The old clasp turned and the window grinded as she pulled it up just an inch.

She walked away and her words turned to a hum. He heard the groan of metal and water begin to splash down. He carefully sat up and glanced through the small slit between the pane and the frame. He watched her shirt fall to the floor, then her pants. He was hypnotised by her movements.

He moved his head as he tried to see more of her. He caught the curve of her breast as she removed her bra and a full view of her ass as her panties joined the heap. He had to angle himself awkwardly to see the tub as she lowered herself into it. Her voice died as she leaned back against the porcelain and stirred her hand in the water.

He watched until she sat forward to quell the water and then some more. He heard the soft movement of water around her. He didn’t realise he was holding his breath until his temples began to pound. Something deep inside him nagged at him. A voice growing louder and louder.

And it was stifled by the other. That one which had ruled him for so long. A sudden pang of guilt stabbed his chest. He tore his gaze away as she began to scrub herself with a loofa. He crawled slowly across the escape and descended, quite enough that any shift was disguised by the noise of the city.

When he was back on solid ground, he was dizzy. And uncomfortably hard. Certainly, he wasn’t the perfect, pious man everyone thought him to be but he’d never felt this… ravenous. He needed relief. Needed it bad.

He adjusted himself behind his belt and walked out of the alley way. He blindly found his way to the subway and rode it as close to his home as he could. He took the back streets and stopped to glimpse the press lined outside his house. He heard an angry voice and an impatient knock.

Shit. He ducked through the gate and let himself through the back door. He removed his cap and his hoodie and hid them in the chest filled with old newspapers and magazines. He closed the lid and the knock came again. He had calmed down, barely. Even after the long train ride, he was riled.

He kicked off his shoes and ruffled his blonde hair just a little before he answered the door. Bucky sneered back at him and sidled through without a word. Cameras shuttered and Steve closed the door.

“What the hell were you doing?” Bucky asked as he stretched his metal fingers.

“Napping, “Steve lied.

“Napping?” Bucky squinted.

“Not much else to do,” Steve shrugged.

“Sure. Not since…” Bucky sighed as he went through to the living room. Steve didn’t mind; he always told his friend this was his second home. “I read the article. You don’t have to get so defensive. I can take care of myself.”

“It wasn’t about you, it was…” Steve trailed off and thought as he lingered by the doorway. “I didn’t like her tone. She was so… I don’t know how to explain. Calm but eager. Almost knowing. I think she wanted me to bite back at her.”

“Was it worth it?” Bucky sat and leaned on the arm of the chair. “Because I can guarantee I have no desire to work with this spider punk. You know what he did today?”

Steve crossed the room and turned on the dial of the artificial fireplace before he sat.

“What did he do this time?”

“Let’s just say my arm had to be calibrated after.” Bucky frowned. “My gun works just fine though.”

“I’m sure Fury enjoyed that.”

“Fury? He’s been storming around somewhere else.” Bucky said.

“Somewhere else?” Steve prodded. 

“This girl that wrote the article. They’ve got eyes on her and they’ve done their research. Fast.” Bucky brushed his fingertips over his stubble. “She pissed off every single person under Fury’s direction.”

“She’s just a reporter,” Steve said. She was his to deal with, not theirs.

“Maybe but she sure knows how to stir the pot,” Bucky lowered his hand. “There’s a new investigation. I could say I’m relieved I’m not the target now but it seems we all are actually.”

“What do you--”

“They want new accords.” Bucky said curtly. “I think Fury’s going to have to start reporting to someone.”

“Fuck,” Steve swore and Bucky blinked. Steve didn’t have a Christian mouth but he didn’ often go past a ‘damn’ or ‘shit’. “It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s hers,” Bucky insisted. “She knows nothing about what we do. What we have to do.” Bucky grimaced. “Fuck her.”

“Yeah…” Steve felt the tic in his jaw. “Fuck her.”

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ nine

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 4.6k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, tw: violence in this chapter ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒

mists of celeste act one ➻ part nine

​​

The air is hot and stagnant around you, and the black ecosuit over your body isn’t helping block that heat in the slightest. You shift on the sand under your body. Sweat trickles down the crown of your head, and the muscles around your left eye are already tired from you squinting so much. There is no movement in your scope; it’s a clear and still area in front of the warehouse below. Yeosang is on your right, squatted beside where you are lying down on the cliff side and watching the ground as you do.

“Nothing,” you say as you pull away from the scope. Glancing up at Yeosang, you await his next order but it’s not for you.

“San, Jongho. You are clear to drop down. Good luck.” Yeosang releases his wristband after giving the order and pushes a loose clump of blonde hair off his forehead. “Stay put and watch the front door from this angle. I’m doing to wrap around to the other side of the cliff and watch the back entrance. I’ll keep in contact with you over the headset. Here’s a pistol in case of emergencies but try not to use it without telling me you’re in trouble first. Keep your eyes and ears open.”

“Will do,” you mutter in response, bringing your chin back down so you can stare through the scope again. When you pull up and check your right side again, Yeosang is gone. The only evidence that he was ever near you is the lone pistol at your side. You snag the weapon and pull it under your body, eyes trailing over the landscape surrounding you.

It’s the first time you’ve ever been to Medra, but you were expecting much more than what you are currently faced with. The area you’re in is pretty much just a rocky desert, filled with small cliffs and shallow canyons at every turn. Even in the dead of night, there is no breeze. The air isn’t cool either despite the sun being gone from sight. Of course, it doesn’t help that Yeosang landed the transport ship a couple miles back out of fear of being seen by someone, so you already worked up a sweat from that.

You shift your weapon to aim the scope at the roof of the warehouse. Two bodies move quickly across the flat surface – San and Jongho – dark shadows over the roof, and you follow them with your scope for a few moments before returning to the main entrance. Your earpiece crackles to life as you do, and Yeosang’s voice carries over.

“Do you see anything?” He asks. You sigh, reaching for your wristband and speaking against the metal.

“No, it’s quiet on my end. All I see is San and Jongho.”

“It’s clear on my end too,” Yeosang mutters back. You pull away from the scope and heave another deep sigh.

“How long is this supposed to take?” You ask. A chuckle comes in response at first, and you press your lips into a thin line as you wait for proper response.

“Are you impatient already, Y/N?” You neglect to respond to his snarky remark, prompting him to keep talking. “It should take two hours at most. One hour if we’re lucky.”

“What do you mean by lucky?”

“I mean if San can keep his head screwed on the right way then there will be no trouble.” There’s a hint of venom in Yeosang’s words, and you are quick to pick up on it.

“You don’t seem to like San all too much,” you say in a quiet tone. Yeosang releases another laugh.

“You do realize that San can hear us both over the comm? We didn’t switch channels.”

“You’re the one who insulted San’s abilities,” you counter. His tone and attitude cause a twinge of annoyance to stir in your gut, but you push that aside and refocus your attention on the scope before you.

Yeosang makes a sound somewhat like clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“You’re quite defensive of San, aren’t you?”

You inhale sharply, his voice alone grating at your annoyance.

“I don’t believe in minimizing someone without knowing what they can do first,” you argue back. Your index finger slips over the trigger of the sniper even though there are no targets before you. “Besides, San saved my life by getting me to Yunho.”

“That’s a strange paradox in and of itself.” Yeosang pauses, and you hear the comm line die out. For a moment you think he’s spotted trouble, but his voice starts up again in the same calm tone as before. “Saving lives isn’t like him.”

“Would you say the same about me then?” You inquire. You pull your finger off the trigger, letting it rest on the sandy ground instead.

“Have you suddenly saved a life recently? No. At least, I don’t imagine you have. You – Y/N L/N, Ghost of Eros – are a killer. An assassin. A weapon. That is what you were bred to be. You were made to kill, and that is what you know how to do, is it not? Would you tell a lion to stop before his prey and have mercy? No, because lions are not capable of mercy. San is the same way. He is a weapon, and that is what he has been used as his whole life. It’s a fact that he is well aware of. As a member of the crew, he has one singular purpose and that purpose is to execute and assassinate. To use his abilities as a Spectre to do what Hongjoong wants.”

A scoff escapes you, and you make sure that the comm picks it up so Yeosang can hear you.

“So Hongjoong is running a slave ship then? One slave wasn’t enough, so he has to treat the rest of his crew like slaves as well? If he thinks for a second that I will let him treat me like a slave then he is sorely mistaken. The military couldn’t keep me in check, so a fucking loose-cannoned pirate sure as hell won’t either.”

Quiet comes in response to your rant. You wait for any sort of answer from Yeosang, but a minute goes by in absolute silence. Then he laughs. It’s more of a huff than a laugh, and you can hear the disbelief in the sound.

“Hongjoong isn’t treating anyone like a slave. He gives each person the freedom to decide for themselves how they want to be treated, what their position is, how they can be most effective on the crew. The only person he decided for was Seonghwa, but seeing as Seonghwa was the first to join the crew, that makes sense. Otherwise, he never made that decision for anyone. Even if you can’t see it yourself, he is giving you flexibility of your own. San chose what he is, and he chose to be a weapon. He chose what he is on the crew for one very clear reason.”

“And what is that?” You forget that said man is on the comms with you for a minute, prying to get an answer out of Yeosang before he decides not to say anything at all.

“It’s all because that’s how San views himself.” Yeosang lets silence hang in the air for a moment, and you drink in the information. It’s a sad and sinking reality that washes over you with the force of a tsunami. “No one influenced it, Y/N. Not Hongjoong or anyone else on the crew. If San wants to be treated that way, then I will respect that.”

Part of you wants to ask how that is an act of respect when it’s so harsh and harmful. The other, more prominent part of you is stunned into silence as you mull over what Yeosang has told you.

How can a person subject themselves to being nothing more than a tool for others to use?

“Cat got your tongue, Y/N?” Yeosang inquires, tone almost lilting. The image of San’s Cheshire smile rises to the forefront of your mind, but it only fills you will sadness as you picture it. “Status update.”

“It’s still clear,” you mutter back. Yeosang awards you with a hum of approval before falling back into silence. Something still nags at the edge of your thoughts though, overtaking the sadness behind San’s image of himself. “If Hongjoong isn’t treating any of you like slaves, then why keep one himself?”

“What do you mean? No one on the crew is a slave. And Hongjoong certainly isn’t the type to keep slaves, despite how he might come across sometimes. There’s a difference between being harsh and inhumane.”

“Then what’s the deal with the one in the collar then? Wooyoung? Is he not a slave?”

“Of course he’s not,” Yeosang snaps back in an instant, barely letting you finish your sentence before he’s denying it. “He hasn’t been a slave for a very long time. That doesn’t mean those scares have fully healed though.”

You opt not to answer this time; instead, you let your gaze return to the scope and check the entrance to the warehouse again.

“God, I fucking hate Medra.” Yeosang’s voice crackles through the earpiece. “So fucking hot and sandy. The damn winds will start any minute now too.”

You don’t have time to ask about the winds because something twitches in the corner of your scope. Your index finger finds the trigger immediately, shot lined up on a wandering head, and you find two soldiers walking towards the main entrance. Your muscles twitch as you itch to just pull the trigger, but you stop yourself at the last second.

“Movement,” you hiss. “San, Jongho – you’ve got two soldiers moving into the front door. Both armed with what looks like laser rifles. Helmets and chest padding.”

“Damn, why are you getting all the fun over there?” Yeosang complains. You ignore him in favor of following the soldiers with your eyes until they disappear into the building.

“They’ve entered the warehouse,” you report.

Once they’re completely out of sight, you let the tension roll off your shoulders and relax against the ground again. Your fingers shake as you pull them away from the trigger. In one swift movement, you swing your legs around and sit up, bringing your left hand to touch the material over your bandage. The kevlar is damp to the touch, and even through the darkness, you can see the scarlet hue of blood on your fingertips.

“Well, fuck…” You keep your lips away from the wristband, making certain that Yeosang and the others don’t hear you. You wipe your fingers against your thigh and settle back to the sandy ground.

For a moment, it feels like you’re elsewhere. Outside the palace of Eros in the dead of night, waiting with your sniper just like this for the king to step into sight and earn himself a bullet in the head.

For a moment, you feel the cool breeze of Eros’ winter on your skin, the cold sweat on your brow, and the burning tears on your cheeks as you sought to line up the shot.

For a moment, you see the scene of that fucking public execution that you could not stop no matter how hard you tried. Maybe putting the bullet in sooner would’ve done something, but it didn’t. You had to settle for failure.

“Does this take you back to the good old days of the military?” Yeosang inquires. He breaks you out of your reverie, and you feel the heat of the air around you again.

“Which days are you talking about?” You ask, tone slightly shaky despite your efforts to hide how shaken up you are.

“You mentioned being on a covert mission and assassination team. Surely you got good at shooting people in the head through that.”

You are already sensitive thanks to reliving the memory, so you blame that fact for your very short patience with Yeosang.

“Why is everyone so fucking intent on that one fact?” You hiss out with venom in your tone.

“It’s impossible to think of anything else. That’s what you are known for. We know you because of that and that alone. Sure, you have an extensive list of crimes on your record, but to everyone who has seen the record, only one thing stands out. Without killing the king, you would be nothing and probably not even alive. Hongjoong wouldn’t have seen you as valuable in the slightest. Hell, San probably only saved you in the cargo bay because he knew who you were. As for myself, I want to know what the real reason for it was. You’ve already denied it being a revolution or something grand and fantastic. And you seem to hate taking responsibility for what you did. So that really begs the question: why?”

You swallow roughly. The words nearly make you slip back into that structured mind space of your memory, and you feel the ghosting touch of cold air on your nape. A searing pain down your spine.

“It was a personal vendetta,” you force out, breaking yourself out of the memory again. You can feel your chest heaving from the efforts to keep it at bay. You know if Daichi were here, he would be lecturing you on what a shitty job you’re doing, but you can barely keep your eyes on the ground below you. “Something I had to do. A score to settle, and that’s what I did. Do I regret it? Absolutely not. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. I would do it ten times over. But I can’t call it murder. Call it justice for the fallen who died when their king was supposed to be leading them and protecting them. Justice for the king who failed them in so many ways.”

You hope that your answer will shut Yeosang up, but it has the opposite effect, unfortunately.

“A vendetta? Is a vendetta justice then? How can that not be murder? You talk about justice as though it’s something to be attained through murder when it’s not. You claim it wasn’t for anyone but yourself, yet here you are contradicting yourself? I won–”

“What would you have done in my shoes then? Would an obedient little prince have killed the king?” You can almost hear the way Yeosang’s jaw snaps together, a slight click over the comm. Maybe you’ve finally managed to get him to shut up long enough for you to breathe, but your luck evidently isn’t that good.

“I wouldn’t have been able to. Even after everything that went down prior to the order for my execution, I could never bring myself to despise the king enough to kill him.”

“Would Kang Minhee have killed the king?”

“No, just as I said.”

“Would Kang Yeosang?”

Yeosang laughs but doesn’t respond this time. It’s an answer in and of itself.

“Without those chains on your wrist, you are nothing more than a slave to the monarchy. The chains just make you seem like a traitor to the outside world, but it’s quite obvious that you aren’t actually one.” You pull back from the sniper in front of you, sitting up on your heels. A sigh leaves your lips.

“An interesting take, Y/N. Something tells me you wouldn’t understand even a sliver of the truth though.” Yeosang’s tone is final. You don’t want to say anything else either, but you can tell that you’ve upset him with your words. You hardly feel guilty though, considering his incessant remarks about your decisions.

“I’m tired of sitting around and waiting for nothing,” you announce. Not even as second later does Jongho’s voice crackle in your ear.

“We’ve got a problem.”

“What are you talking about?” Yeosang hisses.

“San went ahead without me. Darted out of sight without warning, I couldn’t catch up to him because he was using his abilities. A guard saw him moving. I haven’t been spotted yet, but the guard is already calling for backup.”

“Fucking hell. Jongho, stay out of sight for now. I’ll come down and handle this myself.”

“I’ll go with you,” you demand, falling back to the ground to check for said reinforcements in your scope.

“No, you are staying put. Keep an eye out for reinforcements but don’t you fucking dare shoot anyone.”

“Absolutely not,” you refuse. “You have zero reason to trust that I will stay put and not run away first chance I get. Or that I’ll tell you the truth about how many are on the way. I am offering my help. You ought to take it.”

A small squadron of soldiers rush into the corner of your vision. You line up a shot without hesitation, aiming for a soldier just in front of another. You pull the trigger, the shot echoes through the canyon, and the bullet ricochets through the head of the first soldier and into the one adjacent him. You yank the bolt handle, letting the empty cartridge fall into the sand, then push yourself up. You snatch the spare pistol up in your right hand and reach around your back to feel for the knife strapped to your back.

“Don’t you fucking dare jump down from this height!” Yeosang yells through the earpiece. “You need to stay put, especially with your arm!”

You ignore his shouts of protests, yanking the knife out and propelling yourself off the edge of the cliff. You swing down and collide with the rock roughly. Just before you begin to skid down and fall to what would most likely be your death, you jam the edge of your knife into the sandy rock. The stone is so fragile and porous that the blade cuts right through and hooks. You brace your feet on the cliff side, ignoring the burn that emanates from your suit skidding across the rock, and let the momentum carry you down to the remaining three soldiers.

They’ve spotted you, and you can hear their shouts as they fumble to line up their assault rifles and fire at you. Yeosang yells something incoherent in your ear but your body is so wound up on adrenaline that you don’t process a word he’s saying. You twist your head to look down at the soldiers and wait for the right moment to push off the cliff. All three have their guns trailed just beneath your feet, going lower and lower as you slide further down. You hear the gunshot before the first soldier calls for open fire.

In that moment, time seems to slow to a standstill, you yank the knife out of the sandy rocks and push yourself towards the group below. You underestimated how many bullets would be fired in your direction, however, and without a second thought, you close your eyes. The markings on your back burn like hell as you let the slightest hint of your powers slip through before the bullets can hit your skin. When you open your eyes again, one of the soldiers screams.

You propel your knife into his neck and aim your pistol at the second soldier on your right side. The bullet hits him square between the eyes at the same moment that your knife hits the one on the left. Your body barrels into the remaining guard in the middle, letting him cushion the brunt of your fall. The momentum and whiplash of his head smacking against the ground are probably enough to end his life, but you don’t take any chances and fire one last bullet.

Your legs feel like jelly as you pull yourself off the guard. Once you’re on your feet again, you glance up at the cliff side in search of Yeosang, but you can’t see his figure atop it anymore. Your earpiece is silent as well. You look around, bending down to grab your knife out of the corpse. You wipe the blade on his uniform before tucking it back into the sheath on your lower back.

You hear the thud of boots hitting the ground before you see the perpetrator on the edge of your vision. You turn to face Yeosang, expecting him to yell at you, but instead of speaking, he grabs you by the arm. With an unprecedented amount of force, he throws you against the cliff side. The breath is knocked out of your lungs. You choked on dust and sand. The duffel bag across his shoulders hits the ground as he steps closer to you.

“You are fucking careless, selfish, and ignorant. You can’t listen to orders for two seconds?” He spits at you, hot breath cascading over your face. You shove against him, hands hitting his chest and sending him back a couple feet.

“Remember that I am first and foremost a traitor. That’s it. I apparently have an issue following orders ironically. I create opportunities, and if you expect me to wait around for one to appear, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“You should be riddled with bullets and dead on the floor. That would be better for everyone at this rate.”

“Say it with a bit more enthusiasm, pretty boy! I didn’t quite hear the fire in your tone.” You push off the cliff side and start to move around Yeosang. His hand catches you by the throat. He shoves you back against the rock with little to no effort, fingers squeezing around your neck. The pressure only continues to increase, and for a split second, you think he might actually kill you. Your hands fly up to tear at his, trying to pull his fingers off your with depleting strength. He’s cutting off your airway just enough to make it uncomfortable.

Blonde hair blurs across your vision as his face moves closer to yours. You try to duck away to no avail; his grip keeps you in place.

“What would you do if I let you go now?”

The question confuses you at first, and you can’t quite understand what he means by it. He clears things up with his next question though, an echo of one he’s spoken to you before.

“How does this end?” He loosens his grip on your throat just enough to let you speak.

“I-I don’t know,” you choke out.

“What are your goals now?”

“I… I don’t have any.” You continue to struggle against his grip as you speak in attempts to free your throat more. “The only thing – the only thing I wanted in life was a chance to live a no-normal one, but that has been robbed from me. Revenge was th-the only thing that mattered to me up until I k-killed the king. I – I have no more goals for myself.”

Yeosang’s grip tightens as you finish speaking. He squeezes harder than before, and the air leaves your lungs at an alarming rate. Black spots dance in the edge of your vision. Your head pounds as though someone has hit you three times over. Then the pressure on your neck dissipates. You choke in air, doubling over and bracing yourself on your knees as you rush to catch your breath.

“There’s no point in killing you then.” Yeosang steps back, watching you collapse with unamused eyes. “I’m going to figure out what your true intentions are. There’s a reason you were aboard The Revenge and there is a reason you came aboard The Horizon. I’ll make sure you stay alive long enough for me to figure it out.”

Something about Yeosang’s tone and stance above you exudes ruthlessness. You feared Hongjoong and all the possibilities surrounding him, but this is a different type of fear with Yeosang. It’s like he’s a predator chasing its prey, circling you with a hunger that you don’t know. You rub at your throat where his fingers just were. The skin is already sore to the touch, and you imagine that it will be bruised within hours.

Jongho and San make a timely appearance just then. The Berserker rushes out of the warehouse first, and San follows close behind albeit at a much slower pace.

“We need to leave. Preferably quickly. We got what we need but without the stealth part. So…”

Yeosang nods and taps at his wristband, turning away from you. Jongho’s eyes go to the carnage you left near the doors then over to the spot where you’re huddled against the cliff side.

A loud rumbling suddenly starts up from somewhere beyond the cliff. Yeosang glances back at the three of you, his expression suddenly calm compared to the one you saw moments ago.

“We’ll be making a loud exit then. The transport ship is on its way. Be ready to move fast.”

You push yourself up and glare daggers into Yeosang’s back. A sudden gust of hot air sweeps through the valley, and blinding iridescent lights hit as the transport ship lowers to the ground. Yeosang steps onboard first, and you follow behind quickly. You sweep past him to get to a seat.

“San, I’ll be taking your spot in the pilot’s seat since you can’t seem to do as told,” Yeosang hisses between gritted teeth as San steps onto the ship. The dark-haired man merely nods and finds a seat across from you. You glance over at him, trying to read his expression but it’s completely blank. Jongho and Yeosang file into the pilot’s cabin. Neither you nor San speaks for a few minutes. The rumble of the ship is the only thing audible, along with a few clicks here and there as Jongho and Yeosang fiddle with the controls. You keep rubbing at your throat.

“Yeosang is wrong.”

You jerk your head in San’s direction, eyes blazing as you meet his gaze.

“What?”

“Yeosang is wrong,” he repeats.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“What Yeosang said about why I brought you to Yunho… it’s wrong. He’s wrong.”

Oh. Oh. You had forgotten that he could hear that entire conversation. Of course, he could. You were speaking on the same channel Jongho and San were dialed to.

“It wasn’t just because of your identity.”

“You don’t have to justify your actions to me,” you respond. San shakes his head.

“I do. I most definitely do. There’s a reason why Yeosang and the others view me in that regard. Why they would assume that to be my intention. But I want you to know that I didn’t save you. Yunho did. Because that’s his job.”

“No, actually,” you refute before twisting your lips to the side. You glance up at the ceiling, a deep exhale leaving your lungs, then continue to speak. “You did save me, whether you like it or not. I’m grateful to Yunho, yes, but I’m also grateful to you. Because without you, I would be dead in a crate of fabrics.”

“Thank you… for saying that.”

You nod and look away from the Spectre, focusing your attention on the floor under your feet. Yellow grains of sand are spread across the metal, and you mindlessly drag your foot through the scattered sand. A thud breaks your attention. You whip your head up again to where San was just sitting, but he’s no longer there. He’s crumpled on the floor of the transport ship, body limp.

✧✧✧

a/n: surprise it’s early yeEHAW i got too excited about this chapter and just had to write and post it now bc im sdjfoisdjfoi vibrating at a high frequency!! let me know what you think about this chapter i’m so so excited to share it with you guys!

taglist: @faeriewoobin​ @sugarrimajins​ @atinyinwonderland​ @2504-life @lil7bluedragon @sparklychangbin​ @jeong-uwu​ @jeonartemis​

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[ghostsray]

danny grows baby fangs

truce gift for @phantomofprocrastination!! happy new decade :)

word count: 3,080

____

Being friends with a rival ghost has its pros and cons. The pros are that Danny can call on them whenever he needs help fighting a bigger, badder ghost. The cons are that this does nothing to stop his ally from attacking him whenever they like.

He was awoken in the dead of night (pun intended) by his ghost sense escaping his throat. He quickly transformed and flew outside, preparing to fight a ghost wreaking havoc. Instead, he was met by Johnny, who asked for a spar.

Danny sighed and ran a hand across his face. "Really? You couldn't have picked a better time for this?"

"Of course not!" Johnny delightfully replied. "All the humans are asleep, so you don't have to worry about hurting any of them."

That was...surprisingly thoughtful. Still didn't make it any less annoying. Danny fixed him with a glare and said, "Johnny. I'm half human. I also need to sleep."

The ghost's eyes widened, and his mouth formed a circle. "Oh."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Can you go back to the GZ so I can get back to bed?"

Unfortunately, he already knew the answer he would receive when Johnny's face twisted into a wicked smirk. "But you're already here, aren't you? And I do have some energy I need to let out..."

"Dude, I swear..."

Danny didn't have time to finish his threat because the biker ghost was already sending his shadow to attack him. Inwardly, Danny groaned. Here he thought that he was making good progress this year in befriending his previous enemies, but it turns out they're too trained in Hating Danny On Sight to fully stop torturing him.

Danny blocked another swing from the shadow. He formed a ball of ectoplasm in his hands and used its light to fend the phantom off. As he watched it retreat, he bared his teeth at Johnny with a growl, trying to convey clearly that he wasn't happy.

For some reason, Johnny had the opposite reaction. He held up a hand to hold his shadow back and stared at Danny. "Wait, do that again," he said.

Danny frowned, confused. "Do what?"

"Bare your teeth."

Danny was Hella Confused, but he did as he was asked. Johnny clapped his hands and laughed.

"You're growing baby fangs!"

"...What."

The older ghost got closer until he was floating right in front of Danny's face. He pointed at the halfa's mouth, and his face adopted the kind of expression Jazz would make if she saw a baby animal. "Right there," the ghost said with a smile, "the cutest, widdwest baby fa--"

All of a sudden, a light enveloped Johnny, and he looked down to see the halfa sucking him into a Fenton thermos. "Hey! Not fair!" he whined, his voice shrinking as he went in.

"Sorry, but you deserved it," Danny spoke into the cylinder before he closed it.

He sunk from his spot in the air until his boots touched the ground. As soon as he did, he thought about what Johnny said. Now that he noticed, his gums were hurting. When he touched them with his tongue, he felt something sharp growing among his teeth. What did Johnny say? Fangs?

Danny looked at the building sitting across from his home. The lights indoors were all turned off, and the windows perfectly reflected the street and Danny on it. Danny let himself hover an inch off the ground and floated toward the glass. Once he got close enough, he studied his reflection.

Over the years, his ghost form had changed into something a bit more...ghostly. Before, the only parts of his appearance that changed were his eye and hair colors. Now, his hair became wispy, his skin grew tinted green, and even the freckles that had long ago faded from his human skin now literally glowed in ghost form.

Danny ignored these details. (He especially ignored how uncomfortable he felt seeing himself look less and less human.) Instead, he opened his mouth and focused on the trait Johnny pointed out to him.

Sure enough, two small, white points were growing from where his canine teeth should be. Danny stared. Were those really going to grow into fangs? Honestly, he's not sure why he was surprised. Pretty much every ghost he knew had fangs. Even Vlad did, and he's a halfa too.

He grinned at his reflection, and the reflection grinned back, showing off his brand new pair of fangs. Danny tried to imagine what the would look like on him once they grow, replacing the small points with something longer and sharper.

This was a mistake.

Suddenly the image before him seemed eerily familiar. Wispy hair, almost like fire. Greenish skin bordering on teal. Growing muscles underneath his jumpsuit. And fangs.

The grin was gone from Danny's face, but the reflection still smiled. Since when had its eyes turned red?

Danny took a shaky step back.

It was him.

The thermos slipped from his hands with a clunk. He gulped.

He was turning into him.

Fire entered Danny's nose. Fire, and the smell of burning flesh. He whipped around, eyes out of focus. The Nasty Burger. It was gone. The flames licked the sky and danced on where the building once stood.

His family. His friends. He couldn't save them.

"No," he softly said, as if that could erase the scene before him.

He dropped onto his knees on the pavement. The smoke stung his eyes and filled his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

"No," he repeated, gasping and gripping onto his hairs. "No, no, no."

His eyes fell on the thermos next to him. The metal surface reflected Danny's face, but it wasn't the face he saw in the mirror yesterday. It was his face from tomorrow. Red eyes, wispy hair, and grinning at him with long, sharp fangs.

An ecto-blast shot past his ear, jolting Danny back to reality. He looked up, his eyes finally focusing on someone standing over him...someone wearing a teal jumpsuit and red goggles...his mom?

But he saw her die, didn't he? There was the explosion, and...and she was blasted apart like everyone else...and then...oh, right.

It felt like he was finally waking up. The air around him was clear. He wasn't in front of the Nasty Burger, he was in front of his own house. And even if he was there, the restaurant would still be standing. The explosion never happened. Clockwork erased that timeline.

His family was still alive. Maddie was still alive.

A fact that helpfully made itself apparent by the gun she was pointing at him.

"Why are you doing that?" his mother asked, snapping him out of his reverie.

"Doing what?" he replied.

"Pretending to cry."

Danny touched his cheeks. Was he really crying? Sure enough, his gloves came back wet.

"Answer me, phantom," Maddie's voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and bitter.

Danny let his hands fall onto his lap and gulped. "I'm not pretending."

"Of course you are," Maddie stated matter-of-factly. "Ghosts can't shed genuine tears. After all, it's not like they can feel--"

"Yes, they can," Danny suddenly snapped. "They feel! All they do is feel! That's why they're aggressive. Not because they lack emotion, but because they're created from it! Not that it matters to you, since you never listen to what I say."

Maddie's jaw dropped. As soon as the words left Danny's mouth, he knew it was out of character for him. Phantom was a smooth ghost who only spoke to tell bad puns and mock his enemies. He never snapped at anyone like that. A part of him felt ashamed for yelling at his mother, but he wasn't in the mood to feel guilty about it.

He averted his eyes and wiped at his tears. Man, he must have looked pathetic. Why was Maddie even out here? Of course, he had forgotten that his parents had almost as little sleep as he did. She was probably pulling an all-nighter working on some new invention to kill him when she noticed the ghost having a breakdown outside their house.

Danny tried to ignore the embarrassment he felt and pushed himself to his feet. If Maddie noticed the way he shook as he pulled himself up, she didn't comment on it. He took a deep breath. The smell of fire still lingered in his nose.

"Never mind," he said, not looking at her as he spoke. "I'm not in the mood to deal with you tonight." He turned away and prepared to take flight, but a hand suddenly gripped at his wrist, and he turned back to see Maddie holding on to him.

"Wait," she said. After a moment of hesitation, she let go and...lowered her gun? "Let's assume I believe what you said, about ghosts feeling emotion. Why are you crying?"

Danny had to assure himself that he wasn't dreaming. Talking and not shooting? That was new. He must have stared at her for a long time in surprise, because she frowned and urged, "Well?"

He blinked and looked down. "It's nothing."

"So you are faking?"

"What? No!"

"Then what is it?"

He bit his lip. How could he even begin to explain it? Hey, no biggie, but I sort of saw an alternate timeline where I went evil and killed you, which happened a long time ago but apparently I'm not as over it as I thought. Yeah, no. Instead, he asked, "Why do you care?"

He looked up and saw something soften in her face. Her brows knitted, but in an I'm-willing-to-hear-you kind of way, just like the days in his childhood when she sat next to him in bed, ready to soothe him as he woke up crying from another nightmare. It made him meet her eyes, forgetting for just a moment that they were supposed to be enemies. She was not Maddie the ghosthunter, but Mom.

Then the illusion broke when she said, "With how much power you have, it is my duty as a ghosthunter to make sure you dont step out of line. Anything that would cause you to act differently from usual should concern me."

His chest crumpled. Of course she didn't care, and why would she? He was a ghost. This was nothing more than another duty for her as a ghosthunter.

He tried not to show his disappointment, but it must have shown anyway because Maddie asked, "Did I say something wrong?"

"No," he lied. "Of course not."

She sighed. "Of course not." She crossed her arms and turned away, then muttered under her breath, "I don't know why I thought I could help a ghost. I can't even help my own children."

Danny guessed he wasn't meant to hear that last part, but he did. He stared at her incredulously and asked, "What?"

She stiffened, then quickly said, "Nothing. I don't need to tell you about my family life."

He took one step toward her, then immediately took a step back when she aimed her gun on him. Right, he forgot she didn't holster that.

"I mean it," she warned. "This isn't about me."

He stumbled and fell onto the pavement. Maddie stood over him, still aiming her weapon at him. Were they not just having a moment? Obviously not. Maddie Fenton was never one to have moments with a ghost.

"Really, quit breathing. I know you don't need to do that."

Danny only then noticed how hard his chest was rising and falling. He gulped. "I can't keep doing this," he suddenly spoke.

The hand holding the gun faltered. "Doing what?"

His eyes stung, but he held back his tears because he knew she would tell him he was faking again, and he didn't want that to happen. Instead, he fixed his eyes on the red goggles that covered hers and said, "Fighting you, being your enemy, until the day you die."

Maddie remained calm as she said, "You're a ghost. I'm a ghosthunter."

"That doesn't mean we have to fight." He gestured between them and added, "I mean, we were just having a conversation. At least until you pulled out your gun again."

"Is that why you brought me out here?"

"I didn't. You came on your own."

"You were acting strange," she replied. "You still didn't answer why."

His core thrummed against his chest as he continued to stare into her gun. Why are you crying? Because he's still scared of becoming his evil self. Because he doesn't want to hurt his family. Because every time he closed his eyes, he saw their scorched remains, and he doesn't want to be the person to cause that to happen.

"I don't want to be a bad ghost," he answered.

Maddie tilted her head. "That can't be it," she spoke in her snobby scientist voice. "Ghosts dont have a sense of right and wrong--"

"Would you stop making assumptions about ghost morals? I'm the ghost here, not you."

That was the second time he snapped at her. He tore his eyes away from her, instead choosing to glare at the street. Maddie was quiet. "...You're serious," she finally said.

"Yeah, no shit."

She lowered her gun...just slightly. "That still doesn't explain things," she said. "Why the sudden reaction? The tears?"

His eyes landed on the thermos that lay a few feet away, reflecting his green skin and wispy hair and glowing eyes on its surface. His gums hurt.

Danny shut his eyes and gulped back bile. "I...I did something bad, okay?" he said, his voice small. "I thought I could forget about it, but I can't. I--I don't want it to happen again."

A moment of silence hung between them, broken only by the soft whistle of the breeze. He hoped she wouldn't ask, but he knew the question was coming anyway. "What did you do?"

His hands shook. He gripped them into fists, but that did nothing to ebb his emotions.

"Phantom," Maddie urged. "What did--"

"I killed people!" The tears escaped his eyes, which opened to reveal toxic green irises that shone brighter than the streetlights. He faced Maddie, his expression contorted in guilt and pain and Ancients why do his gums still hurt as he cried, "I killed people. They died, and it was because of me. I killed them."

He waited for her to get angry at him, to shoot him. Instead, she gave him a reaction he didn't expect.

"Now I know you're faking," she said, lowering her gun completely.

He blinked away his tears. "What?"

"Feeling guilt over someone's death? Ghosts can't care about that." She held up a hand and continued, "Before you argue again about whether ghosts have morals or not, I'm talking about the concept of life and death. You're dead, so you shouldn't be able to bother over whether others are, too."

Danny sat back and let those words sink in. Was that why his alternate self had seemed so heartless? He had removed his humanity, and along with it, any sympathy he had left toward life. If Danny had fully died in that portal, would he...?

He shook his head. He didn't want to think about that. "But I don't want others to suffer the same fate I did," he argued.

"That's not what other ghosts seem to think," Maddie pointed out. "Even if your obsession was saving others, it should be easy for you to get over a few deaths after some time has passed. It simply doesn't make sense for you to care." She crouched until she was at eye level with him and inquired, "So tell me, Phantom. What makes you so different?"

"...I don't know." What else could he say without revealing his secret? He truthfully told her, "I never asked to be this way."

She scrutinized him, as if looking at him could somehow reveal the truth. After a while, she sighed and stood up...and holstered her gun.

"I can never understand you," she said. "You're just...so human. Your emotions, your thinking, your morals, even your appearance."

He perked up. "You think I look human?"

She looked at him as if he just said the dumbest thing on the planet. "Of course you do," she answered. "Even if you've changed since your first appearance, the change isn't nearly as much as it should be for such an increase in power as yours. Other ghosts your power level would look much more monstrous. But not you. You may grow claws and fangs, but you can still pass as a person."

Danny was dumbfounded. Here he was worried that he might be losing his humanity, and now he was proven wrong by none other than one of the world's leading ghost researchers, his own mother. He thought that was as much relief as he could feel, and then she said,

"You're not a bad ghost, Phantom."

He bit the insides of his mouth to keep himself from crying again because dammit he's already cried enough times this night already. Instead, he blurted out the thing that was on his mind in that moment, which was, "You're not a bad mom."

Mom faltered. For a second, Danny worried that he screwed up. He should not have said that, now she's going to try shooting him again and then everything that just happened would be a waste... But she didn't do that. He couldn't read her face well from underneath her mask, but something crossed her face. She observed him silently, and he squirmed, wondering what she saw. She opened her mouth to say something, but then changed her mind and turned away without a word, leaving the halfa behind as she went back indoors.

Danny sat in the middle of the empty street, watching his mom leave. What just happened? He wasn't sure, but Mom just left without leaving him an injury, which he didn't think could be possible. The world lit up around him as the sun rose from the east.

Shit, he had to return home before someone could walk into his room and find it empty. He fumbled around until he caught the thermos, then paused to look at his reflection. He saw...himself. No evil alternate self. No monster from the future. Just Danny Phantom, existing in the present.

He grinned, showing off his brand new pair of fangs.

Now that he thought about it, having fangs sounds pretty cool.

[gendercraft]

Outast: Revisited [Chapter Eight: Waylon]

Read on ao3

Synopsis: I’m rewriting Outlast where the first game and Whistleblower are combined, Miles and Waylon are more connected, and also they kiss

Trigger warnings: Sexual assault plus everything already in the game; eye gore; the gore actually gets kinda intense here; let me know if i missed anything

The warm gas spilt over Waylon in the decontamination chamber. His heart raced, his muscles tensed; he was ready to run. The doors were barely open by the time he made it out. 

Manera cut him off as he flew through the labs. Waylon skidded to a stop just in time, the buzzsaw tickling his nose. The saw swung, and Waylon ducked, gasping. Stumbling backwards, he staggered to his feet, and caught the saw just as it came down on his chest. 

Fabric tore, sterile air brushed against his chest. Waylon yanked the saw as hard as he could, and it came free from Manera’s grip, only to hurdle over his head, down towards the decontamination chamber. 

Manera and Waylon stared. Waylon was tense, ready to fight. Manera’s gaze slipped past his, landing on the still buzzing saw. 

Throwing Waylon to the ground, Manera raced towards his weapon. Waylon hit the concrete with an ‘oof’ but immediately stumbled up and sprinted for the door. 

He made it back to the hall and didn’t stop until he reached the chamber with the victim. Heart sinking, he stepped inside. 

The man was dead. Keeping an ear out for the saw, Waylon knelt down and looked closer. It was a security guard. A little bit of weight lifted off Waylon’s shoulders. The security guards had been cause for death even before all this, he couldn’t imagine what this man might have done to patients in the chaos. 

He straightened up and took a second to close his eyes. His mind tried supplying him with thoughts of family, things this man might be leaving behind, but Waylon pushed it away. He wasn’t a man. He was a Murkoff employee. Waylon had better things to be worrying about. 

Like if Miles Upshur would be waiting for him in the prison.

He stepped through the chamber and it led him into the dense gray fog outside, a staircase encased in chainlink. Reloading his battery, he hurried down the stairs. When he arrived on the dirt, he brought his night vision up, only to wince at the brightness. Bringing it down, though, he couldn’t see two feet in front of him. There was no way to cut through the fog. He’d have to be blind. 

“No! NO!” 

A scream. Is it him, the cannibal? Could be pleasure or pain, Waylon wouldn’t guess. Did Manera even know? His voice sounded like… something I wanted while watching the Engine. Its only message was hunger, to crush and consume. 

Waylon whipped around. No one was there. 

“You were mine!” 

Peeking through his camera, he zoomed to the building, one of the upper windows. Manera stood in the frame, face twisted. 

I’m going to try and forget it, Lisa. If I get out of here, I’m going to come back to you. 

He found his way to an open chainlink door, the floor covered in bloody footprints. The trees surrounding him were dead, bare branches arching into the air and poking at his back. Footsteps sounded from every direction, sometimes far away, sometimes close by, and the occasional scream or curse carried in the howling wind. Part of Waylon was curious about what else was going down in the asylum; how many people were trying to escape? How many were succeeding? How many were just venting, killing out their frustrations? The other part of him knew he’d never recover if he found out. 

Two patients ran across his vision, almost entirely obscured by the fog. Waylon held his hands out and got ready to dash but neither of them saw or cared that he was there. He swallowed. There was never any telling who’d attack him in this place. 

A cobble path appeared in the dirt. Waylon followed it to a stone staircase leading to the left and the right. The right was locked, so he headed through the chainlink doorway on the left. It was a small alley between the prison watchtowers and a bricked-in basketball court the patients were supposedly allowed in every now and then. Emphasis on supposedly. 

“Three hundred sixty four…” 

A grunt, a smack. Waylon trailed around the brick until he found a grated door. He zoomed in on his camera, and his stomach lurched. A patient, shooting hoops, with a human head. 

The head looped around the rim and smacked to the ground. Blood dusted the concrete, and the patient strolled over to pick it up like nothing was amiss. 

He’s playing alone and losing. Waylon took a step back. That is what the game is. 

There is a mathematical proof, if you add 1 + 2 + 3 + 4 + 5 and so on up to infinity, you can arrive at an answer. If you stop shy of infinity, you have an indescribably large number. If you continue all the way to infinity, you arrive at—1/12. Negative 0.0833333 repeating. I’m losing my grip on things. 

Waylon was thinking about the drive to Mount Massive, 400 miles in a rented truck. The job that showed up just in time to cover their bills, their debts, the insurance. The boys sleeping in the back. Nothing but AM radio. Gospel, Country-Western, late night paranoiac talk radio. They sang Patsy Klein songs and laughed at conspiracies of aliens and ghosts. Mile marker numbers passing in headlights. 

I don’t want to die here. 

There was no way forward, so he backtracked. Out of the previously locked right side of the staircase, a patient came running out holding a pipe. Waylon leapt back but the patient ran right down the stairs and disappeared into the fog. Swallowing, Waylon pushed forward through his abandoned open door. 

The ground was wet. Waylon’s bare feet ached, stung, burned. He’d never felt grosser in his life, covered in sweat and blood and snot. 

He didn’t have time to think about that. Finding a hole in the fence, he dropped himself onto a metal walkway. It clanged as he rushed through. Dropping down to the concrete at ground level, he found a ladder that led him up to the courtyard. 

Mount Massive’s prison courtyard was split up into several very small sections by chainlink. Most of the doors would be locked—a maze. He passed by a few wooden picnic tables and reached a hole in the fence that allowed him into the main pathway. The metal poked and scraped at his sides as he slid through. 

Despite the fog, it was a bit more well-lit here. With all the puddles, it must’ve rained recently, and looked like it was about to again. 

He paused as voices purred from the shadows. 

“I would like to kill him.” 

“As would I.” 

Waylon’s hairs stood on end. Two men, naked, identical, passed by the locked chain door inches from Waylon’s face. They disappeared into the fog. 

They can’t find you. Keep going. 

He kept going. 

He arrived at another small area with a picnic table, surrounded in chain link and brick, only for the two men to enter through a side door. One took the right side, the other took the left. 

They stared. 

Waylon inched towards the door they came in from. 

A smirk curled on Leftie’s mouth. Waylon prepared himself to run, to leap, to dodge, anything, but the twins just stared, grinning, smirking, eyes twinkling. Their machetes glinted in the moonlight. Where the fuck did they get machetes? 

Waylon slipped through the door and slammed it closed behind him. He broke into a sprint, racing through the fenced in main path, stepping on broken glass and twigs and rocks. Slamming a chainlink door open, something flew in front of his face. He yelped and stopped. Glancing back, panting, he frowned. Did they follow him at all? They were nowhere in sight. 

He looked down, and his mouth went dry. Another head. What was with these fucking freaks playing basketball with heads? Could they really find nothing else? 

He zoomed in with his camera. The hoop was full of carnage, dripping body parts, red all over the ground below. A shuffle behind him—he whipped around. The twins were coming. They’d been following after all. 

Stumbling into the court, he dodged the blow from the player, who rasped out, “Shirts and skins or fuck off!” 

The player shoved Waylon towards the exit, a ladder leading up the side of the building. “Spoilsport!” 

“Yeah, my bad,” Waylon gasped. The gate creaked open. The twins stepped inside. Waylon ran for the ladder. It led him up to a watch tower, where he took a moment to lock himself inside. He pulled out one of the wooden chairs and dropped his face in his hands. 

I don’t want to die here. 

Something on the table caught his eye, the words ‘exposed to the Engine.’ Pulling the email closer, Waylon squinted at the paper. 

 From: j.billings@murkoffcorp.us.com

To: k.vigalando@murkoffcorp.us.com

Subject: re: “Patient” Samul 

 Kurt, we’ve got another one, and I’m not sure you’re gonna be able to check it off as “Psychopathic Proximity Disorder.” 

 Security guard all the way up in the Admin block is our latest non-patient employee to start seeing Wernicke’s fairy tales. He was never directly exposed to the Engine, never even made it below level 1 in the building. It would be an enormous breach of protocol and security if doctors were speaking of the Walrider within hearing of a contracted security guard. And seems vanishingly improbable that he would stumble into such an obscure mythological story on his own. 

 It’s too similar to the Dr. Samul case, or the others before him. It’s one thing for formally sane medical personnel to fall under the delusions of their patients. It’s another thing entirely for those beliefs to be… I don’t know. Airborne. We need to talk in person. 

 Billings. 

 Waylon stuffed the paper in his pocket. He had no idea what to make of it. Wernicke… Waylon had heard that name before. Checking through the other documents he’d collected, he found mention of Wernicke’s research. Wernicke was why the Walrider existed. Wernicke created the engine. 

Wernicke was the reason he was trapped here. 

He forced himself to leave the safety of the watchtower to head across the catwalk. A patient ran past him. 

“Shhh! Shut up! Shut up, all of you! We’re not alone down here. It’s just what they want us to think. You’re going to draw it. Shh!” 

We’re not alone down here. 

Waylon swallowed. 

He reached another watchtower and climbed a ladder, bringing him even higher. A patient stood at the railing, looking down, looking very much like he was contemplating. 

“Don’t trust them,” he said with a sigh. 

Waylon brought his camera up. 

“They’ll tell you it’s science but it’s not. They were… waiting for us. In this place. Billy understood. They’ve always been here.” 

He wiped his sweaty palms on his jumpsuit and headed for the nearest door. It let him into a larger building, and down the hall by the flickering light, a few patients ran past. Blood splattered the walls. Waylon passed by a barricaded door cracked open, the shadows on the wall beating another to death. Everywhere he went, patients were running, hiding, killing each other, barricading themselves in doors. 

Waylon finally found his way to the security room, where a dozen screens showed the entire prison block. 

And the radio. 

Waylon broke into a sprint. 

“Leadville 911, what’s your emergency?” 

“Mount Ma—” 

A hand closed over the radio. An elbow slammed into Waylon’s nose, his vision blurring as he choked and fell on his back. Jeremy Blaire smashed a police baton into the radio, once, twice, three times—Waylon had to run. He jumped to his feet and headed for the door, only for the baton to crash into his face and land him back on the floor, staring at the ceiling. 

“Fuck!” He gasped. 

Blaire climbed on top of him and pressed the baton to his neck. “Waylon Park!” He laughed dryly. “You couldn’t just…” A growl built in the back of his throat. “You couldn't just keep your mouth shut. You couldn’t just play along. But you’re done talking now.” 

Waylon’s throat burned. His vision was pulsing, his eyes throbbing. His head was going to explode. 

Something crashed. 

Blaire looked back. 

He climbed off of Waylon, who sucked in a huge, gasping breath, and waved the baton at him. “Do me a favour and die here, Park,” he snapped, then ran from the room. 

Waylon couldn’t get up for a good few minutes. He gasped for breath, holding his throat, his heart racing through his entire body. 

He ended up on all fours, dragging himself to the doorway. He was almost to his feet when a body flew through the once-closed door that led deeper into the asylum. Huffing grunts and snorts sounded down the hall. Waylon pressed himself against the back of a desk, eyes wide. He peeked around the side. 

Chris Walker.

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 13: Logince

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 13: Everyone is born with a super power, but when soulmates are together their powers are nullified by each other. (AKA the hero/villain AU I’m probably going to have to write a sequel for)

Content warnings: battle wounds (minor blood), physical combat, general destruction, fear of death/intention to kill (no one dies), passing out.

Comments: I’m definitely more of a dialogue heavy writer, so writing so much action was new to me. Life hack: watch fight scenes online to get a better visual when writing combat.

Word count: 1.8k

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. 

That’s all Roman could think as he weakly pushed himself onto his elbows, lifting his battered forehead from the ground, an action that required far more effort than it should have. Never before in his life had he been reduced to this, a limp pile of bruises and ice burns and bloodied cuts surrounded by the wreckage of a once unscathed street. The smell of smoke was thick in the air and heavy in his lungs, rising from the rubble of collapsed buildings and choking him both physically and metaphorically, as a reminder of how much he’d failed. 

This guy, whoever he was, was a new villain. As far as Roman knew, at least. He’d never laid eyes on the man before today, and hated how instantly attracted he was to the maskless villain. Of course, the lack of mask also indicated that he didn’t intend on staying around long enough to be recognized in public… or leaving any survivors that would be able to pick him out of a line up. So even though Roman immediately felt bad as soon as the first well aimed hit of his flaming sword’s hilt knocked into the man’s jaw and sent him tumbling, it was quickly overruled by his ingrained instinct to protect. The goal was to take him down alive, relatively unhurt, and have him placed in the same secure facility all of Roman’s defeated foes were sent to, but if he had to be killed for the greater good, that was just a sacrifice he would have to make. Guilt could come later, when everyone was safe. 

But his one hit was all he got in before the man completely unleashed everything he had. He had unclipped a small tube from his waist and popped it open to full size; a compact staff that was at least double the length of Roman’s sword. The distance he’d stumbled from the first hit was just enough, an action that Roman only now realized had been completely intentional on the other’s part, and he swung with accuracy that put the hero’s to shame. It hit him in the side and sent him sprawling, landing on his hands and using the momentum to roll, jumping back to his feet and setting his sword aflame once more. He couldn’t let his concentration falter like that again. Forget those perfect blue eyes, Roman. He’s trying to kill you. 

He’d kept his distance after that, an artful duck and weave between buildings, avoiding spears of ice that seemed to grow from the ground itself and praying one of his blindly shot gusts of flame had landed a hit. Of course, of freaking course, the one villain that stood a chance against him combat-wise had an opposing power. His sword was starting to dwindle and his arms were sore from deflecting and breaking through the walls of ice his opponent continued to raise with no hesitation, and the heat in his hands was starting to fade. He was tired. That just made this harder, and the fun factor was starting to wear off. He had to end this. 

That was the wrong mindset to go in with, because then he was desperate. Desperation led to destruction, and he regretted his sudden carelessness the moment a clumsy spur-of-the-moment shot missed his nemesis by a mile and tore through the entryway of a jewellery store instead. Luckily the street had been cleared the moment the fight began, so no one was injured, but that building going up in flame was only the beginning of the chaos. Because even though it wasn’t his fault after that, things just got so much worse. 

The street itself began to crumble to pieces, concrete breaking apart where thick tendrils of ice ripped its way through in all directions, spreading like tree roots, the ‘trunk’ itself being the new villain. He was standing in the middle of the street, watching Roman with an unreadable expression, as the carnage only increased. It was as if he saw his accidental blunder and decided he wanted to break buildings now, too. All Roman can think about is the Titanic, a mighty vessel taken down by a single piece of ice, as the roots shredded through the foundations of the downtown street. Metal and wood creaking fills the air, the sound of the ice growing and spreading, and it takes the hero far too long of just staring in terror to remember that he needs to try and stop that. 

He was strong, not smart. 

He ripped his sword out of the display window it had been flung through after an especially bad ice shot to the hand and sprinted forward, weapon ablaze with his newfound dedication. The unsteady ground rose to trip him, every muscle burned, blood dripped into his eye, but he pushed on, vaulting over a flipped car and coming face to face with his opponent. Again, he was slightly taken aback by the sheer confidence in his eyes, the man not at all flinching as Roman brought down the sword towards his head, blocking the strike with the edge of his staff. The destruction of the street came to a standstill as he turned all his concentration to the immediate fight, blocking Roman’s next two hits. The hero let the impact push his momentum downwards, swinging his weapon through the empty space where the man’s feet had been seconds ago. A creak to his left stole Roman’s attention for barely a split second, a mistake he realized the second he glanced away, and the other man went onto the offensive, thrusting the end of his staff into Roman’s side. He let out a soft grunt and threw up his sword, blocking the overhead strike inches from his head but not acting before he was kicked in the stomach, the force throwing him back. His sword clattered from his grip, the flames flickering out of existence and blending in with the rubble. And oh, how tables can turn. 

He rolled out of the way as the staff was jabbed into the ground, feeling the cold metal barely brush his neck. As he leapt to his feet, retreating several steps, his eyes kept shifting between the villain and the ground, searching desperately for his sword. It was a waste of time; his opponent was sizing him up again, almost like he was calculating weak spots in his head. He lunged forward, bringing the staff down towards Roman’s neck. Roman blocked with his forearm instinctively, immediately hissing in pain as a jolt shot up to his shoulder, and took another step back. This isn’t good. This isn’t good. He picked up the first weapon-like object he could reach, the bent pole of what was probably a street sign, and swung it at the other’s head with little to no aim, stumbling with the momentum. The villain ducked underneath it with no hesitation, stepping forward under the pole and landing a solid hit into Roman’s spine. Another kick in the same place sent him headfirst into the rubble, smacking his forehead against a piece of metal and feeling the skin split on contact. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. 

That’s all Roman could think as he weakly pushed himself onto his elbows, lifting his battered forehead from the ground, an action that required far more effort than it should have. Never before in his life had he been reduced to this, a limp pile of bruises and ice burns and bloodied cuts surrounded by the wreckage of a once unscathed street. The smell of smoke was thick in the air and heavy in his lungs, rising from the rubble of collapsed buildings and choking him both physically and metaphorically, as a reminder of how much he’d failed. 

He rolled onto his back, wincing as shards of metal and glass pierced his skin, only able to watch as the villain strolled towards him, twirling his staff smugly. Every muscle and bone screamed as he pushed himself onto his feet, stumbling weakly. Weak sparks shooting between his fingers was the best he could summon in this state, his hands numb from overexertion and skin dry and cracking from the constant flame. 

“And to think, I actually expected a challenge. They made you out to be so much more than this.”

The first words he’d heard the man say, slipping from his lips like honey, a near growl. He continued to advance, taking a step for every one of Roman’s pained backpedals, until his broken and bleeding skin bumped into the remains of a wall, pushing the debris in just that much further. Just as Roman glanced down to his feet, looking for anything weapon-like, he flicked his wrist in the hero’s direction and four shards of ice broke apart from the main roots around him, shooting through the air in a blur, and pinning Roman to the wall. Still the villain approached him until they were almost touching, Roman’s pain-hunched form causing the man to nearly tower over him, a smirk slowly spreading across his face. He raised a crooked finger under Roman’s chin, tsking under his breath.

“I thought you were their hero.”

And just like that, with no further monologuing, he shoved his hand into Roman’s chest, the cold limb burning Roman’s skin in seconds. He let out a weak sound, somewhere between a yelp and a groan, too dizzy with pain to even care about dignity anymore, waiting for the final blow. 

Just get it over with, he thought pathetically. But the hand didn’t get colder, or shoot a spike into his heart, or however this villain had planned to kill him. They just stood there, still, until Roman built up the courage to crack his eyes open, not knowing what to expect.

Whatever he had imagined, it wasn’t this. The man was squinting in concentration at his hand on Roman’s chest, the fingers spasming slightly as nothing happened. Whether it was sudden exhaustion or improper training, Roman didn’t care, because a surge of energy filled him and he focused it on his hands. Granted, they were pinned to a wall, but if he could just get the angle right-

Nope. Not a spark, not a flicker across his palm. They heated up, they burned, and he knew they should have at least glowed slightly to indicate the power flowing through them. The villain seemed to notice the way his fingers formed a fist, curling and uncurling to try and get them to do something, and a look of pure horror crossed his unmasked face. It took Roman much too long to realize as well. 

Neither of their powers were working.      

“No,” They both spoke simultaneously, jerking up to meet each other’s eyes. 

The villain dropped his hands to his sides, taking a couple steps back, the shock clear on his face. Another choked, “No,” escaped his lips before he turned and ran, the ice around Roman’s arms melting into thin air as soon as he was far enough away. The hero watched the man- his soulmate?!- sprint into the smoke, off to whatever base he was from, before crumbling weakly to the ground. Exhaustion overtook him, the memory of those startling blue eyes his final thought before the world dissolved into black.

[wkemeup]

In the Embers

summary: Bucky finds his burdens weigh a little less when he’s with you pairing: bucky x reader word count: 4.6k warnings: self-loathing!bucky, PTSD symptoms, talkin bout ✨S P A C E✨ a/n: this was done for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan writing challenge! I had the prompt “I’m having a bonfire. You should join me” and because im incapable of writing fluff without first prefacing it with angst, I apologize. (Also included anon’s request of playing with Bucky’s hair)

The universe simply wouldn’t let Bucky Barnes set right all the wrongs he’d committed in his life. He was certain that in every attempt he made to step closer to the light, the cold embrace of a cruel, empty darkness would shove him several paces back and down into the abyss of a never-ending pit, leaving him with no way to climb back up to the surface.

The universe would find a way to keep him alienated from those who worked so tirelessly to help him, to make sure he stayed as lost and broken as Hydra made him to be, to ensure that he never made amends for his crimes the way he so desperately needed.

He was never meant for anything more, he supposed. He was tempting fate at it was, just simply continuing to live after all he’d done.

Perhaps he should have known his first mission with the Avengers would be a colossal failure. It was supposed to be simple, something to ease him back into the field; something his stupid, mushed up brain should have been able to comprehend, but he couldn’t even do that, could he?

No. Instead, when Bucky was meant to stand guard while Natasha finished downloading the software she was assigned to extract from the Hydra warehouse, he’d been distracted. He lost his focus for only a moment; his eyes having darted over to a room on his right. No, a cell. A prison.

It looked too much like the one he’d seen in his nightmares; the one he only got bits and pieces of in his memories. He recognized the cement flooring and the metal door with bars over the impenetrable glass. He knew the faint discoloration of red along the floor in the hallway leading into the room, like a bloodied body had been dragged and thrown inside without remorse. The smell of something decaying burned in his noise and his breath felt shallow in his lungs.

He knew this wasn’t where he was held. Steve had been able to track down enough answers for him to know Hydra had never kept him in South America, but it was just so familiar. He froze up, hands sweating and heart pounding so loud he was certain someone might hear it through the coms. His breaths were too pained, too fast, and he didn’t notice the Hydra agent come up on his left and lunge at Natasha.

A knife scraped along her arm as she attempted to dodge the attack and her yelp was the only thing that shocked Bucky back to his body. He rushed in to help, but it was already too late. The Hydra agent had managed to destroy the computer before the download was finished and alerted the entire building the Avengers were present.

Red flashing lights and sirens echoed in the halls as Natasha sprinted past him. She shot him a look; something of frustration and understanding mixed in one, and Bucky clenched his jaw so tightly he was sure it would never unlock again. He chased after her, escaping the influx of dozens of Hydra agents because he knew staying to fight wasn’t an option.

The jet was quiet on the way home. Fury had called in for an update and Bucky all but slumped into his seat in an effort to disappear as Steve reported the mission had failed. Stark, who was still getting used to the idea of having Bucky around in the first place, was grumbling under his breath, staring daggers at the reformed Winter Soldier and Bucky couldn’t help but think Steve should have just come out with it and told the director that he was the one that fucked up.

Steve was too understanding, too forgiving of his old friend, and everyone on the jet knew it. It was the disappointment in Steve’s eyes that hurt more than anything else. He thought Bucky was ready for something like this, thought Bucky was stronger than he was, but he wasn’t.

He was weak, and pathetic, and set to lose it at any given second. He was a raging mess of trauma and panic attacks and nothing he did seemed to make any of it better. Steve should have known not to trust him. He could barely trust himself.

Hours after the jet landed, Bucky sat alone in the dark of the living room, clutching at his hair enough to burn in his scalp, hunched over on his knees. He didn’t know why he even bothered to leave his room after the team returned, but the walls were just so white, his lack of belongings so evident, it left a kind of emptiness hanging in the air mirrored to that in his chest.

The whole team was elsewhere, no one around to witness his unbridled self-loathing and poor attempts to pull himself together. Steve and Stark were still holed up in meetings and attempting to explain why the team would need additional resources to run the mission again to extremely disgruntled higher ups in the Pentagon. Natasha and Sam were sparring down in the gym, getting out their frustration and testing the limits of their aching muscles. Clint was off at the farm with his family, where the guy belonged. Thor was still out in space doing who knows what.

And Bucky?

Bucky was alone.

Until, he heard the soft patter of footsteps sneaking down the hall, a light humming through the air that sent a shiver down his spine, just enough to lift his hands from his head and peak over the edge of the couch.

You whizzed around the kitchen, headphones in and swaying your hips along to a song Bucky could only vaguely hear; something with a light, melodic beat and lyrics you clearly didn’t know the words to. Smile on your face and wrapped up in dark black leggings, a sweatshirt that looked to be about twice your size, fuzzy slippers and a worn scarf, you gathered items from the pantry and set them on the countertop.

Bucky watched, not noticing that his anxiety had started to go down as you filtered through old cereal boxes and dug out a box of graham crackers from the back of the shelf and tossed a bag of marshmallows onto the counter. You dug into the plastic bag and popped one of the white clouds into your mouth with a content sigh, almost a moan, and Bucky found his lips curve just a little. Certainly not enough for anyone to notice, but enough that muscles were used that hadn’t been in a while.

Next, you snuck a block of a chocolate bar from the top shelf Bucky was almost positive belonged to Sam. As you turned back to the counter, gathering everything up in your hands, you froze, eyes falling on Bucky and a breath hitched in his lungs.

You slowly removed your headphones, raising an eyebrow as a smile easily pushed on your cheeks.

“Whatcha doin’ sitting in the dark like that?” you asked, voice sweet as ever and Bucky swore his face must have been beet red from the rush of heat in his cheeks.

He swallowed nervously, hands raking through his hair to tame the mess he’d created as he nearly ripped it out just moments earlier. He stood, slowly, and realizing his legs were a little numb from how long he’d been sitting there.

“Nothing,” he replied, straightening out the wrinkles on his pants. He looked down and realized he was still wearing his stealth suit. You must have noticed too because you started to laugh a little. It made Bucky’s stomach twist in knots. 

He turned to leave, needed to get out before he made an even bigger fool of himself. You were the last person he wanted to know that he was as broken and damaged as the rest of them thought.

“Well, if you’re not doing anything,” you called after him, unbothered as Bucky tried to escape the room, a mischievous smile on your face as you gathered up your snacks. “I’m having a bonfire. You should join me.”

Bucky froze in his tracks, a careful look over his shoulder. “What?”

You nodded, walking closer to him. “I mean, you should change first. Can’t imagine Kevlar and thigh holsters will be very comfortable out there. Dress warm, alright?”

You turned to walk away, just assuming he’d come because you always did think the best of him, despite having absolutely no reason to. Bucky watched as you practically skipped down the rest of the hall, waiting impatiently by the elevator, and you sent him a beaming smile before you stepped inside. If Bucky didn’t know better, he might have thought he was dreaming.

He’d only been living at the compound for a few months now since his pardon and he’d largely kept to himself. He'd take long runs outside alone and eat most of his meals in his room. Never one to initiate interaction, though he agreed to spar with Steve and Sam on occasions. Throwing fists was easier than talking. Talking was how his demons seemed to fall out. He’d say the wrong thing or remind Steve that he wasn’t who he used to be and he’d just get those sad, disappointed eyes again.

Steve never meant to make him feel so unwanted. He knew that, but Steve longed for Bucky as he was before the war, forgetting that pieces of him were still right here; damaged and broken, but still here.

Things were different with you. You never once asked him to be anything he wasn’t. You never stepped around eggshells or treated him like he was something to be feared. You never left the room as soon as he’d walk in and often purposefully went out of your way to ask him what he was doing that day or to include him in whatever pop culture argument you were having with Sam, even though Bucky couldn’t begin to follow what you were talking about. You’d invite him to every movie night, no matter how often he declined. You encouraged him to come to the publicity events and promised to make fun of Sam the whole time if he came.

Try as you did, you never could get Bucky to open up.

Except for tonight, it seemed.

He appreciated your gesture more than he admitted; out loud and to himself. He did start to notice the way his stomach hurt when you’d be a day overdue on your check-in’s while on missions overseas and how he often glanced over to your spot on the couch when you weren’t around. He noticed that his heart skipped a little when you’d touch his shoulder as you walked by and how your smile seemed to always make him blush.

He put too many rules on himself; so easily giving into the voice that reminded him that he deserved to be alone and isolated and without someone as kind and forgiving as you. He wondered, if maybe he told that voice to shove it, if he could find an ounce of something other than self-deprecation tonight. Any time spent with you would be better than his original plan of allowing his guilt to swallow him whole.

Bucky was already changing out of his suit before he realized it; throwing on an old SHEILD crewneck from Steve and a pair of sweatpants he stole from the training center. The cold didn’t bother him much, but you’d been so sweet all wrapped up in your sweats, it made Bucky want to try for something normal.

You made Bucky want to be normal.

It was how he found himself standing at the edge of the compound, looking out into the dark field to the soft flicker of a fire. You sat curled up on a blanket, smiling and proud of your work. You didn’t notice him just yet and Bucky decided he liked the way you smiled to yourself when you thought no one was watching.

He started to make his way over to you and you nearly jumped as he approached, hand clutching at your chest to still your heart and you started to laugh.

“Bucky! You scared me!” you grinned, making room for him on the blanket and patting the surface next to you for him to sit down. He did so, amazed that the feel of your thigh against his didn’t scare him away. If anything, it made him want more.  

“You’re surprised I came?” he asked softly, a semblance of a smile on his lips.

“Of course, I’m surprised, Bucky! You never come to anything I ask you to,” you replied and Bucky frowned, a twinge of guilt in his chest, but your smile was too bright for it to stay long as you continued, “but I’m really glad you did. Now I can give you partial blame for stealing Sam’s chocolate.”

A laugh escaped him before he could suppress it. It felt odd in his chest, but warm, welcoming maybe. “I see your true motives at work here.”

You shrugged, sending him that teasing grin that made his stomach twist, and you plopped a marshmallow on a metal stick and handed it over to him before doing another for yourself.

“You know how to make s’mores, right?” you asked, almost nervously, as Bucky eyes the marshmallow.

“Of course, doll, I wasn’t born in the stone age,” Bucky teased, surprised by his own voice.

“Just before sliced bread,” you shot back, grinning wildly and nudging at his shoulder. You didn’t seem to be affected at all that it was metal you touched, hard and cold beneath the surface of his sweatshirt. Bucky couldn’t help but smile.

***

Ten minutes later and Bucky had already consumed two whole s’mores before you got the perfect toast on a single marshmallow. You berated him for not caring about the ‘art’ of the s’more and that he under toasted or set them ablaze just to eat it sooner. He agreed and you shoved him playfully in the side.

“So where is everyone?” he asked, wiping the marshmallow from his lips, as you lit your third marshmallow on fire with an aggravated huff.

You stuck a new marshmallow on the end of your skewer and held it with careful precision over the flame. It was adorable, the way you squinted at the flames, determination over your features. After a moment, as you felt content with the ratio of flame to heat, you shrugged, answering his question, “right here”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Were you just going to do this by yourself if you didn’t see me in the living room?”

“Sometimes it’s nice to just get away for a while, have some place to think and just be,” you replied softly. “Besides, I like looking at the stars. It makes me feel small.”

If Bucky thought he had a decent read on you before, he was certainly at a loss now. “You like feeling small in the universe?”

“It reminds me that there are things out there that are bigger than myself,” you said, turning the marshmallow over the flame, a pleased smile on your face as the underside was toasted to the color you were looking for. “It reminds me that the little things I used spend days agonizing over only have power if I give it to them.”

The confusion must have read on Bucky’s face because you smiled at him, readjusting in your seat.

“We’re like these little blips,” you explained, pulling your marshmallow away from the flames, “and we only have this impossibly small amount of time here with so much before us and an eternity after we’re gone, and... I don’t know... I guess that makes me remember how important every moment is. I don’t want to spend my time here suffering, you know? I want to enjoy it. I want to do good with it and make it matter.”

Bucky nodded, looking up at the stars as you started to make your first s’more. The patterns of constellations were so clear outside of the city, imperfect patterns and arrays of tiny shiny specs in the sky, stretching out into the vast universe. Each one was a sun to its own solar system, each one surrounded by planets with potential life, and there were billions more than he could take in with his own eyes from this very small corner of a single world.

He knew what you meant about feeling small, though, he wasn’t quite sure how to get to the part about being thankful for his time here. If anything, if felt like his mark has been nothing but pain and violence and destruction. He should be sentenced to spend his time here agonizing over it, shouldn’t he?

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, noticing the contemplation on his face as you finally took a bite of your s’more and marshmallow oozed out the side. You groaned, eyes rolling back before you could catch yourself, and you giggled with full cheeks.

Bucky smiled at that. He might have forgotten entirely if he could just watch you do that again. “Nothing.”

“A face like that isn’t thinking about just nothing,” you retorted teasingly, shoving the rest of the sandwich into your mouth with a satisfied grin.

You had a bit of chocolate on the corner of your lips and Bucky’s hand reached out to brush it away without thinking. Your cheeks were warm from the fire, lips sticky from the marshmallows and the chocolate brushed off easily onto his thumb. He let his hand fall away and wiped it on the grass. He didn’t notice the way you watched him with a kind of awe that would have set his heart on fire.

“Come here,” you urged, pushing your legs out to lie flat on the blanket and gesturing to your lap. Bucky raised an eyebrow, confused, and you tugged on his shoulders, motioning for him to lay down.

Bucky didn’t quite know what to do, but he knew he’d do just about anything you asked, so he laid down along the blanket with his back pressed against the earth, his head resting on the soft cushion of your thigh.

“Look at the stars. They’re never ending. They go on for infinity and carry worlds of possibility. They’re limitless. Let them take some of your pain, Bucky,” you told him gently, leaning back to rest one hand against the grass as another gently wove into his scalp. 

He flinched at first, surprised by the sudden action, but found himself soon melting against the movements as it sent waves of shivers through his head and down his spine.

He did as you instructed, trying to find purpose in the stars, focusing on the gentle lull of your fingers tracing patterns in his hair. He only saw what he could; something beautiful, something vast and endless, but nothing that could take any the guilt he carried.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever find a way to let go of that. It was engrained in him. It was a part of him. The things he did were unforgivable, irredeemable, and it was all consuming. It weighed on him unlike anything else and pushed him so far beneath the surface, his lungs were filled with dirt.

After a while, Bucky’s eyes started to drift, losing focus on the stars you so endearingly found hope in, letting himself fall into the soft embrace of your nails as they wove patterns on his scalp, drawing a calm about him he hadn’t known in years.

“I heard about the mission,” you said quietly, suddenly, like you’d been thinking about it for a while, and Bucky stiffened instantly under your touch, his heart skipping several beats, but your fingers continued to rake gently against his scalp, drawing him back to a sense of calm. “It’s not your fault, you know. They never should have sent you to a Hydra facility on your first mission in the field.”

There was a hint of anger in your voice, like you’d had this conversation before, like maybe you’d argued with someone about it, tried to stop it from happening and no one had listened. Bucky’s stomach started to hurt, thinking that maybe even you, who thought so highly of him, didn’t think he was good enough to be an Avenger.

“There were too many reminders there, you know?” you said, continuing as you looked up at the stars. “I kept thinking they should have sent you to Bratislava with me; ease you into the field by breaking up trafficking rings first and maybe stop a few drug shipments, not by sending you right back to the people who hurt you for so long. I don’t know what they were thinking.”

That surprised him. You wanted to work with him? He knew you didn’t usually take part in Hydra missions after your father had been exposed as one of the double agents in the attack on D.C. There were enough agents with vendettas against Hydra to take on the cause and you were plenty happy to take down bad guys without worldwide organizational skills.

“We’d make a good team, don’t you think?”

Bucky realized then that he wasn’t watching the stars anymore, he was watching you. The flicker of the fire illuminated your skin in soft waves of reds and yellows, warm flush in your cheeks. You glanced down at him, fingers still gently carding through his hair, and he wondered if he’d ever seen a more beautiful smile in his life.

“Yeah, think so,” he replied. He never wanted to raid a Hydra base again if he could spend more time with you like this.

You smiled at him, proud, before you looked back up at the stars. “You’re more than just a culmination of your actions, Bucky. I know you feel like the things you did under Hydra’s control have turned the universe against you and that you’ll never be able to make up for all of it, but you don’t have to save people from burning buildings and throw yourself straight into your trauma to prove you’re good, Buck.”

Bucky sat up slowly, letting your hand fall away from his hair and trace down the side his left arm until it rested delicately on his hand; the metal warm to the touch as it absorbed the heat of the flame. You turned to him, smiling sweetly, though your eyes were sad.

“The small moments count, too,” you said.

“I thought you said the universe took away the small things, that they didn’t matter?” he replied, confused, but you shook your head.

“Only the bad things, Buck; the things that cause you pain.”

“That’s convenient,” he teased, enjoying the way your nose scrunched up in feigned frustration.

“You forget that small moments of good can change someone’s entire day. They can make a world of difference,” you countered, your free hand reaching up to cup the side of his face. He shivered under your touch though he didn’t dare pull away. “The first day I saw you smile is a pretty good example of that, actually.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at that, surprised.

“I had just gotten into a fight with Fury over the mission he was trying to send me on, one I didn’t believe was the right call, and I was about to go hit a punching bag for hours until my knuckles bled,” you explained, thumb brushing gently along his cheekbone, “but then I saw you sitting in the kitchen with Steve. I don’t even know what you were talking about but Sam had dropped the entirety of his lunch plate on the floor and you just... you smiled. It was wide enough to see the dimples in your cheeks and the wrinkles by your eyes, and I forgot why I was so angry to begin with.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He shook his head. “I never knew you were there...”

“I could list dozens of other moments like that Bucky,” you said softly, “and they all add up. Like the days you’d leave out an extra cup of coffee for me on Wednesdays because you figured out I only drink it before my mandatory board meetings and how you always pick up the empty dishes of those sitting around you when you go to clean your own or when you offer to help new recruits struggling with their hand-to-hand in the training gym. Please don’t disregard those moments. They matter. If anything, they matter more because they’re small. These tiny little moments that make the smallest differences and create a chain effect of something... good.”

How long have you been picking up on things like that? 

Did you also know that it was him that always made sure your stockpile of microwave popcorn was full or that he took Natasha’s shift training rookies once a week so the two of you could spend more time together, because he hated seeing you so disappointed each time your schedules clashed. Did you know that his heart eased a little when you walked in the room and the soft hum of your voice made his stomach twist in knots?

“Do you think I’m crazy?” you asked quietly, studying him for a reaction as he got lost in his own thoughts.

“No! No, of course not,” Bucky said, shaking his head, and reaching up for your wrist as you stared to pull your hand away from his face nervously. “I never considered that before, is all. I think I’ll have a lot of small moments to go before I can make up for all I’ve done.”

He said it in a teasing way, but you frowned.

“Not to me,” you said quietly, almost in a whisper. “You’re overflowing with good, Bucky, and I swear, I’m reminded of that every time I get to see you smile.”

Bucky paused, his heart aching and swelling with every word you say. He pulled your hand into his lap, holding it gently. “So, not very often then?”

You grinned, letting out a laugh, and it brought a smile to his face. “No, not very often, but it’s nice to see it now.”

“Might have to start smiling more, I guess,” he replied, a hitch in his breath as you leaned into his chest, arms wrapping around his waist. You started to shove him down to the grass and he let out a heart-filled laugh, letting you lay down beside him along the blanket, head resting on his shoulder, arm draped over his chest.

“Can we just stay here a little longer?” you asked, glancing up at him and he swore he’d never say no to you again. He’d let you take him anywhere you wanted; to movie nights, to extravagant galas, to the ends of the Earth.

“As long as you want, doll,” he sighed, reveling in the warmth of the fire and the press of your body against his.

He’d stare at the stars for an eternity with you.

*insert that meme of Jenny Slate screaming about space*

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨