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moonstruckbucky · 4 years

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The Recruit (8/?)

Summary: Becoming a SHIELD agent had been your dream and finally, you’ve achieved it. You’re at the top of your class in every field except one—hand to hand combat, and it doesn’t impress Captain Rogers in the slightest. Instead, it seems to convince him you’re useless, setting off a tense relationship between the two of you. In an effort to bridge the gap, Bucky offers to help you train to earn your way back into Steve’s good graces. What could possibly go wrong?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes (not Stucky)

Warnings for Chapter: Angst, pouty Steve. More soft Bucky. That’s it, that’s the warning.

Notes: Thank you all for the feedback of the previous chapter and for your patience while real life took over for a bit. Someone mentioned that they felt like Bucky/their relationship wasn’t featured enough, so I hope this chapter fulfills that for you! x

Also, a giant thank you to @marauderskeeper for this beautiful artwork!!! I’m so fucking in love with this! How perfect is this artwork, y’all?!

Steve finds patterns in the ceiling, shapes. It’s near-silent in the room save the sound of peepers through the open window, the soft breathing beside him. The weight against his chest shifts, sighs, rolls over, and he swallows thickly. Traces the lines of her body even though they’re all wrong, catches the scent of her hair - the wrong color.

He isn’t a stranger to the modern concepts of love and relationships, but it’s an indulgence he doesn’t frequently partake in. The women he meets are great, just none seem to strike that chord in him. None that seem to challenge him or intrigue quite like you.

The woman leaves with a friendly smile, an easy exit with no lingering questions of another night together or anything. He remains in bed for a little while longer, hands tucked up behind his head as he connects constellations in the ceiling. Training begins in thirty minutes, and he inhales deeply to quell the raging in his belly. He’s nervous; it’s the first he’ll see you after his apology.

He’d heard about your successful mission and he’s proud, almost excited for you, even though he knows he has no right. His treatment of you only serves to prove he’s failed as Captain; he’s meant to lead and guide and encourage. Instead, he judged and ridiculed and humiliated, drove you to the point of persevering to prove him wrong.

And you did. He’s embarrassed, ashamed - but proud all the same.

He dresses slowly in the SHIELD-issued black tac pants and navy t-shirt, the SHIELD logo emblazoned on the breast. Someone like Nat or Bucky or even Sam might accuse him of stalling as he carefully and meticulously laces his sneakers, but to anyone else he’d appear sluggish. To anyone else, he’d say he’s tired, that he’d had a late night, but if it were any of the aforementioned three, he’d pointedly keep his mouth shut.

He’s nervous - he’s man enough to admit it. He’s unsure of what to expect, unsure if he’d imagined his apology and your reluctance to believe him. He hates not being sure, not being confident, hates being thrown off his axis, out of balance. Structure, routine, and control is weaved into his DNA, and by apologizing, he’s given up that control, given a piece of him away for someone to do with as she pleases.

He hates it, loathes the way it makes his movements slower, stiffer, like he slept on a bad mattress all night instead of his cushy pillow-top next to a warm body. A warm body he really had no business bringing back here last night, but he brushes that thought away.

He takes a little longer than usual brushing and inspecting his teeth, snarling into the mirror and using floss of all things until he looks at the time and knows he can’t put this off any longer. Schooling his features into impassive steel, Steve sweeps from his room. The ride in the elevator down to the training room is spent building up a wall in his mind, a wall away from her - from you.

You’re already there when he enters, along with Bucky and a few other recruits. You’re smiling, teasing Bucky, and it puts lead in his chest. Absolutely scorches when you notice him and your smile promptly drops. He feels his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows heavily, and the burn in his chest lessons only a little when you offer him a respectful nod.

He returns it, catches Bucky’s eye and his friend gives him a reassuring smile. Steve’s not sure it helps. Mentally shaking it off, he begins the session, starts them off with running laps while he and Bucky spectate.

Steve can’t help but watch you; you’ve got near-perfect running form and you seem unbothered by your knee. You keep pace with everyone, even set it once or twice, and his scrutiny of you means he catches every little side-glance you give his best friend. The little curl at the corners of your lips, a darting glance away.

He catches the same expression on Bucky’s face - and he knows. How could he not know? The way he’d intervened when Steve was being unreasonably harsh, the easy, gentle teasing between you just now, the ever-present smile on Bucky’s face whenever he looks at his phone, the secret glances now as you increase the pace and pull ahead.

As Steve moves the group on to sparring sessions, the looks between you and Bucky become less sneaking and more appraising, and Steve has to dig hard beneath to find any joy that his friend has found his own happiness. Steve knows Bucky deserves it, after all he’s been through and yet.

The obvious connection between the two of you makes his chest hurt and jaw clench so tight it aches. When Bucky calls on you to demonstrate with him, Steve has to hide his curled fists in the pockets of his sweats.

His mind is muddled; he has no reason to be this angry - jealous, surely - but angry? No. Aggravated enough he wants to knock Bucky’s teeth out, sick enough at the sight of the two of you, moving in such synchrony, that he almost looks for the closest trash barrel.

Instead, he pushes the recruits hard, calls out tips to avoid making his previous mistake again, and offers assistance where it’s needed. An adjusted position here, a tip about roundhouse kicks there. He can almost ignore you and Bucky grunting and shouting only feet away.

You, meanwhile, are almost hyper-aware of Steve and the one-eighty he’s seemed to have made. He’s keeping his distance, though you don’t miss the pinched expression to his face or the underhanded glances he shoots you. Probably anticipating a snarky reply or otherwise prove you aren’t trying to remain civil.

He’s made his way over as Bucky pulls you into a headlock, the position warming something deep within you. His arm is loose enough around your neck that he isn’t cutting off any air, but his pelvis is flush with your backside and you even think he’s grinding it - imperceptibly enough that it goes unnoticed by the others. He’s fresh, you’re learning, pushing boundaries wherever he can.

Normally, you’d play along, dig and push a little back, but not with Steve watching the way he is. Arms crossed, feet hip-width apart in his typical Captain stance, but he’s far less rigid than he was. You execute S.I.N.G. (solar plexus, instep, nose, groin) with anxious butterflies, but you manage to successfully complete the move, spin, and move to jab Bucky again.

Steve’s voice is even gentle when he tells you, “Move your feet. Don’t lock up or remain stationary.”

It’s such a far cry from his previous gruff behavior that it throws you, knocks you slightly off-kilter so that you stumble into Bucky’s chest. With heat in your cheeks, you push away from him, try to resume as if you didn’t fumble at all. You’re meant to be the picture of indifference and yet Steve’s one-eighty has you completely floored.

Should you be, though? He did promise you he’d be better, and so far he’s kept that promise. Perhaps a part of you hadn’t believed him, hadn’t had any reason to believe him - about anything. The fact that he’s trying stirs something in you, and it leaves you open to wind up face-down on the mat.

“Shit,” you grunt as the wind rushes from your lungs.

“That’s what happens when you get distracted,” Bucky teases before reaching with his metal hand to help you to your feet. “Your enemy won’t hesitate to exploit that opening if you give it to them.”

“Yeah,” you agree on a sigh, “yeah. Let’s do it again.”

The warmth in your cheeks doesn’t cool as you run through your spar again. This time, you manage to block out Steve’s close scrutiny and get Bucky on his back, a knee pressed into his chest. You know he can toss you off without a hitch but he lays there, lets you have the win.

“Better,” Steve compliments with an approving nod. You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, so you stare at his chest - which, to your shocking admission, isn’t all that much better. The intrusive thought forces you to duck your head, busy yourself with your water bottle as Bucky and Steve begin a rundown of the next exercise.

If either notice you take a little longer to collect yourself, they don’t say anything. After a few more moments of distracting yourself with your water bottle, you return to the group as the Captain and Bucky begin a mock-mission to sharpen your skills.

By the time you’re released from training, you’re covered in a layer of sweat that shimmers under the overhead lights, your mind is tapped, and your entire body feels like it went a round or five against Mike Tyson - super soldiers in your case, but they’d pulled their punches. The muscles in your back pull taut as you stretch, a tightness that makes you wince, expel a tiny whimper.

A gasp as a set of hands lands on your back - one warm, the other just slightly cooler - and the thumbs dig in, find the tightest muscles and press.

“Fuck,” you hiss, arching against Bucky’s skilled hands. A pained smile over your shoulder and, “Hi.”

“Hi.” He grins and leans forward to drop a kiss to your temple. “You did good today.”

“Feels like I went ten rounds with an MMA fighter, but thank you.” Another hmph as Bucky digs his knuckles into your lower back, and a sigh as the tightened muscles release. You slouch against him, disregarding the slight dampness to his compression t-shirt, and turn your face into his neck.

“Feel better?” he asks, throat vibrating against your forehead. Wordlessly, you nod.

“Until tomorrow when it really sets in. You’ll have to carry me everywhere,” you retort cheekily, tilting your face to meet his glimmering eyes.

“Oh, will I?” A teasing upturn of his lips and your eyes dart to them, hold there for a moment as your heart trips over itself in your chest.

“Uh huh.” A pause, then you shrug. “Or you can just stay in bed with me.”

The darkening of his eyes is offset sharply by the awkward look that suddenly shadows his face, cheeks going rouge as he quickly averts his eyes. It’s an odd reaction, and you tilt your head, mouth popping open before he overrides you.

“Whatever you want, doll,” he assures with a smile, all traces of bashfulness gone.

It’s a bit disconcerting how quickly his charming, easy-going demeanor is back in place, but you chalk it up to his former status as an assassin. Give nothing away, a mask he can flip off and on. He further pulls your mind away by lifting your hand to his lips and dotting small kisses across your knuckles.

“C’mon. Should take an ice bath for those muscles.” And he tugs you down the hallway.

“Mother of fucking SHIT.”

Bucky chortles, applies pressure to your shoulders to keep you from popping out of the bathtub he’s filled with ice and water. There’s a burn in your limbs from the cold, and your nails scrape at the ceramic of the tub, squeaking in the small space. Breath rushing in and out as you try to relax, loosen your sore, tightened muscles to let the coldness do its job.

But it’s hard, your mind whines, and your verbalize said whine pathetically.

“It’s so cold.” It’s a whisper, because speaking any louder is downright impossible as your brain works overtime to warm your body.

“I was frozen in ice off and on for seventy years,” he reminds you teasingly, “you can handle it.”

You hiss a laugh, and it makes his mouth twitch. He recalls the first time he ever made a joke about his history with HYDRA. Steve nearly shit a brick before chiding him about how he shouldn’t joke about such things.

“Steve, it happened to me,” he’d reminded, “I should be able to joke about it all I want. Better than going into total shutdown every time HYDRA is mentioned.”

Steve hadn’t said anything after that, but each time Bucky made a jab at HYDRA, he didn’t miss the disapproving gleam in his friend’s eye.

He feels relief that you laugh, feels, well, normal, and like he’s made progress if he feels he can confidently joke about his trauma. He knows he’s made progress, but there are still instances where he feels the others aren’t so sure.

With you, though, he doesn’t have to second-guess it. You don’t treat him like glass, like he’s going to shatter at the first sign of distress. It’s refreshing from the overbearing manner with which Steve treats him on most occasions. He’s thankful you hadn’t known the Bucky from before, the one Steve grew up with, the ghost of a time that’ll never come again. You’ve nothing to compare him to, nothing to miss like Steve does. It’s as refreshing as ice cream on a hot day...or an ice bath following a rigorous workout.

“C-Can I g-ge-get out yet?” Your teeth are chattering, arms crossed tightly over your chest and rubbing at your arms, riddled with gooseflesh. Your lips are even turning slightly blue as they wobble with the cold.

“Can you feel your muscles?” he asks, reaching for the towel he’d placed on the toilet seat.

“I ca-can’t f-f-feel my lips, never m-mind my mus-muscles.” The snark is lost amongst the clicking of your teeth, but it gleams heavy in your eyes. Smirking, Bucky holds out the towel and helps you stand on shaky legs, like Bambi on ice.

Leggings and sports bra plastered like a second skin, they in no way help to warm you even out of the ice, and after you’re wrapped in the towel, Bucky gives you your privacy to strip down and get changed. Movements unsteady, your wet clothes are plopped into a pile on the tile floor and new, warm, dry clothes are hastily thrown on. Despite the rigorous workout this morning, you feel freshly invigorated, like maybe you could run a mile - once feeling comes back to your legs, that is.

Burrowed in the new clothes, you step out of the bathroom to see Bucky reclined on your bed, looking quite at home. It puts a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest as you approach, and it only grows when he opens his arms for you to burrow into the heat of him. His arms wind around you, the metal one a comforting weight against your back.

It’s silent for a little while, a peaceful blanket pulled over the two of you in the small space of your room. Bucky’s chest rises and falls gently beneath your cheek, slow breaths, and you almost think he’s asleep until he speaks.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

You ponder for a couple beats. “What’s your favorite part of the 21st century? I mean, you were frozen off and on for so long, you didn’t really get a chance to enjoy anything right?”

He hears the trepidation in your voice, the slight intonation that you might actually be crossing a line by asking. He smiles, chuckles a little so you know you haven’t offended him.

“Is it predictable to say the food?” At your head shake, he goes on, “I mean, in the 30s and 40s, we barely had nothin’. Sometimes we’d all go to bed hungry with no dinner, and sometimes I gave my sisters my portion of food. I was the oldest, you know? Had to take care of my family. But now...now there’s just, so much. And so many different kinds! You know, when I first came to the compound, after Shuri fixed my noggin, I didn’t eat a lot. Ate only what I thought I was allowed to eat. One small serving. Was still going to bed hungry even when all this food was at my disposal.

Then Steve came to talk to me. Told me he was the same way, when he first came out of the ice. Said he had to take it slow because even though he was bigger, his body wasn’t used to eating so much. Neither was mine, even though I was healthier when I... before. HYDRA didn’t feed me, not really. No hot, home-cooked meal for the Fist. It was MREs, or a feeding tube - if I was awake long enough at the base. My system got used to it, and then when HYDRA fell, it was always...Ramen or canned meat, some fruit, if I could afford it. Nothing real substantial. Even in Wakanda, I was still only eating small portions. My first three-course meal here, I puked it all up. I was so astounded by the fact that I could eat as much as I wanted to, but my body wasn’t ready for it. It was used to rationing itself on small meals, used to fasting sometimes, too. But it got better. I ate a little more at each meal, got my body used to eating three times a day. Started working out more, too, to up my hunger. Eventually I could put away three servings at each meal and still have room for dessert. I’ve got a wicked sweet tooth.”

The last line is so unexpected, it makes you snort, choke on the breath, before you can laugh for real. It’s short, though, when you take in the entirety of his story and realize there’s so much you still have to learn about one James Barnes, so much of himself to reveal, so many layers to peel back so you can see who he truly is. A little skip in your heartbeat betrays your excitement to find out, if he’ll let you.

"I’ve got a list,” he then says, “of things people have recommended I try. Maybe you can help me cross some of them off, huh?”

“Bucky Barnes, are you officially asking me on a date?” you tease, leaning your head back to aim a cheeky smirk his way.

His chest rumbles against with that warm chuckle that warms you to your bones. “Suppose I am. You gonna leave a guy hangin’?”

“Hm, I suppose then I could assist you with this foodie bucket list. We’ll make a cultured man out of you yet.”

#the recruit #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #steve x you #steve x you x bucky #bucky x you x steve #bucky x reader x steve #steve x reader x bucky

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river-bottom-nightmare · 4 years

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headcanon that Dick is part veela.

Haly’s Circus traveled all around the world, picking strays and turning them into family along the way. One cold, dreary day in Europe, a couple showed up at the circus tent. Bedraggled, exhausted, and clutching each others hands, they were still the most beautiful people Haly had ever seen. Of course, he couldn’t very well leave them like that, so he invited them to stay, just for the night.

One night was all it took for them to charm their way into the heart of the circus. The other members could tell there was something off, something not quite human about them. It was in the way John, or so he said his name was, stayed in the air a little longer than normal when flipping from a trapeze. It was in the way Mary, or so she said her name was, tumbled down a silk before catching her foot in a lock a little to gracefully. It was in the way their skin seemed to shimmer under the limelight and the way their voices cut through the gloom of the night brighter than sunbeams when they laughed and the way they clutched at each other, fingers tangling and rarely letting go, as if they were being hunted. But they were also good and kind. John, or so he said his name was, joked around with the rest of the crew, his smile instantly putting them at ease. Mary, or so she said her name was, gave hugs warmer than the campfire and gave kisses on cheeks lighter than a butterfly. The two of them were part of the crew by morning.

A couple years later, when the crew was in northern India, Mary announced she was pregnant, with glowing cheeks and a delicate hand on her stomach. John was so shocked, he choked on his stew and upended the water pitcher. Then he ran over the Mary, a little faster than what passed for normal, and lifted her up in the air with an easy that not even Clayton the strongman could manage, and peppered her face with kisses. The rest of the crew turned a blind eye, as they always did, and congratulated the happy couple. After all, by now, they were family.

The troop took a small rest in a small village in Punjab when Mary was close to delivery. She spent her days laughing with the children as the women of the village taught the people in the circus to dance. A few weeks later, Richard John Grayson was born, or so they said his name was, and his gorgeous face became instantly beloved by the entire crew. But no one could deny that when just talking to little Dick, when they believed they were out of earshot, John and Mary lovingly called Dick by another name, one that seemed a little to quick and a little to ethereal to be able to pronounce. Dick spent his first couple of years in that small town in Punjab, doing flips and tricks from the moment he could stand. Ionana the Contortionist learned new skills and taught them to the village children, Fedir the Juggler learned about fifty new dishes to try, Bao the Swordsmaster grew so talented with her blade, not a single person could match her, and Haly added Punjabi to his ever growing list of languages. And when Dick turned four, the circus packed up and left the town in the dust, leaving nothing but memories behind.

After the pregnancy, John and Mary seemed to dull a bit. Not in terms of enthusiasm and personality, no. They were still the cheerful, loving couple they had always been. But the crew noticed how their flips became a little messier, their skin glowed a little less, their voices cracked and became a little more human. The inhuman talent they had on the trapeze was gone, replaced by a normal brand of extraordinary. It seemed that most every drop of whatever was in their blood that made them so unique had been transferred over to Dick. He was instantly a natural at performing. Perhaps a little too good. Not a single circus member missed the way the audience’s eyes drew to him, almost as if they couldn’t help themselves. They never missed the way, no matter how far up Dick seemed to fall from, he never got hurt. They never missed the way the animals came to him unprompted, the way he could almost talk to them (Zitka the elephant in particular). They never missed the way his lilting voice and golden laugh to the crowd right before his performance sent a wave of life and light rushing through everyone there. They never missed the sheer power that sparked in his eyes every time he leapt off the platform, and they never missed the way he floated in the air, more at home up there than he ever was at home. They never missed his beauty, the way his perfect little face and big doe eyes had people scrambling to give him anything he wanted. (They also never missed the way he abused this ruthlessly, gaining sweets and chocolate from the audience with one pout.) And this led them to believe that the Graysons were unstoppable. But before they knew it, John and Mary, if those even were their real names, were dead on the ground, and Dick had been whisked away, and just like that town in Punjab that raised him, left nothing but memories behind.

Now, the problem was that this was how Dick had been all his life. The light inside him, the way the air moved almost lifelike around him, this had all been normal to him. He never suspected he was anything less than human.

Bruce had his suspicions. No human. could quadruple flip into a roundhouse kick strong enough to take out a meta. No human could balance seamlessly on a rope the size of a string while being blasted with cold air at that speed. No human could catch a socialite’s eye at a party and convince them to reveal every one of their safely-guarded secrets with only a few flutters of the eyes and well chosen words. Yet all of these things came as naturally to Dick as breathing.

So Bruce had his suspicions, of course he did. He kept track of every time Dick tried to teach another Robin a move during training that was physically impossible for everyone except him. He kept track of the way Dick could talk Jason down from an explosive rage the way no one else could. He kept track of the way Dick could bring a smile out of Tim on his worst days, the shaky quirk of the lips a pale imitation of Dick’s sun gold grin, but there. He kept track of the way Dick could communicate with Cass nonverbally, seemingly having entire complex conversations with only a few movements and gestures. He kept track of the way Dick could almost read Damian’s mind, know exactly what the boy needed at any given time, despite the way his mind changed fast enough to give you whiplash. (He didn’t think to notice that Dick was the only person who could get him to stop, take a break, to rest.)

Bruce also kept track of the way pure fear soaked into anyone surrounding him the minute anger flared in Dick’s eyes. He kept track of Dick’s temper, more explosive than his and Jason’s combined. He kept track of the graceful ruthlessness telegraphed in every move of Dick’s body, keeping it in check through years of training. He kept track of the way Dick claimed every single person in the family for himself, along with a couple of the Titans and other friends, and the way everyone seemed to know innately know about his possessiveness. He kept track of the way Dick could easily seduce anyone he put his mind to, the way Dick became unnaturally beautiful out of the corner of his eye.

Bruce never brought this up to Dick. He let him carry on as always, believing him oblivious to his touch of something a little more than humanity. And for the most part, Dick didn’t know. He laughed with chuckle of pure light and sang with a voice that carried the depths of the oceans and danced with a grace more flowing than air and loved with a burning flame fiercer than a wildfire.

But every so often, Dick looked at a couple old pictures he had of his parents, salvaged from the circus. On the back, it was scribbled John and Mary Grayson, Haly’s Circus, along with a couple small anecdotes of what was happening in the photograph. But as Dick held the picture that never seemed to fade and touched their faces with fingertips that either seemed to brush right over things or press with a force stronger than Superman’s, a frown tugged at his face as he recalled his parent’s loving words, a little too light and a little too graceful to come from a human throat. He remembered them calling him something, something other than Dick, something that fit the tips of his soul the way the name Richard never seemed to.

John and Mary Grayson. But were those really their names?

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standbi-ghost · 3 years

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Burning Bridges

Part 4 of the Dying for Dummies series: 1 2 3

Words: 1,564

TW: detailed gore, implied underaged drinking (though could be replaced with gasoline since it’s not explicitly stated), technically suicide and major character death (is it major character death if he’s already dead-ish and continues to die-ish?)

AO3 as always

A seemingly invisible branch smacked him, like a slap to the face. He bit back a curse as he tenderly rubbed the injured spot. He shot a glare at the offending branch before walking off, shattered ego in hand.

It had been a long day for Dash.

To start off, it was a Tuesday; the worst day, in his humble opinion, of the week. A mockery of the seven-day week system. Mondays always went by quicker than anticipated, maybe because your mind was still laid out on Sunday’s bed and hadn’t fully woken up. Or maybe just because of the bad stigma surrounding the day. Up for debate. Wednesday offered the relief of being smack in the middle, a sign that you were halfway through the week. Plus, how could anyone hate the iconic “pink / hump day”? Thursday’s a reminder of what’s to come. Friday is just around the corner and Thursday was it’s biggest cheerleader, and who could deny a sexy cheerleader? Did he even have to explain the weekend crew? Friday, Saturday, and Sunday were the A-listers of the week, but with less criticism and more fun. But Tuesday? Tuesday laughed in the face of students. You’re awake, aware of what’s to come. Tuesday roundhouse kicked you in the gut and called you all kinds of slurs.

Tuesday also marked the date of his Physics exams so he may be a little biased. He could never wrap his head around the subject. Give him a poem to analyze, a historical event to write a report on, hell, even a sonnet to play, but ask him Newton’s laws and he’ll respond with a blank face. It wasn’t like he didn’t study either. He had weekly study sessions at Fentons’ house, and while Danny had been a huge help, that didn’t stop him from failing this exam.

Speaking of Danny.

Their relationship was slowly, but surely, getting better throughout the years. After being dragged to therapy by his family, he’d gathered up the balls to not only stop the tormenting of his fellow peers but formed a well-versed apology- his magnum opus, to Danny. The kid just waved his apology off, as if it were the least of his worries, water under the bridge, but that only served to fuel his need to get closer to him- no one waved off years of bullying that easily.

To say Dash worried for Danny was an understatement. While the bullying ceased at the end of Freshman year, the daily bruises Danny wore didn’t. There was a higher probability of winning the lottery than to catch the kid without some kind of injury.

And he was skinny. Deathly so. Malnourished more likely than not.

It could be neglect. Hopefully not abuse. Dash knew the Fentons were over-indulged in their work, gluttonous even. He really hoped that, amidst all of their work, they set aside time from their children. Ghosts were important, sure, but why have kids if you don’t look after them. And by the looks of Danny-

But Jazz was a different story. She seemed to be the mirror image of her brother, both siblings passionate and wise beyond their age, but that’s where the similarities seemed to end. Jazz was the perfect everything. Perfect student, perfect daughter, she was beautiful and graceful and seemed to light up the world around her. Where Danny was cold and distant, Jazz radiated warmth and greeted everyone with open arms. Where Danny was pale, gaunt, and sharp in his features, Jazz was vibrant, bright, and soft. Jazz was a compassionate canine; Danny a cornered cat.

That alone raised so many more questions. Did the Fentons favor Jazz? Did they feel that Danny hadn’t lived up to the legacy Jazz left behind? Did they hate Danny? It sure seemed like they did. What could Danny- sweet, dopey but kindhearted Danny- have done to garner such fierce hatred towards him? From his parents no less.

He pushed the thoughts away as he trudged past the park’s populated hiking trail into a more obscure one.

One of the activities he picked up from his therapy days was hiking (although hiking was a generous term to describe the early morning and nighttime walks he went on). It allowed him time away from all the drama at school, all his responsibilities. Out here, it was just him and the trees.

He knew these trees better than he knew the bottom of his bed. This coming from the kid who used to be afraid of the monsters in his closet and slept under his bed countless times. Take that as a metaphor if you’d like.

The trees were his family, the trees were his home, the trees listened to his rants and tears and joys all the same. This time venting his frustration over the taunting 50 he’d earned. And they were usually alone, just him and the trees, but Tuesday seemingly had it out for him. Among the trees was the boy inhabiting his thoughts- Danny.

He was dressed in his usual dark jeans and oversized NASA tee, a flannel draped loosely over his arms, threatening to fall at any sudden movement. Combat boots dug into the dirt beneath him with his weight pressed against a Rum Cherry tree, he was the blueprint for nerdy punks across Amity Park. Stealing glances at a notebook held tightly in one hand, he was taking swigs of water out of a pastel pink hydroflask. He looked- peaceful.

Feeling like a creep, Dash continued to watch as he let his notebook fall from his hands as he drunkenly fished in one of his flannel pockets. Horror washed over Dash’s senses as he watched Danny pull out a matchbook and strike one. Mischief lit up his eyes. Before he could take even a single breath, he watched Danny fill his mouth with what he was now convinced was definitely not water, before taking the flame to his lips.

In an instant, flames licked up his face and Dash ran on autopilot. He dug his own water bottle out of his backpack and spent no time rushing up to his burning friend, dousing him in liquid life. Conspicuousness be damned.

“Fuck”

Concern flooded Dash as he took in Danny’s appearance. His face was glazed, like the grease off a re-heated pizza slice. The pepperoni blisters only further drove their likeness. Singed hair wilted only to be pushed back up by a somehow conscious Danny, only to reveal a melting eyeball. Like a goblet of wine, it dripped lazily, hypnotizing Dash for only a moment before feeling a tug deep in his stomach. He was caught in a battle between wanting- no needing to throw up and rushing to help his friend.

He didn’t win.

“Shit, Dash, how long have you been here?” Danny gurgled out, words swishing in his mouth, meaning only salvaged by the sheer luck of Dash’s presence. If he hadn’t been there-

“Dash?!”

Maybe it was because it was his name and it was familiar, but he could’ve sworn his name spilled out in a much clearer light. He didn’t want to look up. He didn’t want to take the chance of throwing up again. Vile still stained his tongue as he asked,

“Are you okay?”

The question was stupid, obviously he wasn’t okay, but it still hung in the air for a few excruciating seconds. Dash squeezed his eyes shut and turned to Danny’s general area and opened his mouth to say something, anything to cut through the ugly tension between them. Danny cut first.

He had the nerve to ask, “Are you okay?” and Dash blanched. He didn’t know what to think of Danny. Was he selfless for asking, or just plain brain dead?

“Am I okay?” he drawled out.

“I mean you kind of just ruined my shoes with your puke, like, how am I s’pose to wash this out?” he said. This time he didn’t imagine it. His words were much easier to decipher. Not oozing with moist vowels and quivering consonants, but clear and coherent thoughts. And, was he teasing him about the throw-up? The same throw-up caused by his near-death experience?

“You set yourself on fire!? In the middle of the park no less! You could’ve died! You could’ve-“ mid-way through his little speech he dared to look up only for the words to die on his lips. Danny looked fine, generally at least. His face was now adorned with light scar tissue where previously dark burns marred his fair skin.

“Uh, that was kind of the point?”

At that, the tug at his stomach returned. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes at the very thought of witnessing Danny’s suicide attempt. It was much worse than he thought.

“Danny-“

“Wait no, that came out wrong.” Danny sighed and ran a shaky hand through his now unkempt, but otherwise fine, hair. “look Dash, you might wanna sit down for this one.” He gestured to the tree he had, just minutes ago, been resting on. He shakily took a seat on one of the tree’s massive jutting roots. Danny followed. In minutes, his view of the world shattered. Everything he thought he knew about ghosts was thrown out the window and he found himself back in school Freshman year, back at seeing a ghost for the first time.

He hated Tuesdays.

#Danny Phantom #Danny phantom au #danny phantom fic #Dying for Dummies #Danny Fenton #Dash Baxter #Dash is trying to be better #Dash and Danny are friends and probably seniors now #Im so proud of this ngl

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kerosene-insomniac · 3 years

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To Be So Lonely

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Midoriya Izuku

Warnings: Violence, mature language, homosexual behavior, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, major character death (not bakudeku)

Word Count for Chapter: 1,701 words

Summary: Midoriya Izuku has always wanted to be a musician. Something about the lyric working with a melody to convey his feeling just made his heart race. After his father died when he was three, Izuku has always relied on his mother. She worked two jobs to care for him and always supported his dreams. But when his mother is diagnosed with breast cancer just after he graduated high school, Izuku has to shift his focus.

Now he’s working two jobs and takes care of his mother with the help of his gay neighbors. In an attempt to learn self-defense, Izuku takes a few classes at a local gym. It’s there that he meets Toshinori Yagi, an older beta who used to be a professional heavyweight boxer. Yagi notices Izuku’s potential and encourages the small omega to eventually go pro. So, in order to make more money, Izuku eventually agrees.

Bakugou Katsuki has only ever wanted to fight. Orphaned as the young age of four, Katsuki has been fighting to live for his entire life. Fighting is all he’s ever known. After fighting underground for a couple years, Katsuki is noticed by Todoroki Enji. The older alpha takes him in at 19 and names him the official successor of his legacy (especially since all of his actual kids hate him).

Now, Katsuki is 25-years-old and the professional heavyweight champion.

In a whirlwind of events, Katsuki meets Izuku in the unlikeliest of places. He watches the small omega perform and can’t help it feel extremely protective and absolutely enamored with him. The older alpha gets to meet him and say goodbye without even learning the omega’s name. Katsuki isn’t sure that they’ll ever meet again.

That is, until Katsuki officially meets Izuku at a professional lunch with his manager’s rival.

{OR}

The one where Katsuki is a professional alpha boxer with arrogance issues and Izuku is a stubborn omega that’s way little too reckless with his well-being.

With a wacky cast of characters (including three idiots, a manly best friend, a traumatized bastard with daddy-issues, and many more) absolutely hell-bent on getting them together, neither men can seem to catch a break

{0.3} Special

“There was something beautiful about his scars, something lovely about his fallibility.”

― Grace Curley

K A T S U K I

“Square your shoulders.”

Katsuki ignored the monotonous voice and delivered three jabs to the blue punching bag in front of him. Honestly, he’s imagining the bag as Todoroki’s stupid face.

Stupid.

Fucking.

“You look tense. Maybe you would like some soba-“

Katsuki growled and dropped his stance, whirling around to face the other alpha. “Shut the fuck up, Icy Hot! Focus on your own bullshit!!”

Todoroki blinked, sipping his tea. “It’s not as entertaining.”

It’s been two days since Katsuki’s adventure at the bar. For some odd fucking reason, he can’t stop thinking about a certain freckled nerd and the bandages on his hands. To make things much worse, Shinsou has been ignoring his attempts at contact.

Now Katsuki’s training at his manager’s professional gym. He’s been with this manager for six years and wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.

However, his manager’s son definitely makes Katsuki consider leaving.

“Stop pissing me off.” Katsuki grumbled, turning to face the punching bag again.

Todoroki chuckled, but the tone was still indifferent. “You’re the one getting mad, Bakugou. You should control your emotions better.”

Katsuki scoffed, using his forearm to wipe sweat from his brow. “Shut the fuck up. At least I don’t have a meltdown every time someone boils water.”

“You should come up with better comebacks.”

That was enough to make Katsuki freeze.

“I have enough survival instincts not to tell you. Stick to the shitty nicknames.”

Katsuki swallowed thickly, blinking multiple times in an attempt to snap out of his daze. Now, thanks to Icy Hot, his mind was preoccupied by freckles, green eyes, and the smell of chocolate cherries.

His mind had been a muddled mess since that night.

“Bakubro! You good?”

Katsuki snapped out of his daze again and locked eyes with a worried Kirishima. The other alpha was watching him with obvious concern.

He nodded. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound so sure.” Kirishima murmured, glancing at Todoroki. “You have a tournament tonight, so we can’t afford you overworking yourself.”

Katsuki immediately bristled at the alpha’s tone, his eyes flashing angrily. “Stop looking down on me, Shitty Hair! I don’t need your fucking pity and I don’t need your concern!”

Kirishima didn’t even flinch. “There’s no need to be so defensive…”

“Fuck you, I’m not defensive!”

“You’re just proving my point!”

“Fuck your shitty point!”

Todoroki, who simply watched the interaction with bored eyes, finally cleared his throat and made both alphas freeze. “Perhaps this is about the potential celebrity that’s supposed to be at the tournament?”

Katsuki’s eyebrows furrowed. “Hah?!”

“All Might is supposed to be involved in the tournament.” Todoroki murmured, pursing his lips.

That was enough to make Katsuki’s nerves much worse.

Todoroki ignored Katsuki’s gobsmacked expression and focused his gaze on the laptop in front of him. “Father had been raging about it for days. Apparently Toshinori has chosen a successor.”

“No way!”

Kaminari’ s voice echoed throughout the gym as he raced towards them with Mina and Sero hot on his heels. If Katsuki wasn’t so shocked, he would’ve yelled at the lot of them for running inside.

Yagi Toshinori, or All Might, had been a famous boxer back in the day. He was best known as the beta who took on an alpha heavyweight champion and won.

He was easily Katsuki’s favorite boxer.

Toshinori had retired years ago and disappeared from the public eye. He didn’t come to tournaments and definitely wasn't associated with the community. So the idea that he had chosen a successor was mind-blowing.

If anything, Katsuki felt jealous.

“Bakugou? You look pale.”

Katsuki snapped out of his daze and glared in Todoroki’s direction. “Do you know who his successor is? What’s his weight class?”

Todoroki hummed, looking at his laptop again. “According to the website, his name is Izuku Midoriya. Light Heavyweight.”

“He must be a beta.” Kirishima murmured thoughtfully.

“Actually, it doesn’t say.”

Katsuki stood up a bit straighter at Todoroki’s words, his heart thudding in his ears. “It doesn’t say? Everyone is required to list they’re secondary gender when applying.”

Todoroki shrugged. “It only lists his name, weight class, and type of fight. There’s no picture or mention of his gender. Apparently this is his debut tournament, but he’s been underground for the past year.”

“Is he boxing?” Mina asked, obviously invested.

The alpha sighed indifferently. “Kick-boxing. Honestly, I’m more excited to meet the beta who kicked my father’s ass.”

Katsuki huffed to himself and focused on the punching bag again. He wouldn’t be fighting All Might’s mysterious successor, but he had the urge to show him who’s boss.

What could be so fucking special about Izuku Midoriya?

********

I Z U K U

“Parry or guard, Deku!”

Izuku huffed and guarded his face with his forearms. He was sweating wildly as Uraraka directed high kicks towards his face. The green mouth-guard between his teeth was clenched tightly as he concentrated.

Uraraka had been doing this much longer than him, so her skills were a little more precise and powerful.

But she also takes a second to get her bearings after kicks or jabs.

Izuku waited a split second after her last kick to pull his left leg back and swing it to hit Uraraka’s torso head-on.

Uraraka gasped on impact, caught off-guard.

That’s all Izuku needed.

In quick succession, Izuku delivered three jabs and ultimately finished with a right hook to take down his opponent.

Sure enough, Uraraka collapsed on the mat.

Izuku straightened his stance, panting wildly as he used his wrists to maneuver the head gear off of his curls. He was sweating like a pig, dressed in a form-fitting tank and spandex shorts.

Uraraka was panting as well, spread eagle on the mat. “That was good, Deku. Wasn’t expecting a roundhouse kick.”

“I can’t let you win every time, Uraraka.” Izuku huffed, chuckling lightly.

Before the female omega could respond or even think of a witty response, a gruff and familiar voice spoke first.

“Excellent job, my boy.”

Izuku glanced to the side, where two betas had been watching the sparring match. Shinsou was one of them, sipping on what looked like iced coffee. The other, however, was Izuku’s teacher and close friend.

Izuku bowed, his face hot. “Thank you, Toshinori-sensei.”

“Your reflexes have improved quite a bit.”

Uraraka sat upright, humming in agreement. “Compared to yesterday, Deku managed to study my reflexes and react accordingly.”

Toshinori grinned, leaning on his cane as he walked over. “I noticed that as well. He’ll need that skill, especially since all the alphas tonight will try to crowd him and get a solid hit.”

“They'll have to catch me first.” Izuku muttered, wiping his brow.

The blond beta chuckled at his response. “That’s correct, my boy. If you stay light on your feet, then it should be fairly easy.”

Izuku nodded, still slightly out of breath.

“However, we do need to discuss something.”

This doesn’t sound good.

Izuku’s eyebrows furrowed in obvious confusion, his stomach already churning with anxiety. Toshinori looked serious and stressed, which was a tell-tale sign that something was wrong.

“Endeavor reached out to me today.”

Endeavor?

Izuku shared a glance with Shinsou and Uraraka. “What did he want? I thought he only reached out to try and challenge you to a rematch?”

Toshinori’ s mouth twitched slightly. “He’s very intrigued with the fact that I’ve been training a successor. He’s offered us a chance to train at his gym and spar with his successor.”

“Why would he do that?”

The elder beta shrugged, smiling lightly. “I think it might be his way of sizing up the competition. Personally, I think it’s a good idea.”

Izuku cringed. “Endeavor’s gym is full of raging alphas with pride issues. I really don’t want to put up with courting requests or the assumptions that I need extra assistance from them.”

“But he has access to better training gear.”

The green-eyed omega sighed, his boxing gloves feeling heavy on his hands. “I’ve heard of his successor, sensei. From what Shinsou has told me, he’s loud and aggressive in or out of the ring.”

Uraraka, who was watching the conversation, rolled her eyes. “Just give him an attitude adjustment, Deku.”

“It’s not that-“

Shinsou, who had been listening silently, effectively cut him off. “You’ve already met him, Izuku.”

What?

“No, I haven’t.” Izuku murmured, hopelessly confused.

The purple-haired beta chuckled, placing his iced coffee on a table before approaching them. “He’s the alpha who insisted on walking you home after kicking Dabi’s ass.”

And just like that, Izuku couldn’t breathe.

Hell, he couldn’t even process the information.

Blondie, who Izuku had pushed to the back of his mind, was nothing like Shinsou’s description of Endeavor’s successor. He was rough and loud, but he did make any move to attack him.

However, Blondie did assume that Izuku was helpless.

This can’t be the same-

“Deku, you’re mumbling again.”

Izuku froze, his skin immediately reddening as he glanced around the room. “Oh. I didn’t realize that I was….”

Shinsou raised an eyebrow at Izuku, grabbing a gloved hand and beginning to unlace the wrist. “I guess he made an impact on you, too. He won’t stop harassing me about your wellbeing, you know.”

“What?” Uraraka screeched, making everyone else wince.

Izuku sighed, ignoring the nervous flutter in his chest. “He probably thinks I need protecting. How does he know that you’re friends with me?”

The beta shrugged. “I was out with Denki and his friends that night. We went to the bar you perform at and Bakugou basically started drooling.”

“He’s sounds proper infatuated, Midoriya.”

Izuku groaned at Toshinori’s teasing tone, using his newly freed hand to rub his face. His bandages felt rough on his skin, but it was nice. “Not you too, sensei. I’m sure that this Bakugou person is just looking for a boost to his ego.”

Toshinori chuckled, obviously amused. “Be that as it may, I already accepted Endeavor’s request. We’re having lunch with them before the tournament.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

His teacher grinned. “I didn’t give you a choice, my boy.”

*********

#alpha/beta/omega verse #alpha bakugou #bakudeku #bakugou x midoriya #bnha crack #bnha #omega deku #fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #boxer au

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darylandbethfanforever9 · 4 years

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Downfall Of Us All: Chapter 7

Downfall Of Us All

Chapter 7

AN: Thank you, to everyone who is liking the story, and thank you to @jtargaryen18 for encouraging me after a rather unpleasant review.

Warnings: Mentions of past sexual assault, divorce, child loss and PTSD.

"What the hell, Pepper?" Natasha asked shocked, she and Steve had been alerted by Sam and Sharon that Tony and Pepper were arguing. This was not a good day.

Grace had been shown around the compound by Wanda, and she'd decided to head to the gymnasium where the gymnastic equipment was kept. She'd always loved gymnastics, their mother would take them to their nearest artistic gymnastics club where they could train. She smiled at the memory, and looked at herself. She'd changed into a black sports bra with a black tank top over it, and a pair of black cropped leggings. She did a few warm ups, before playing the song. "Pulmon" by Bajofondo/ "Ironside" by Quincy Jones/ "Grand Guignol" by Bajofondo. She took in a few deep breaths, before the music played and she did her first tumble which was a double Arabian. She couldn't help but smile.

It'd been a while, but the landing wasn't bad. She did an easier series, aerial cartwheel, round off, back tuck and couldn't help but dance a little when she stuck the landing perfectly. After another couple of series, she went back to the double Arabian, much happier with that once since she'd warmed up. "Wow." She barely heard Clint over the music until he moved closer. "Not bad. With moves like that, you'll give Nat a run for her money," he said with a grin. He'd changed into t-shirt and shorts, showing off his muscular arms and legs to his advantage. "I don't know about that." Grace felt her face warm at his praise. "Let's see what else you can do," he told her, dropping back into a fighting stance. Grace supposed she was supposed to feel threatened and she did feel a little intimidated – until he winked at her and broke out into a little bit of a dance which had her laughing. "Better," he said when she seemed to relax. Then he returned to the stance. "Now, you ready?" Grace nodded. "Come at me." Clint did just that, coming at her to see what she could do. She blocked the first punch she threw then levelled a kick at his ribs. Clint winced but weathered it, aiming another swing at her which she dodged, but then he caught her with a roundhouse kick and knocked her back. Grace shifted her weight from her hands back to her legs to kick up and she sprung at Clint, going back to her martial arts moves to land a series of blows that he seemed to struggle with and she actually drove him back a little. He smirked at her. "Now you're talking. Again." They sparred for several minutes like that until Clint started to taunt her -- in a good-natured way. After one sequence he strutted, no other way to describe it, over to the wall, grabbing a wooden katana they used for practice. "What are you going to do now?" He asked, challenging her and swinging it to show off his expertise with it. Clint then headed in her direction, meaning business. Grace was proud of herself for being able to weave around his swings, only getting grazed by the wooden weapon once. On the last swing, she realized he'd backed her up against the gymnasium wall. Grace flipped back, clinging to the wall and sending out a web to jerk the weapon out of his hand and into hers. The sound clapping drew her attention to the opposite side of the room where Steve watched from the doorway. "Not bad," he told Grace, moving closer. "You hold yourself well." Clint nodded. "She's not going to be hard to train. She already moves a lot like Nat. We just need to do some fine-tuning."

"I'm not gonna like what this training is, am I?" Grace asked amused, Clint laughed and Steve smiled before he went to check on Bucky and Sophie who had come into the gymnasium. "It's going to a workout, we do it with Peter to keep all of the team fit and quick on their feet." Clint explained to her, as they went to a part of the gymnasium on fighting mats. Grace nodded in understanding, and watched him as he taught her one of the martial arts, that he and the rest of the team would be teaching her and Sophie. She had a good feeling her muscles would be aching like hell, after this rigours workout. But she did need to learn these different fighting techniques, and Clint was a good teacher.

Sophie had been sweating by the time Bucky and she had finished training, he'd been fighting her on the training mats. She could feel beads of sweat dripping down her back, and took a sip of her bottled water. She walked over to the uneven bars, and did a glide to kip for her mount before doing a seat circle backwards for a pirouette. She then did a stalder backwards with half turn to reverse/L-grip, hearing Grace cheering for her. This was bringing back happy memories of her childhood, when she and Grace would go to gymnastics while their parents were busy, and would make friends. She then took in a deep breath, and did the Endo, with a half turn. Sophie then did a handstand and then jumped to the lower bar again. She could feel the adrenaline burning through her, like fire. She then did a piked stalder with half turn, to a regular grip. For her release moves, she did a free straddle over the high bar with a half turn. She could hear Grace cheering for her, with Peter yelling out encouragement. She then did a layout Geigner, feeling the wind blow on her face, without any hesitation, she did a cast with salto forward straddled. She could hear someone cheering. "Holy shit, she and Grace are like Natasha when it comes to gymnastics, ballet and dance," Tony said dumbfounded, and awe in his voice. Sophie took in a deep breath, and performed the stalder to piked reverse hecht, over the high bar. She felt completely at ease doing this, like nothing could hurt her. She did the toe-on to layout reverse hecht, over the high bar and did two handstands and another pirouette. She then did the stalder with grip change to the low bar, she felt like someone was recording her training session. Not that she minded. She then did the Shaposhnikova with half turn, and for her dismount she did the salto backwards straight with a twist, hearing people cheer.

Bucky watched in amazement as Sophie effortlessly performed uneven bar moves, and reminded him strongly of soviet gymnasts, that he'd seen. He clapped with the others, as she performed her dismount. She offered them all a shy smile, as Grace and Peter came over to compliment her. He could tell she was shy, but also happy. "Damn, she's good. You better watch yourself, Romanoff." Tony joked, Natasha looked at him in amusement.

"We had similar backgrounds," Nat said with a smirk. "I think I'll work with Bucky and Clint in their training. I have a few moves that I can teach them." Bucky had to grin at that. "You do." "You sure you're good with this, Tin Man?" Tony asked Bucky, but his usual snark wasn't there. He nodded. In truth, he was concerned as he watched Sophie embrace her sister, happily chat with Peter for a moment. Sophie was beautiful and thankfully not as much a broken mess as he himself was. But given her parents' stories and the things they'd kept hidden from their daughters, they watched their world darken a little each day with each new discovery. Bucky was surprised he'd been entrusted with Sophie's training. He knew Steve had been pleased and likely had everything to do with it, wanting to build his confidence in his ability to do good. But what if he failed her? What if they lost her because of something he failed to teach her? And why the hell did she have to look at him as she did? The contempt, the tolerance he read in most people's faces when he encountered them? That he could handle. He knew where he'd been and what he'd done and that was always going to be a part of him. The people here, this team, the kindness and acceptance he'd earned from most of them, even Tony Stark himself, evened it all out. Sophie's gaze on him? She looked at him like he was sort of hero, someone to admire. What had he done to earn that? Particularly from someone who was anything but trusting and naïve. While there was pressure to not let the team down after they'd given him this task, it was nothing compared to the trust he read in those gentle eyes. Trust he'd not earned. After everything he'd been through, letting down this one broken woman just might be the thing that finally tore him down. "He's got this," Steve said reaching them, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "But yeah, it makes sense for you to help out, Nat. Good call." Tony nodded, heading off towards the weights. "Good luck, kids." "Tony's worrying me," Nat told him and Steve, shaking her head. "He's almost nice. I just don't know what to do with him like this." Steve hummed his agreement. "I know. I hope he's going to be okay. I just can't believe Pepper left him like that." "She doesn't deserve him then," Sophie said joining their group. "I'm sure it's difficult to worry about all of the dangers he faces. But you'd think she would have been proud of him. Supportive." "Agreed," Nat told her. Shaking it off, Nat put her hand on Sophie's shoulder, steering her between herself and Bucky. "You up for a little more training today?" Sophie grinned, shrugged. "I'll be feeling it tomorrow but sure. Why not?" "Good attitude," Nat told her. "Given what I've seen so far today, I'm going to show you something new. You game?" Sophie looked intrigued and just a little worried. When she glanced at Bucky, he nodded his approval. He had a feeling he knew what Nat was about to do. Stepping around Sophie, Nat took on a fighting stance and Bucky stepped up. Nat did just what he thought she was going to do, she got in a couple of shots then used her scissor takedown on him which he allowed. Taking a knee as Nat finished the move, Bucky glanced back to see that Sophie was very interested in this. The fact that Grace and Peter watched with Steve off to the side showed she wasn't alone. They went through the sequence with Sophie, both Nat and Bucky correcting her form here and there, but it didn't take a lot. Still, when Nat prompted her to run through it with Bucky, Sophie hesitated. He understood why but he didn't want her afraid of him. "It's okay," Bucky told her, "It's not like you're going to be able to hurt me, doll." Sophie's demeanour shifted from intimidation to determination at that, showing him a motivator to use for her. He'd challenged her and if he knew anything about her so far, it was that she was very proud. Dropping into her stance, Sophie stared him down and he was pleased with that. She hit him hard, which was also good, managing to get her form correct and even pulling him off balance. He could've played along and gone down, but something told him it would be a mistake. She wouldn't want him to help her. When Sophie pulled away, her jaw was locked. "Can I try that again?" Nat nodded as if she expected no less. Bucky waited. Again, she hit hard and fast. The second time was even better. After several tries, she showed real promise. Nat quirked a brow at Bucky when Sophie decided she'd had enough for one day. "You did well," he told her. "I did okay." Sophie was clearly not happy with it. "It takes time to master," Nat told her. "You'll get there. Bucky's not easy to take down." "I know," Sophie smirked at him over her shoulder. Oh, that shouldn't have messed with his insides as it did. "Shit!" Peter shrieked from the mat next to them. They watched Grace execute the same move, taking Peter down easily to the mat. Clint was nearly doubled over laughing and Steve cracked up as Peter tried to jump back up before anyone saw. "Not bad," Nat told her. "I need to make a couple of adjustments but nicely done, Grace." Peter's face flushed red. "No fair!" he told her laughing. "I didn't know you were going to do... that!" "You've never had someone use that move on you?" Nat asked him. Peter shook his head. "Not so far." "Shouldn't you learn how to deal with it?" Clint threw in. Peter looked from Clint to Nat and back again. "I guess but…" Nat looked like she was going to head for Peter who put out a hand. "Nope! Not today." They all laughed as he sprinted out of the gym, nearly running Tony down as he headed out.

"Shower up, then we'll cook dinner for tonight. It's been a long day, and we'll continue training in the morning," Steve said amused, everyone nodded and headed to their bedroom to wash up.

Clint threw his t - shirt and shorts into the washing machine, before heading to the bathroom. He turned on the hot water, and sighed in relief as the water soothed his aching muscles. He felt impressed by Grace, she'd been fearless during the training session today. And he'd been impressed by her fighting against him, she was a tough young woman. He washed his skin quickly, before washing his sweat soaked hair before turning off the shower. He wrapped a towel around his waist, before opening the bathroom door. He sighed quietly, and dried himself before getting changed into a pair of fresh jeans, after putting his boxers on, and a grey t-shirt, before putting on some boots. Clint shut the bedroom door, and headed to the kitchen where the others were making dinner. Tonight's speciality was homemade southern fried chicken, with chips. Sophie and Grace had volunteered to make dessert, and Clint could smell it from where he was standing. It smelt amazing, and he walked to where Natasha was. "Damn, the food smells good." Clint said impressed, feeling his stomach growl in hunger, and causing Natasha to laugh. "They're making a Kiev cake, it should be done in two hours. They just want to make sure the meringue is fine, and they got the batter right." Natasha explained, as they saw the two women place the cake tin in the oven. "The chicken, and chips are done." Sam announced, and began serving out plates as everyone eagerly took the food, along with a drained looking Tony. They sat around the table enjoying the food, and Clint sat beside Grace as he tucked into his meal, with Lucky eating out of his dog bowl with a bowl of water beside him. That was when he saw the six cats all eating their food, all of their tails were swishing happily. Sam had given them, and Lucky the fatty bits of raw chicken which they were tearing into. It felt nice, like the team was a family as Scott Lang Skyped them from his place where he resided with his daughter, and Hope, not to mention Hank and Hope.

Pepper didn't feel guilty for leaving Tony, she'd signed the divorce papers and sent them to Tony for him to sign. She just couldn't cope with his life as an Avenger anymore. She exited Stark Tower, and was about to enter her car when she felt like someone was watching her. Dismissing it, she was about to unlock her car when a leather gloved hand slammed over her mouth. She felt her body going numb, when the man injected her with a needle. She felt her body slump against him, and the man calmly carried her to where an armoured van was. He strapped her in, and texted to the unknown number quickly. 'Extraction successful.'

Grace could hear someone falling off the bed, and rushed out of her bedroom to realise the noise was coming from Clint's bedroom. She cautiously entered, and saw nothing. That was until a rough, calloused hand grabbed her by the throat, pinning her to the wall. Thinking quickly, she kicked out and knocked him backwards. "Clint?" She asked wearily, she saw Clint looking wearily at her before his eyes refocused on her. "Grace....did I hurt you?" He asked worriedly, guilt in his voice and she shook her head as she saw he had bloody knuckles. She quietly went to the bathroom, and came out with a first aid kit. "No, you didn't hurt me. Believe me, I've had worse," Grace reassured softly, and Clint sighed quietly as she bathed his bloody, bruised knuckles. Lucky laid next to him, and he let the dog's presence comfort him, as Grace tended to his cuts. "I had a nightmare, I've been having them ever since....Laura revealed the truth. My mind's been a mess, since then." Clint admitted quietly, Grace looked at him quietly. "I have nightmares too, you know. You're not alone, I'm always back at that castle where HYDRA held me prisoner." She revealed hesitantly, causing Clint to realise something. She understood what he was going through.

Clint sat at the end of his bed, Lucky at his feet. Dropping his head in his hands, he exhaled. "Grace, I just… Why? That's the part I just don't understand." Blinking back tears, he flinched at first when she sat down next to him, wrapping a slim arm around his waist. "I'm a spy. I understand going undercover and gathering intel. I've done it for years. I just don't understand the lengths that they went to. That she went to. Why pretend to love me? For years? Why have children and pretend to love them?" "Clint," she whispered, smoothing her hand over his back. "I wish I had an answer for you. That's just unimaginably cruel." "It haunts me," his voice was about to break. "I loved them so much. I had no idea every time I was away, the danger I left them in. She could have killed them at any time, Grace. She could have hurt them. I…" "Don't torture yourself about that," she said gently. "What actually happened is bad enough." "I loved them. I loved them. Why couldn't I have kept them? Why?" Clint raised his head, tears sliding down his face. "I miss them, you know?" Grace's own eyes stung with tears. "I miss Zach too. I know how you feel." Clint sniffled. "There's a chance we might get Zach back," he told her. "I've… I hope you don't mind but I've asked Tony for his help. He's really good at tracking things and people down. Maybe…" "You did that for me?" She wanted to know. "Of course," he told her, trying to smile. "If he's out there, Tony will find him, Grace. Besides, he needs something to keep his mind occupied right now." Grace wrapped her arms around him, holding him close and for long moments they stayed there, enjoying the warmth and comfort of the other. "What Laura did," Grace finally said, "wasn't your fault. There wasn't anything you could have done, Clint. I know you won't let yourself believe that, but it's true. You're so hard on yourself." He huffed a laugh. "That's what Nat says. I try to remember that. I do. And I know I'll be able to process things better once some time has passed. And once I find her." "Laura?" He nodded. "What do you plan to do?" Grace asked quietly. "I'm going to pay her back for Lila and for Cooper. I'm going to pay her back for being a lying, deceiving, and cold-hearted bitch. I'm going to make her regret that she ever crossed my path. And Rumlow…" Grace froze. "Rumlow?" Clint nodded. "Laura was working with him the whole time." "Clint, do you –" "I know," he told her, pulling up and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into his side. "I know who he is to you, Grace. And I'm going to make him pay for that too." It wasn't until that moment, with Grace trembling against him, that he considered just how tightly their fates were woven together with Brock Rumlow being a common factor in the heartbreak they'd both been forced to survive. "Shhh," he whispered against her head. "I'm sorry I even said that name. You're here trying to comfort me and I just…" Grace shook her head against his chest. "It's okay. I know he's out there. I know there's a good chance I'll have to even… face him. I just…" Her heart was beating so hard, a tiny tattoo against him. "Clint, I'm… afraid. I'm so afraid of him," she admitted. "Don't be." Pressing a kiss into her hair, he willed her to relax. "We'll stop him. We won't let him hurt anyone else, Grace." When she snuggled closer, he chuckled. "Since we're comfortable, want to pick something on Netflix to watch and hang out? I don't see myself being able to go back to sleep." Grace nodded, still not letting go. "Me either." She squeaked when he scooped her up, walked back to the top of the bed and sat her down in the middle. Somehow she looked so small in her t-shirt and sleep shorts. With everything she'd been through, was going through, how could she even smile up at him as she was?

"Do you have popcorn?" She asked. Clint thought about that. "No, but I have an idea. We'll go raid the kitchen." He knew she liked that idea when she bounded off the bed. "But we'll have to be quiet. Covert." Grace tried to make a serious expression which only had her laughing more. "Forget it." Clint shook his head and laughed. "We get caught, I'm totally blaming you." "Excuse me?" She asked playfully. "Come on." Opening his door, they headed up the hall, trying to be quiet and not awaken any of the others in their mission for popcorn and junk food.

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Tagging list: @jtargaryen18, @marvelfansworld, @sapphirescrolls, @kitkatd7 and @sweater-daddiesdumbdork, and @nomadicpixel

#Hawkeye Fanfiction #Ronin Fanfiction #Clint Barton Fan Fiction #Clint Barton x OC #Winter Soldier Fanfiction #Bucky Barnes Fanfiction #Bucky Barnes x OC

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blood-and-winter-buckynat · 5 years

Conversation

Sam: So, you remember Sharon Carter?

Sam: *thinks that Bucky will remember her as the girl that Steve kissed*

Bucky: She is beauty, she is grace,

she roundhouse kicked me in the face.

...That Sharon?

#captain america: civil war #incorrect quotes #sharon carter #sam and bucky #okay this isn't entirely accurate #agent 13 #yup that's her

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fallen-stars-story · 4 years

Text

Chapter II

Here Nyla is briefly introduced and the first mission is written. I struggle with fight scenes, so feedback is greatly appreciated!! I also feel like I was using their names too much...anybody have advise on how to avoid this??

Walking through the long corridor that would lead to the training dojo that she regularly used, Aria felt the beginning of adrenaline spread like wildfire through her veins. She knew that she was the only one reacting so intensely to this month. Sure, Father Gabriel seemed to worry as well, if the new creases in between his eyebrows were any indication. Nyla seemed to suddenly be spending more time with Haruka. Nyla was the closest friend that both she and Haruka had, but now she had clung herself to Haruka almost as much as Aria herself did.

It was for the better, she knew. She was thankful for Nyla’s frequent presence right now.

When she found them, Aria couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. The sight of her two best friends training together was enough to, temporarily at least, calm her fraying nerves.

The pair had evidently decided on hand-to-hand combat today, and poor Nyla was getting her ass absolutely kicked. Aria had never met anybody, save for herself, who could keep up with Haruka. He was fast. He was deft. He was skilled. And she had found herself victim to his fist or his foot enough times to know that he was also strong.

The only thing that Nyla had any hope of matching him in was grace; her willowy body moved with Haruka’s harder one like water cascading down a fall.

Aria let herself get comfortable leaning up against the door jam as she just watched, letting herself be a quiet spectator to the free show that she was getting.

Nyla’s thick caramel braid swung with her body as she brought her leg up in a smooth roundhouse. Unfortunately for her, Haruka was too fast, and he was able to drop into a crouch to both avoid letting her foot connect as well as being able to swing his leg at her grounded one, forcing her to fall backwards onto her bottom with an audible thud.

“Haruka, I’m never going to be able to beat you.” Nyla pinched the bridge of her nose when she realized how obvious her frustration was in the tone of her voice.

“Probably not.” He crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head as he looked down at her.

“Don’t be mean.” Aria scolded him, shoving him in the chest with the flat of her hand before reaching her other down to help the nicer of her two friends up.

He scoffed. “Being realistic isn’t being mean.”

She was about to retort when the now-standing Nyla rested a gentle hand on her upper arm and gave a shake of her head. “Whether or not he’s right, don’t egg him on. I just got my ass kicked up one street and down the next. I don’t have the energy to break up the fight you’re going to start.” Nyla’s bangs clung to her forehead with beads of sweat and her chest heaved but the smile tugging at her full lips was warm and nearly bursting at the seams with adoration.

Nobody could argue with Nyla, not when she looked like that. “Fine.” Aria muttered, though she couldn’t help but slide her arm around the other’s waist to pull her close. When she looked back up at Haruka, she saw that while he continued to scowl, his eyes had softened a degree. Even somebody as stoic as Haruka struggled to resist her charms.

“Why don’t you guys take a break?” Aria suggested. “We can grab a snack and relax.”

Nyla shook her head and frowned. “We all need to study tonight.” At Aria and Haruka’s matching scowls, she only chuckled. “You have a paper due tomorrow for French literature, Haruka.” She turned her head to face Aria as she slung an arm over her shoulder. “And you have a test in U.S. History tomorrow.”

Aria frowned. She hated school and anything related to it. “What do you have to study? If we have to suffer, then so do you.” She hissed out before pouting, hoping that maybe she could guilt her friend out of forcing her to study.

Nyla shrugged her shoulders casually. “Nothing specific, I think I’m pretty caught up on everything. But it wouldn’t hurt for me to get ahead.”

She rolled her golden eyes and sighed. There was no arguing with Nyla. There never was.

Just as the group began to make their way from the training room to head to the library for the rest of the evening, they were met at the doorway by Father Gabriel.

“Father!” Aria squealed in delight and flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his middle. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“We went to lunch last weekend.” He remembered her with an affectionate smile before ruffling her unruly hair.

When Aria let go of him, he smoothed out his shirt before smiling at Nyla. “Good evening, Nyla.” When she returned his sentiment he continued, “And just how is my habu?” Gabriel asked, a smirk tugging at his lips. Habu was a type of Japanese venomous snake, Aria knew, and Gabriel had referred to him as such since they were children given that Haruka was about as loving and friendly as the snake.

“Gabriel.” Haruka sneered and crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at the Father. “What can we do for you, your highness?” His voice was flat as he spoke the question, but nobody managed to miss the sarcasm that he had sprinkled into it.

Father Gabriel sighed before running a hand through his wavy bangs. He reminded himself that reprimanding Haruka would have been a waste of time. The two had never seen eye to eye. “I have a mission for both you and Aria. I regret to say that Nyla won’t be joining you.” He smiled then, eyes the color of a lake under a summer’s sun glittered, “So if you two would join me, it would be greatly appreciated.”

Aria gave Nyla a quick kiss on the cheek before practically dancing as she walked back to Gabriel, joining him at his side. Haruka was more comfortable following the pair from behind, vaguely listening as he ran through the details of their mission.

“The doctrines have been sent to your phones already, but in short, there have been reports lately of people going to visit Tupper Lake and not returning. And those they found, well, the pictures will be in the doctrines, though I must warn you that they aren’t very pretty. The people who haven’t been killed there say that it seems like they lose all motivation when they go there and they feel sad. Some even weep uncontrollably, though they say that they don’t have the energy to even try to stop.”

“An Acedia spell?” Haruka asked, brow raised. Aria found her anticipation to begin bubbling over; she had never actually seen a demon’s emotional manipulation firsthand before, so now she would not only get to finally see one, but she’d get to destroy it as well. How exciting!

“That’s what it looks like. You two are to report to Tupper Lake at once.”

“You got it, sir.” Aria saluted him happily, laughing when he finally broke down and smiled at her.

Once he left, the pair walked back to the dormitories so that they could change and pack.

When they met in the lobby, Haruka wore his heavy uniform pants tucked into his boots, with his thigh-length jacket left open, his torso bare save for the harness that ran over his chest that held two guns. She knew that he would have guns tucked everywhere. They were his favorite weapon. Aria wore her uniform pants the same way, tucked into her tall boots. Her jacket was shorter, however, falling to land just below her ribs, also unbuttoned. Underneath she wore a sleeveless black turtleneck that was short enough to show off her abdomen. She kept her sword secured in its holster at her left hip. She pulled her thick hair up into as high a tail as it would go. The slayer used to style it similar to Haruka’s for missions, but her recent impulsive urge to hack it off had made that difficult, and she hadn’t been able to get the tail much higher than the nape of her neck.

Gabriel shook his head, watching the two from the balcony above them. Their uniforms were important, but those two had never been very good at wearing them correctly. For that matter, both of Haruka’s arms were heavily tattooed and he knew that despite his frequent warnings of punishments, Haruka would get more. He also suspected that Aria would follow him in that path eventually. He knew his protest was useless so he didn’t do much more than wave them off.

Aria stood across from her partner and reached her arms out when he reached out for her, so that their palms were flat against each other’s.

“Away we go and out of sight, we will be gone until we deem the time to be right, we will take with us God’s light and love, while we bring salvation with us from above, through this door is what we see, this is our will, so mote it be." The two spoke the words together softly with eyes closed as they imagined Tupper lake.

When she opened her eyes, the pair were standing in a wooded area that she knew was Tupper Lake.

“We should head towards the lake itself. That’s likely where travelers go.” Haruka decided, turning on his heel and walking away before she could even agree.

She rushed to follow and the two walked in silence towards the water. On missions, Aria knew that Haruka was even more difficult than he usually was. When she peeked a glance at him, his jaw was tense, she noted. He was a hard worker and was always very focused on the task at hand. Right now, she knew, he’d be thinking of nothing but slaying whatever demon they’d face. Right this second, he was nothing more than a soldier that had been drafted into battle.

The area was beautiful, she realized as they walked. She had always loved the beauty of nature. Maybe, one day, the two could come back here, she hoped. Just to vacation. No demons. No school. No work.

There were no other people around, though, that wasn’t strange given all the missing people. Others who had considered venturing to the lakeside would take caution now, until this was all cleared up.

When they reached the lake itself, Aria hurried towards it. But when she looked down into the water, she thought that the color looked wrong. It was the color that lake water usually was, but it appeared to be grayer somehow?

Haruka watched both of their reflections in the water, planning on only doing so for a moment. But he saw the way that Aria’s reflection darkened in the water.

Her limbs felt heavy and she just really wanted to lie down. The ground looked comfortable, she thought to herself as she took to it, curling up in the grass.

“What are you doing?” Haruka hissed out as he looked at his dozing partner in absolute bewilderment. “This isn’t the time for a fucking nap.”

Tears sprang at her eyes before she could stop them. Inexplicable sadness weighed heavy in her heart. She shrugged, not having even enough energy to be able to explain how full of despair she was right now.

Haruka’s eyes widened a fraction and he whipped his rifle from his back. “Aria, you have to get up.” He lightly kicked her. “It’s a spell!” He called out just as a rumbling noise came from the middle of the lake. His body whipped around as he aimed his rifle to the dead center of the water.

Aria’s cries turned into ragged sobs as she buried her face in the grass.

Through the scope of his weapon, the gunman could see the ugly bastard of a demon slowly rising from the water. As soon as it’s warped body was visible, Haruka began shooting. But the demon was faster as it dropped back down into the water. Dammit, he couldn’t see it underneath the water.

The gunman didn’t have the opportunity to prepare himself as the demon sprung once more from the water, suddenly at the lake’s edge right before him, lunging its body into Haruka’s and sending him flying back.

His body hit a nearby tree with a loud thud.

And Aria just laid there, hugging herself, wracked by overwhelming sorrow. She forced herself to roll onto her other side, and she watched as her partner’s body fell to the ground against the tree before he tucked himself and rolled, landing back on his feet. He kept his right hand on the rifle over his right shoulder and had grabbed one of his pistols with his left hand at some point.

The demon seemed to fade in and out of view as it charged towards her partner. “Tell me, human,” The demon spoke loudly, its voice high in pitch and so full of malicious evil that it made Aria’s vision darken, “why aren’t you sad like your friend over there?” When he spoke of Aria, her cries turned into wails as the agony seemed to get worse.

Haruka smirked then before he shrugged. He wasn’t exactly sure why the demon’s spell wasn’t working on him, but he didn’t particularly care. It gave him an advantage, which he was happy to take, even if he didn’t need it.

“Would you be sad if I hurt her?” She heard the thing ask Haruka right before swinging its arm towards him, claws sinking into his shoulder and down into his chest, tearing his flesh loudly.

Haruka started shooting, but couldn’t get his aim right when the demon cut him.

The demon disappeared then, and Haruka used the moment to realign his scope to his eye, ignoring the blood running down his body. The pain was intense but manageable.

“Shoot,” He heard it’s voice suddenly but couldn’t see the invisible bastard, “and I’ll kill the prettier one.” He appeared, squatting down over her.

Aria’s eyes widened and her sobs wracked her small form. She found that she didn’t even want to fight. Would death bring her an escape from this pain, she wondered. She didn’t have the motivation to try and run.

“Dammit, Aria.” Haruka yelled out harshly. He needed her to fight and the idiot had gotten herself trapped in a demon’s spell. With the rifle pinned to the demon, he carefully but quickly re-holstered his pistol. “Oh mighty God above in your white steeple, rid Aria of this demon’s evil,” He started as he began shooting. “Cleanse her pure soul from this dealing, with your ever divine healing,” The demon screamed and lunged away from Aria, trying fruitlessly to avoid the bullets. “and free her from wickedness brought by he, this is my will, so mote it be!” He finished as he charged towards the demon, following it into the water. He despised using white magic, much preferring his own skills and abilities, but he had had his back pressed against a wall. If Aria didn’t get herself killed by this demon, he was going to kill her, he decided.

Aria felt her soul lighten. She felt God’s warmth settle itself inside of her chest. Her tears slowed and she found the strength to push herself up on her arms. When she did, she saw Haruka, waist deep in the water following the swimming demon with his rifle. It was useless, she thought. He can’t properly aim into water. The demon had known that.

“Get your ass up!” He called. “And block yourself!” He yelled before gritting his teeth.

She blinked. Ah. The water had been contaminated with the demon’s acedia spell, and it had poisoned her when she had looked into it, she realized. Haruka had cleansed the spell from her soul, allowing her to wake up and now he was in the water but his soul wasn’t being poisoned, Aria realized curiously. He hadn’t done any cleansing for himself, so it should have consumed him.

But she would worry about that later. She stood, her legs still a little shaky. She had to hurry. Haruka couldn’t put all of his energy into the battle if he was exerting some of it towards keeping her soul clean. Aria uttered a quick protection spell and crossed herself. Then she grabbed her sword from its holster and ran into the water. She dove underneath once it got deep enough.

Haruka backed off, he couldn’t aim properly through the water’s surface to begin with, so he couldn’t guarantee that he wasn’t going to shoot Aria.

When the demon came surging out of the water into the air, its shriek piercing, Haruka saw Aria was sitting on its shoulders, strong thighs wrapped tightly around its throat before she brought her arms down over her head, aiming her blade to the center of its chest. With skilled aim, he took his shot.

The bullet hit its head and her sword’s blade plunged into its chest at the same instant. With one last, blood-curdling scream, the demon’s body disintegrated. Aria went plunging from the sky and crashed into the water. Haruka normally would have lunged and caught her before she hit the water, but he was pissed at her, and he knew that she could swim, so he let her fall.

When her head popped up, she inhaled a deep breath. Her bangs were slicked back. She shot him a big grin. “Easy, huh?”

“You’re lucky I was here to save your stupid ass.” He holstered his guns and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring daggers at her.

“Says the guy who can’t swim.” She tilted her head to the side innocently when she swore she could see smoke blowing from his ears. She swam back towards him, walking once the water was shallow enough.

The two likely would have kept up the banter, but Aria gasped when she saw the blood on his body. She hadn’t realized how deep the wounds had been. “Maybe I fell right under his spell,” She started as she gripped his good arm and literally dragged him back to the shore before throwing him onto the ground, where he landed like a petulant child on his behind. “but you managed to get yourself shredded to pieces.”

She slid her bag off of her shoulders and ignored his protests as she received her first aid kit. She pushed his jacket out of the way, leaving him bare from the waist up.

“I’m fine.” He muttered as she applied ointment to the wounds. He winced at her touch.

“Uh huh.” She stuck her tongue in concentration as she made quick work of wrapping his shoulder and torso with gauze. “There!” She said excitedly before leaning back to admire her handiwork. She wasn’t as skilled as Nyla when it came to this stuff, but she didn’t think she did too bad of a job.

Ignoring the pain that shot through him, he put his jacket back on before standing.

“Why didn’t your soul get poisoned?” She asked as she stood, resecuring her bag on her back.

He shrugged and winced at the motion. “It was emotional manipulation.”

Ah. She closed her eyes as she tried to remember her classes on this. A demon’s emotional manipulations spells, well, they manipulated emotions. Haruka was significantly more guarded when it came to his, so perhaps that was why it hadn’t worked on him? She knew, though it made her sad to see, how guarded he had kept his heart. He kept it guarded from everybody, including Aria. Including himself.

On the other hand, her own emotions were so volatile and always right at the surface of her heart. It made sense that she was wildly more susceptible to an emotional manipulation than Haruka was. She frowned. That was a problem she didn’t like. She knew that she had no real ability to control her emotions. That would make battling demons that much more difficult. While she had always welcomed challenges, this was definitely going to prove to be a feat, she was sure.

The two joined hands as they murmured the spell to return home.

They went to the medical ward first, so they could both be evaluated and properly treated. To boost her ego, one of the nurses commented on how fine of a job she did bandaging her partner.

He stayed silent as a nurse worked stitches into the portions of the wounds that were too deep to heal correctly on their own.

Aria was evaluated by the psychiatrist, just to make sure that the demon’s spell was completely worn off of her.

After that, the two reported to Gabriel’s office to fill out their reports and let him in on how the mission had gone. It hadn’t been a difficult one, but when Gabriel made a comment about Haruka not being manipulated, everything clicked for Aria.

“Wait, both of you knew this was going to happen, didn’t you?” She slammed her palms on Gabriel’s desk as she glared down at him.

Gabriel cocked his head to the side, a playful grin on his face. “When I knew that emotional manipulation was involved, I thought it might happen. But I couldn’t be sure until now.”

She turned to glare at the man who was supposed to be her partner. “You too?”

When he just shrugged with a smug look on his pretty face, she turned back to Gabriel.

“Aria, darling, you practically wear your heart on your sleeve. You did pay attention in Magic and Alchemy, didn’t you? You should have known this was coming too.”

She exploded into a slew of curses at the two men. Now she was just pissed because, yes, she should have known. She felt like an idiot. She had been taught what emotional manipulation was and how it worked. But she was still angry with them for not thinking to warn her either way. She stormed out of the Cardinal’s office, intending on going to the garage. She could take out her frustration on the stupid exhaust she needed to finish.

When Haruka appeared behind her and grabbed her arm, she turned and swung, intending to punch him in his stupid, smug face.

He caught her fist in his palm before glaring down at her. “Remember,” He held her fist, despite her trying to pull it back. “eight o’clock sharp.”

Damn him.

When she met him in the training dojo, she was still furious with him. He didn’t have the opportunity to greet her before she was swinging. She was too angry to practice anything but hand to hand right now.

He didn’t seem to mind, as he artfully dodged her attacks and returned with a few of his own. Unlike the night before, he had to put up a real sweat to keep up with her. Hand to hand combat, especially when she was angry, was her strong suit. She was the best fighter he had ever met. It wasn’t just how strong she was, which surprisingly, despite her tiny frame, she was incredibly strong. Every hit that did land was guaranteed to bruise. She was skilled, though the angry woman usually fought with little more than just brutal rage.

It didn’t help that his left arm was basically useless from its earlier injury. He noted that even in her absolute fury, she was careful to avoid his left side.

But he was a skilled fighter as well, focusing more on technique than rage. He was an extremely versatile fighter, though he specialized in aikido and krav maga. Aria on the other hand, specialized in virtually every type of martial arts that there was.

Today, when their session ended, he was sitting on the floor with her, pressing into his aching ribs with his good hand.

Aria’s breaths were heaving as she glowered at him.

“Still didn’t get it all out?” He asked, mild surprise evident in his voice.

“I’m still mad at you.” She crossed her protesting arms over her chest, intentionally looking away from him.

“Yeah, I could tell.”

Her head whipped towards him at that, her lips pulling into a frown. “I didn’t hurt you too badly, did I?” The worry was evident in her eyes.

A chuckle as rare as a corpse flower escaped his throat before he could even try to stop it. “Yeah, as if.” It was partially a lie, as she had done a fine job of hurting him, but she hadn’t hurt him enough that she needed to fret.

She tried her hardest to suppress her laugh, but she couldn’t, and it wracked from her chest. “You’re such an asshole, Haru.”

“Yeah, what else is new?” He smiled at her, another rarity.

“Why are you in such a good mood?” She asked because while she was certainly thrilled to see it, it was a strange enough occurrence that she couldn’t help but question it.

He shrugged. “It’s fun making you mad. Not that that’s particularly hard to do.” He paused, his lips forming a straight line. “Though I’d like to point out I didn’t do it on purpose today. I thought you knew.”

It was her turn to shrug. “I should’ve known. I guess I was just being a bone head.”

“You said it, not me.”

With a laugh she pulled herself up, stretching out her soring muscles. She reached her hand down, surprised that he actually took it, and helped him up. She caught his winces this time. “You know, you’re also a real freakin’ bone head.” She said with a shake of her head.

#chapters #original story #original #oc

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deluxedolans · 6 years

Note

from the drabble list: 128 and/or 105 :) i prefer e but ur a gray girl so it's up to you!!! i love all your writing!!!!!

hiii baby patient anon! thank you for waiting for this fic :))) tbt to when I was a grayson girl…ahh memories to when I felt safe!! but now I’m v much in ethan’s lane and it’s quite fun down here, anywho.

thank you so much for sending in this drabble which is actually not really a drabble and it kind of evolved into a longer fic? anyway, i love you so much, babe, and hope you’re having a great night/day wherever you are💙💙💙 it literally still blows my mind that people wanna see my take on certain ideas/prompts.

I am currently not accepting any drabble requests at this time.

@freewill-is-an-illusion

Prompt: 128, “Don’t touch me. We’re fighting.” & 105, “You can’t make up for it by giving me a tic-tac.”

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: So this is a part two to this blurb that I posted a few weeks ago! Both of these blurbs will be integrated into a full length fic that I’m currently writing (and which is taking an extremely long time to write so bare with me). I hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think; love you all & I hope you’re having a good rest of your weekend :)))

ALSO, this blurb takes place in the same night as the last blurb. Additionally, the beginning of this blurb (the part written in italics) is the ending of the first blurb for a refresher/context. Sorry this author’s note is wicked long ahh.

“Guys, c’mon, let’s go! We’re gonna be tardy for the party–whoa.” Ethan’s mouth hung open at your appearance, he was truly stunned.

“That’s pretty much what I just said, bro! Doesn’t she look different?” Grayson said excitedly, his hands gesturing to you.

“Um, yeah she definitely looks different–so, you’re going out dressed like that?” Ethan asked flatly.

Your mouth fell open and your eyes narrowed at Ethan’s words, “you’re a real fucking asshole, you know that?” You pushed past Ethan and walked out the door, accidently slapping him in the chest with your purse as you walked by. You could feel your eyes well up in disapointment but you pushed the tears back, you did not spend all this time on your makeup just to have it ruined because Ethan was being a jerk.

Ethan stood there rooted to the ground, he did not mean to say that out loud.

“Way to go, genius. If you’re gonna act like a jealous douchebag, you at least need to let her know you like her first before you go off saying shit like that,” Grayson said shaking his head as he started walking out of the bathroom. “You’re gonna have to spend the rest of the night trying to make it up to her, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I fucked up,” Ethan mumbled as he followed his twin brother out of the bathroom, and walked towards the car.

You could feel your nerves kick into overdrive as you stood by the punch bowl of the house party with Grayson. Your senses were heightened; the combination of the mixed drink you were nursing, the rainbow strobe lights and the gaze of the cute boy across the room making you hyper-aware of your surroundings, your heart racing at all of the stimuli.

You and an incredibly attractive man, dressed as a boxer, had been eyeing each other from across the room for about a half an hour now, and you couldn’t tell if the butterflies in your stomach were ones of excitement or fear. Sure, you still had your crush on Ethan, and his words earlier definitely made you think twice, but he probably was A.) shocked that you were dressing like an actual girl for once, and B.) teasing you to get a rise out of you. You knew Ethan would never like you, you just weren’t his type; hell, you felt like you weren’t anyone’s type, but the way people were looking at you at this party most definitely had you feeling way more confident in your appearance …. or maybe that was just the vodka.

“Y/N, are you gonna talk to that guy over there or what?” Grayson asked. “You two have been staring at each other since we got here.” Your cheeks immediately burned with embarrassment.

“I have not been staring! I was … taking in the scenery,” you covered lamely, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. Grayson rolled his eyes; you were the worst with communicating with boys you liked, exhibit A being Ethan and exhibit B being right now.

“Mhm, sure whatever you say. I bet if I leave he’ll come over here.” Grayson’s eyebrows shot up mischievously, a wide grin decorating his mouth. Your stomach dropped; Grayson couldn’t leave, then you’d be alone.

“Wait, what? Stop, Gray, what if he actually comes over here!” You immediately turned away from the guy who had broken his gaze with you for probably the twentieth time that night, turning your back to face away from the crowd.

“Well, that’s kind of the point; he’d be a dumbass not to! C’mon, Y/N, you’re so pretty and funny; let yourself have some fun with a guy for once, alright? I’ll be right over there if it goes south and he needs a roundhouse kick to the throat,” Grayson said, putting a hand on your shoulder to reassure you.

You put a hand on his shoulder, mirroring his position, “You can’t leave me. I’m not mature enough for this … Or drunk enough, if I’m being honest.”

Suddenly Grayson stuck his arm out, pointing a finger into the sky, “Holy shit, Y/N, look at that!” Naturally, your body turned in alarm to see what Grayson was talking about. But sadly, by the time you turned around, Grayson had fled to the couch across the room. He flashed a thumbs up as you glared daggers at him for pulling such an idiotic trick.

When you turned around, you were met with two crystal blue eyes and messy, sandy blonde hair; the boy from across the room finally worked up the nerve to greet you after almost an hour of stolen glances.

“Hey, nice robe,” Mystery Man commented, his head nodding towards the black silky fabric that adorned your body. You could feel yourself blush as you looked down at your outfit and then stole a peek at his own; his robe matching yours almost exactly.

“Wow, thanks, seems like that is a trend tonight, huh?” You internally cringed; you definitely sounded like you were trying too hard to be cute and flirty.

But, in spite of your self doubt, the boy smiled in response to your answer, “I guess so. I’m Evan,” the boy stuck his larger hand out, engulfing your tiny one in a handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Evan, I’m Y/N,” you replied, a small smile gracing your face as you felt yourself relax a little more. You turned around for a brief moment to scoop some more punch out of the bowl and into your cup, praying that a little liquid courage would help you survive and (possibly thrive) within this conversation.

As Ethan jogged down the stairs, the colorful lights blinded him for a brief moment, blurring his vision. He couldn’t deny the fact that he was feeling good tonight; he had just won a game of pong upstairs and in spite of the many inquiries on his costume, once he had explained it most people got a kick out of it, claiming it was original when it was mainly laziness that created his get-up.

Before Ethan reached the bottom of the stairs, he did a quick scan for both you and Grayson. After a few moments he spotted Grayson sitting on the couch, his firefighter hat in his grip as he chatted casually to James.

“Hey, guys, what’s up?” Ethan greeted, plopping down on the couch besides James whose eyes practically bugged out of his head in surprise.

“Jesus, Ethan, you scared me.”

“No shit; it’s spooky season, sister,” Ethan replied, wiggling his fingers for dramatic effect. James rolled his eyes, “The only thing spooky here is your costume, what are you supposed to be again?”

“A douchebag!” Ethan’s hands indicated to his outfit proudly; his shirtless body was complimented by the fake gold chains that draped over his chest. In addition to the chains Ethan’s outfit was accessorized with a backwards black snapback and matching sunglasses and his legs clad with black joggers to complete the look.

James busted out laughing, “Only you would dress up as a douchebag for Halloween.”

Ethan smirked, “I know, it’s original huh?”

“Original? More like sister stupid. Aren’t you supposed to dress up as something other than yourself for Halloween?” James said through a laugh, slapping his knee at his own joke. As Ethan’s eyes narrowed, Grayson’s boisterous laugh rang out; he loved when James roasted Ethan.

“I fucking hate you guys.” James and Grayson’s laughs continued, eventually settling down as James got up.

“As fun as this has been, I see Luke Wilde looking very nice over there and he slid into my DMs a few weeks ago, so.” Ethan and Grayson nodded, watching James bound towards the tall, dark and handsome man in the corner.

Ethan sighed happily, leaning back into the couch, both of his arms splaying behind him. “So, man, you having a good time?”

“Yeah, I just got done dancing a bit ago and I’m taking a break, I finally got Ali’s number, though,” Grayson remarked, smirking. Ethan put his fist out to which Grayson bumped; Grayson had been trying to hang out with one of James’s editors, Ali, for months now, but just hadn’t developed the courage to ask.

“Nice, man! It’s about damn time.”

“Oh shut the fuck up, bro, we all know how much of a pussy you are about talking to girls,” Grayson shot back. Ethan crossed his arms, “I am not! Hey, I almost forgot, where’s Y/N?”

Grayson raised his eyebrows at his brother, his teeth coming together in slight fear. Ethan was about to be salty at the sight before him.

Grayson pointed across the room and Ethan’s gaze followed, his heart falling into his stomach at scene in front of him. You were leaning against the wall, holding a solo cup, smiling a huge, beautiful smile as you looked up at the guy in front of you. The guy you were talking with had a hand against the wall as he leaned over you, a solo cup in his own hand, and a smirk smeared across his lips in contrast to your innocent grin. Ethan was livid.

“What the fuck?” Ethan muttered, his eyes bulging out of his hand, and his hand crushing his cup. Ethan barely felt the cool liquid seep into the fabric of his joggers as he took off his sunglasses, stuffing them into his pockets in an attempt to make sure that his eyes weren’t deceiving him.

“Who the hell is that guy?” Ethan didn’t even look at Grayson as he asked the question, too afraid that if he turned away that you would either disappear from view, or worse, start kissing the dude.

Grayson shrugged, “I don’t know, to be honest. When we got here Y/N and I were talking over there together and that dude kept eyeing her, so I left and they’ve been talking ever since.”

Ethan’s head turned towards Grayson so fast he almost got whiplash, “You what? ” He hissed.

“I left them to talk together! Christ, Ethan, if you like her you have to tell her, you can’t just stare at her and pray to God she’s a mind-reader.”

“You can’t just leave her alone with that stranger! He could be a serial killer for all we know, Grayson.”

Grayson rolled his eyes so hard you could only see the whites of his eyes for a moment. “He is not a serial killer, stop being so dramatic.”

“Well, how would you know? Did you interview him before you left her with him?” Ethan’ cocked an eyebrow, his lips pursed together.

“I am not gonna interview every fuckin’ guy she talks to, Ethan, she’s a big girl she can handle herself.”

“Yeah, well, he’s looking at her like a piece of meat, Gray, just look at the guy!” Ethan’s hand flew out, gesturing wildly to the two of you. The boxer’s eyes were hooded as he talked to you, the alcohol most likely flowing through his veins, while you now stood with your hands clasped neatly in front of you as you told a story animatedly, your expression bright as you recounted your tale.

“Ethan, at least the dude is talking to her, if anything you’re the one looking at her like a piece of meat,” Grayson sassed, the reality of the situation still not reaching his brother.

“E, if you like her so much, just tell her already, bro. It’s so painfully obvious you have feelings, and I bet she feels the–.”

“I’m going over there, he’s definitely a serial killer,” Ethan interrupted, popping up from the couch and storming across the room, leaving his younger brother in the dust.

“Same way.” Grayson finished, sighing as he watched Ethan walk across the room towards you, anger pumping through Ethan’s body.

“Yeah! So I’m sprinting through campus holding all these books, I lost a shoe somewhere along the way and then–.”

Suddenly, Evan was pushed to the side as a strong body knocked into him; Evan’s drink falling to the floor, the thankfully basically empty cup clattering to the hardwood in all its plastic glory.

“Yo, what the hell man?” Evan whipped around, prepared to square up to the man who knocked into him, when he was met with someone a few inches taller than him and a few inches wider, causing him to shrink back.

“Sorry, bro, didn’t see you there. You okay, Y/N?” Ethan’s jaw was clenched tight as he gave you a tight smile. He was clearly irritated.

“Yeah, I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” You huffed, your arms crossing in annoyance. At your movement, Evan’s eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to your chest, as your arms perked up your breasts through the top of your robe. Ethan gave Evan side eye, his eyes narrowing as he noticed where Evan’s eyes had traveled. Ethan immediately punched Evan in the shoulder, Evan’s eyes widening in surprise and then narrowing in anger.

“Keep your eyes on her face, asshole,” Ethan commanded, his fists clenching in rage. Evan’s eyes lit up in anger, who the fuck did this guy think he was?

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me, man,” Evan snarled, pushing Ethan away from him aggressively. “You know this clown?” Evan pointed at Ethan. Your eyebrows shot up quickly, your voice suddenly caught at your throat; you hated confrontation.

“Uh–yeah, um, Evan, this is Ethan, Ethan this is–.”

“An asshole,” Ethan deadpanned, crossing his arms over his chest. Your mouth flew open; you couldn’t believe how downright rude he was being. “Ethan!” You exclaimed.

“I’m the asshole? You’re kidding me, right? Let’s get out of here, baby, what do you say? Seems like this jerk doesn’t know how to control himself in front of a pretty girl.” Ethan could feel his skin heating up at Evan’s words; deep down Ethan knew he didn’t have a right to be acting this way, but he couldn’t help it, his heart always winning out over his head.

“I’m good, actually, I came with Ethan and his brother–.” Evan then grabbed your hand at your words, interrupting your rejection.

Your face dropped at Evan’s sudden act of possession; everything had been fine up until this point, why couldn’t things ever go normally for you? You looked down at his hand gripping your own, your fingers limp in his grasp.

“Let’s go, Y/N,” Evan said, trying to tug you away from Ethan. You stayed put, your eyes wide with fear; fear of the man holding you, and fearful of what Ethan was about to do.

Ethan couldn’t contain himself any longer; he ripped Evan’s hand off of you and pushed the blonde away, his back hitting the wall harshly as he gripped the collar of his robe tight in his fist.

“Don’t you fuckin’ touch her, do you understand me?” Ethan’s fist shook he was holding onto Evan so tight. He slammed Evan into the wall again for good measure, his back hitting into it so hard Evan had the wind knocked out of him. Grayson started to run over as he saw the situation escalate in front of him, pushing past people just as Evan was bent over coughing.

“Ethan, what the fuck?” Grayson stood behind his brother, prepared to back him up, but also frustrated that his brother couldn’t just express his emotions rationally.

Ethan turned around, ignoring Grayson completely, as he looked you up and down in worry.

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

“You’re such a dick, you know that?” You snapped, glaring at Ethan as you pushed past him, your eyes tearing up in anger. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, you chanted to yourself as you made your way out of the party.

Ethan’s mouth fell open in shock, your reaction confusing him. He thought you would’ve been happy that he stepped in, saving you from that massive douchebag.

“What’s her problem?!” Ethan put his hands on his hips in bewilderment.

“What’s her problem? You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. You practically insulted her outfit before we even got here, and now you randomly come in and intervene when she’s talking to a guy? She’s not the one with a problem, it’s you, bro.”

“He was grabbing her, did you see–.”

“Yeah, I saw, but before that. You were acting like such an asshole before that even happened. You can’t act all protective if you don’t tell her how you feel.”

Ethan rolled his eyes in irritation, knowing that his brother was partially right, however, it still didn’t make him like what Grayson had to say. Ethan stalked off after you before Grayson could say anything else, leaving the younger twin standing alone under the smokey haze and rainbow lights.

“Y/N, wait,” Ethan called as he grabbed your wrist, his voice ringing out loudly in the silent and cold October air.

“Don’t touch me. We’re fighting,” You snapped, ripping your wrist out of Ethan’s hand quickly. Ethan’s face fell at your actions and his heart hurt; he really hoped you wouldn’t be that upset.

“But why are we fighting? That guy was a total stranger, Y/N! He was grabbing you and looking down your robe and–.”

“And you were a stranger too at one point, E! And honestly, at least someone was appreciating my costume and not bitching at me saying shit like ‘you’re wearing that?’” Your voice dropped several octaves as you mimicked Ethan’s voice from earlier in the evening, your hands waving around wildly to emphasize your rage.

“Well excuse me for being a little concerned for how much skin you were showing! I mean, hell, the dude was practically having a conversation with your tits rather than your face.”

“How much skin I’m showing? You’re the one shirtless!” You admonished, your finger pushing against his chest.

Damn, she got me there, he thought to himself.

“And what are you supposed to be anyway?” Her head cocked to the side as she awaited his answer.

“A douchebag,” Ethan practically whispered, embarrassment consuming his voice.

“A what?” You asked again, not quite hearing his words.

“A douchebag,” Ethan said louder, his eyes looking at his sneakers in shame, now realizing that his costume fit his actions.

Your eyes widened in surprise and you cackled at the irony; Ethan dressing like a douchebag in an attempt to mock it, and then ending up being one throughout the night.

You pointed at him, “Aren’t you supposed to dress up as something different than yourself on Halloween?” Tears were streaming down your face at this point, the humor of this situation literally making you die of laughter.

“Okay, fuck off, James already said that,” Ethan chuckled.

After you calmed down a few seconds later, you and Ethan stood smiling at each other in a mutual understanding; at least he realized that he was being a dick.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I just didn’t know that guy and it pissed me off that Grayson left you alone with a total stranger. And then he was treating you like you were a–a– like a thing, and–.” You put your hand up, indicating that he stop. Your heart thumped at the possibility that Ethan could be jealous, but you knew that he was merely protecting you, only seeing you as a little sister.

“I get it, E. But you can’t just get all older brother on me whenever you feel like it … you’re not the boss of me.” Your heart stabbed with pain as you said those words, praying inside that Ethan would dispel them and say that you were more than a sister to him, that it hurt him seeing you with another guy.

But Ethan didn’t.

Ethan’s heart sank at what you said; he fucking knew you’d never see him beyond the goofy brother role that he couldn’t seem to step out of no matter how hard he tried. “Um, yeah, well when some fucker grabs you forgive me for going a little psycho,” Ethan said flatly, taking his snapback off and readjusting it, needing to fiddle with something.

“Yeah, but before that, you were acting so–so upset. Why were you so upset that I was talking to that guy?”

“I told you he was a stranger,” Ethan looked off to the side, digging his shoe into the dirt.

“Yeah, but still–.” You started before a voice interrupted you.

“Hey, I’m gonna head out soon, is that cool?” Grayson yelled out from the porch, the music behind him thumping.

“I think I’m gonna stay a bit longer,” Ethan called back. “You wanna stay, or do you wanna go with Gray?” Ethan asked, his tone laced with hope that you’d wanna stay with him.

Grayson stood there patiently, waiting for your answer.

“I’m gonna stay with E and then we’ll uber back.” A wide grin spread across his face in victory; victory that he had a few hours of privacy with you without his brother’s judgemental eyes.

Grayson responded with a thumbs up as he slammed the door shut to the party, leaving you two alone yet again.

“So, wanna go dance? I might forgive you if you come dance with me!” Your eyebrows wiggled suggestively as you tugged your robe tightly around you as a breeze made its way through the air.

Ethan groaned, “Can’t we do something else in there? Here’s a tic-tac, will that make up for what a dick I was?” Ethan reached in his pocket, holding out the case of minty candy.

“Ethan Dolan, you can’t make up for it by giving me a tic-tac.” You giggled, pushing his shoulder as you walked back towards the house. Ethan smirked and pushed you back lightly, putting his hand on the small of your back as you walked up the stairs.

As you two walked back into the party together, you and Ethan both couldn’t help but internally sigh; yet another night where both of your feelings were brought to the surface and pushed down yet again by each of your own cowardice.

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dukevividwriting · 5 years

Text

Something i wrote for a contest recently.

She stood upon the balcony overlooking the lively city. She could hear the people below celebrating the city birthday; smell the smoke of the stands and recreation drugs, see the lights from the streets and multiple large screens displaying commercial products, upcoming entertainment programs and the occasional inspirational message pertaining to the celebration.

‘It really is beautiful here, so full of life and diversity.’ Despite her appreciation, a sad sigh escaped her light pink lips. This was not her home, not her birthplace. Keri-Sintao: her home, was not as technologically advance as this metropolis she’s currently resides. It wasn’t as large or housed as many different species and races.

“I am a prisoner.” A fact that she had to keep in mind. She was a captive and yet, she was never treated as such. She was given full reign of the mansion and urged to discover the city. Her escaping never been a concern. “All because of HIM.” A nearly animalistic growl escaped her chest at the thought of her captor. Her eyes caught him in the crowd, laughing among the citizens of the city, drink in hand and weapons on his waist and back. “You’re always prepared for a fight, aren’t you D’trine Amos.”

She smirked at the sound of his name and relaxed a bit on the balcony. She’d been ‘captive’ for three seasons and had hated him for it. ‘Had’ being the operative word, now all she was left with was anger, fear and confusion.

Anger, it used to be due to all he freedom he gave her, she wasn’t able to escape this city. 75 miles away from the nearest city limit, and he has eyes, ears, and mouths all over. She had tried to escape many times throughout the first two months and never got close to the city limits and never accused of escaping. Now it was that he treated her as a freeloader at times.

‘He should show a bit more respect to me. I was considered a high class warrior and meta wielder among her old people.’

She thought to herself with a conceited smirk before the terms of the sentence set in.

“AM! I AM A HIGH CLASS WARRIOR AND META WIELDER AMONG MY PEOPLE, AMONG THE KURILAIN CLANSMAN!”

Fear; that what she felt. Fear that she is losing herself and her identity. Fear that the love of her home is being replaced with a feeling of attachment for Parasino, for her jail. During her stay she has been around the city more than enough to actually gain some attachment to a good amount of Parasino citizens. She was able to take some local bounty hunting and bodyguard work, that allowed her to use her skills, and come close to the city limits. All the times she could have escaped…and she didn’t out of fear of being recaptured by him and losing the trust she gathered, but even more than that, A fear of betraying all of those she gained attachments to.

For a moment she allowed herself of home. A city smaller than Parasino, with it being 450 square miles compared to Parasino 750 square miles. She could imagine the clean air, the grassy land, stone buildings and rural atmosphere of the city. That doesn’t mean it was not as advance as any other city. Despite its looks, technology was a part of life in Keri just as it is in any other city, though not as much as big cities like Parasino. She fallen out of her day dreaming and turned back to the city to see that from the ground below 10 meters down and 20 meters away, D’trine was looking at her with a small smile and his mocha colored eyes full of mischief not unlike that of a child. She unconsciously allow a slightly flirtatious smile to appear on her now blushing cheeks, before walking back into her private sleeping quarters, laying back onto the bed.

Confusion; every time she feels those particular… Emotions… When it comes to the subject of her captor she can admit that, yes he is strong, he is powerful, and he is intelligent. That did not explain the current…attraction? Admiration?

“Tolerance…That’s what it is. Just toleration of his existence”

Saying it out loud did no help to ease her nerve. She knew it was a lie to herself and it disgusted her that she chose to lie…that fact and the reason why she had to lie, She felt her face getting hot as she unwittingly reminisced about what happened a few months ago.

She was training her swordsmanship. It’s been nearly six months since she was ‘captured’ and brought to Parasino as a ‘prisoner’. She was doing her near daily ritual of combat training, which usually included using the power known as ‘meta-physiology’ or META for short; a power that allows one complete control over a property of existence, and her training in her exclusive sword style. A dual wielding style that favors flexibility, speed, precision, and endurance.

Her movements were graceful and exotic; if not even a bit hypnotizing. Each swing of her blades, each throw of a knee, kick, and elbow was followed by a stance that showed off her control of her well developed and visually appealing body. Whether she is balancing on her blades hilts while in a handstand, crouching low crossed leg, or have her body imitating a panther; her carnal formation was on full display.

She was just finishing one of her ‘Kata’ or practice movements that consist of a series high and low horizontal slashes. She followed this with a sweeping kick into a roundhouse before ending it with a perfect standing split. She allowed herself to take a deep breath as the felt the sweat cascade down her toned and slightly scarred thighs and legs; four strong yet slightly soft abdominals; well defined back, and arms; curvy, if not a little larger than average hips and buttocks; perky, ample breast; and long half braided, half loose, now damp hair.

She let herself fall forward to the ground before lifting her body up on top of her blades hilt into a full handstand; all while holding the split. She began switching between the position of her legs from every few seconds changing between horizontal and vertical splits.

As she was focused on her exercise, she didn’t notice the presence of leering eyes in the room, until their owner spoke.

“You are an impressive one, Swordswoman.”

She sighed but still held a smile on her face. Her exercise routine always did give her a feeling of euphoria, as it was one of the few times where she could shed all titles and just be in tuned with her own existence and being. She felt powerful, in control, excited, exotic and even aroused. She was uninhibited and felt a bit animalistic even in his presence; actually the knowledge of him watching her fueled her raw and unrestricted persona more than usual.

Using her strong arms and hands she balanced herself on the sword hilts using only her palms before lifting up to only to her fingers tips and finally jumping off the weapons into frog crouch; her back turned to D’trine.

She could feel his liquor colored gaze roam over her figure she stood slowly and stretched her outfitted body. She heard him breath in and out of his nose, not unlike that of taking in the scent and essence of area. His satisfied growled coming from his chest made her chuckle and look at him from over her shoulder.

“ Here to train, kidnapper?”

Usually the ‘kidnapper’ would have more of a bite from a venomous snake, at this moment it was more of a shallow and beckoning call. She realized this, she didn’t care either way. Maybe it was due to her adrenalin induced ‘high’ from exercise combined with their state off undress that made her less biting. He was topless, wearing ripped loose fitting Hakama like pants and foot guards. She herself was wearing a black, silky, and now sticky leotard with a pair of arm guards.

“I see, six months and you’re still calling me that. I thought we gotten closer than that?” D’trine smirked as he walked to her stretching his arms.

“Hmm.. Well I do believe we are, but I don’t see you calling me by my name. ” She responded as she too began to walk to meet him.

“That because you don’t want to give it to me.”

“But you know it, do you not?”

“Yes, but having the knowledge doesn’t constitute consent; besides giving your name to someone is sacred in your culture. I will respect that as I respect you”

“Interesting, you say you respect me but you keep me in Paradiso against my will.”

“You know you can escape, if you want.”

“You’d capture me again if I did.”

“Faster and every time after that; even faster.”

“Why did you take me in the first time?”

“It’s complicated, but I have my reasons. Do you want to hear them? It might change your opinion of me. Do you really want to stop hating me”

The two stopped no more that a centimeter apart. She drunk in the display of her supposed enemy, but was something completely different. His scarred, battle harden, slightly round body. Sand dashes upon dark chocolate skin,. His five a clock shadowed face with a slight cross burn across the wide nose. His large, vascular,calloused arms and hands and tree trunk sized legs and feet.

D’trine did not build his body for appearance, but function that much was oblivious. There was nothing thin or pampered about the beast of a man in front of her. He embodies fervent, crude power and ability; he radiates it. He wasn’t the tallest of men, standing at only five feet and three quarters, but that did nothing to hinder him in battle.

The afternoon sunlight gave him an unearthly appearance, making his already impressive aura even more so, almost as he has eclipse the sun itself. She couldn’t muster any animosity toward him; all she can think about in her ‘euphoric’ state was how glorious and passionate a battle would be against the being in front of her. She absent-mindedly started to touch his hard body feeling each scar, tenderly as if they were ancient treasures. She looked into his eyes, curiosity present moved back just the slightest of inches, while keeping a hand on one particular large scar right between his chest, trailing her middle finger down the full length of the marking.

“This one is fresher than the others.”

“Not fresh enough to be re-opened...But yes it is my newest collector item. An fire Meta wielder got a lucky hit before he lost his head. Job hazards; can’t avoid them always.” He allowed himself to chuckle as she continued to finger the scar with amazement.

“They say for warriors’ scars, scrapes and bruises are full of tales and held experiences of battle.You’re a walking tapestry of battle, aren’t you. Each scar on you is someone lucky enough to sketch their skill upon you.”

“Hmm…Such a compliment…What are you up to, ‘Kurilain’? You’ve been quite affectionate to me…Someone you hate.”

“I guess I have been, but I’m in a mood today. physical exertion have that effect on me admittedly.”

“Ah, so It’s lust your feeling towards me. How interesting, yet that very based behavior don’t you think?”

“Haha! I must agree, but life is already complicated enough for me as it. I relish a little simple thinking and impulsive action. There’s nothing wrong with that is it, ‘kidnapper’?

She took a step away from him, mischief and excitement still evident in her movements as she slowly change her guise from his scar body to his flustered and anticipated face. She let use a mirthful giggle .

“That’s such a weird look on your face. Is my affectionate side to much for you? Use to me being a bit colder, huh? Don’t worry I still have a lot of aggression and resentment towards you.”

“Tsch! Whatever, you are more pleasing this way.”

“Oh, you wound me sir. Well not yet anyway.”

She smirked before cart wheeling back a small distance and getting in fighting stance. She placed her left foot in front bent at the arch, her leg was bent at knee slightly to line up with her toes. Her right leg was kept straight and her foot was pointed outward. Her left and right arm was chest and neck level, respectively; with the left being held open close to the neck and the right being held a bit further out in a slightly open fist.

D’trine smirked a bit before raising two ‘paw’ like hands to his chest and crouching a few inches down. The two stood still in the bamboo pentagon, the setting sun shining through the windows onto the ring.

“You sure you want this spar, woman?”

She licked her lips lustfully before leaping forward towards him, throwing a high kick towards his temple. D’trine didn’t try to guard himself as the foot stopped an inch from his person.

“I have some aggression to workout, plus I don’t want to stop feeling this high anytime soon. Along with the need to put my own ‘signature’ on your ‘tapestry’; so yes, I am sure.”

D’trine smirked before throwing a fist towards her abdominals. She dropped low and attempted to sweep D’trine of his feet with both legs; only to have him skip over her and out of her range, back into his stance. She was still on the floor, her leotard body perpendicular ring with her legs spread open into a “V”. She kept her eyes on him as she slowly lifted her bottom half to a standing position keeping her legs closer yet still open; her stance imitated a cat about to pounce. D’trine released a small growl at this action and clenched fist tighter.

“You love showing off your body don’t you, you feline like woman.”

“I’m just enjoying the skin I am in. Why? Is it distracting? Felling a bit aroused are we?”

“it’s kind of difficult to ignore the show in front of me.”

“Those thoughts are instinctive and very base. You know we’re in a spar. Maybe this is my plan to win.’

“Bewitching me with your figure and body control, you might be on to something.”

“Charmer.” She said with a smile, as she lowered her buttocks, slowing swaying it as she did. Her honey eyes steeled and her stance settled. A deep breath before her slow stalking began, circling clock wise her eyes trained on his powerful stance. Waiting, anticipating…hungering for any twitch of a muscle.

It was her concentration that in turn threw her off.

D’trine broke from his stance and quickly charged towards her, his steps giving of a sound of rumbling thunder. He stopped right next to her and with sent down a powerful left palm towards her clothed and sweaty back.

She moved back before the palm could connect and watched it cracked the wood below them. She twisted her body on to her left side, before throwing her right foot towards his neck. He dodged the kick by moving his head just out of the path; the speed of her kick did send a bit of a breeze towards him though. Using the current momentum, she twisted her body into a handstand facing him before delivering a flurry of kicks towards his chest and stomach.

D’trine guarded and endured the barrage up to the tenth kick, when she leapt from her handstand and attempted to kick him with both of her feet only to for D’trine to grab her hips while stepping just out of the path of her attack. Before she can react he tossed her up on to his shoulders before smacking her rear with his hand.

“Guah!”

D’trine smirked at the sound of her surprised groan, before spanking her again.

“Guah! Goa! Gah! God! Stop! Spanking! Mmmm! Mmm! ME Perv!”

She scrambled out of his grasp with elbow to his back, after one last spank from D’trine. She was embarrassed as she fixed the seat of her ridden up leotard, her face a bit sweaty and flushed. She walked straight up to him anger radiating of her and looked straight into his cocky confident smile.

“What the hell? I thought you wanted to spar!”

“I believe I just hit you with a barrage of attacks.”

“You spanked me!”

“You enticed me.”

“What? How?”

“Your stance.”

“Bullshit!”

“ Wasn’t you trying to distract me with your sensuality?”

“Oh and that give you the right to spank me like a child?”

“A child, never; besides you loved being treated like a bad little girl. A Big callous hand being brought down on your surprising round and soft bottom, you loved the feeling…Those weren’t sounds of pain..”

“That’s beside the point, D’trine!”

With that she struck his chest with an open palm pushing him back a bit. He had no time to be surprised as she attempted to claw his face with her right hand only to have him dodge behind her. Before smacking and squeezing her already spanked ass one more time.

She yelled before trying to strike his neck with a chop which was stopped by her wrist being grabbed by his left hand. Suddenly she found herself falling back towards the ring floor, swept off her feet by her sparring partner, only to be held a few inches from the floor by D’trine wrist hold. She watch as he sent a ‘clawed’ hand heading toward her stomach. The searing pain burnt her inside as the force made her gasp for air and crashing to the floor. She felt his finger tear through her leotard revealing a patch of tone, slightly bruised brown flesh when he lifted his hand again for another.

D’trine was caught off guard when she blocked the blow and grabbed the retreating wrist under her arm before delivering a kick deep into his stomach putting him off balance and lower towards her. Using the momentum, her strength and control, she was able to pin him on to his back by locking both of her legs around the man mid-section and tossing his body over hers while simultaneously rolling back to a straddle upon D’trine's waist.

“Nice…move woman.” D’trine coughed with a grimacing smirk.

“You say that as if you didn't allow this to happen.”

“That shot to the gut knocked the wind out of me, momentarily.”

“And now you're at my mercy…” The swordswoman held up her left index finger and imbued it with silver and greenish flare of ‘meta’. D'trine smirk settled into a slight passive leer as she lowered the hand to his throat. “Tell me…. What do you think you would get from treating me this way?”

“What way? Respectful? Dignified?! Kind!?” D’trine couldn’t help the annoyance in his voice as he sat up. The glare on his face was tempered steel. “ and here we were having such a good time.”

“Stop playing mind games with me D’trine.” The woman growled as her honey eyes gained a grave glint to them. She wanted to strike him; to lay her ‘signature’ on him, but hesitation was settling within her. “Why the luxury, the camaraderie, the freedom? What do you hope to gain from this?“

The livid tone of her voice caused a draining sigh from the man. She watched him closely as she waited for a answer. The grimacing of his cheeks and chin, his refusal to look her straight in the eye and how his body gotten tense. She realized these signs, he has a secret that involves her and he’s not going to give it.

He laid his hands on her hips but didn’t try to move her. In fact, he allowed a bit of sincerity leak from him a she gave her a gentle smile. “ At this moment, to gaze at your beauty walnut skin in the sunset. Is that a problem or would you prefer me lock you away somewhere?”

“Stop mocking me!”.Her instincts took over and she swung the meta infused hand downward ,towards his chest, attempting to grate off some of his flesh. D’trine grabbed the hand before it collided with his skin, the power cutting into his hand as he did. Ignoring the pain, he rolled her over onto her back reversing their positions and saw the pain in her eyes, the struggle of not knowing what or why she’s here?

“Protection, you’re here to be safe. That’s all the truth you’re allowed, Xiomara.”

Hearing his reason and her name spoke with such care shook her heart. The meta she held dissipated with a slight poof, but neither cared. It was here that a current of affection was established.

Just as he was about to speak again she silenced him with a kiss, deep and full of emotion. She bit his chapped lips drawing blood before going back on to the floor.

“Don’t EVER say my name without consent; take that scarring kiss as reminder of that Kidnapper.” Her words clashed with her playful tone as she licked her lips, tasting his blood with a smile. It was invigorating to her.

She was caught off guard when the beastly man returned the kiss with just as much animalism as she did. She allowed him entrance into her mouth and the movements of his long thick tongue causing her knees to buckle as hel lift her off the floor and sat her upon his lap. The kiss ended with ragged breaths as the two glared at each other. Though their eyes held wanting and challenge, but no contempt.

“I’ll abide by your request Xio; you remember whose city this is.”

She gasp as she felt his grip on her hips and the sinking of his teeth into her collar bone causing her to suck in the breath she was still trying to catch from the previous action. She moaned deeply to the pain and pleasure holding him tightly in place; even through her leotard it felt skin to teeth. She smirked as his sent mixed with hers. It was overwhelming extraordinary to her senses. It was oil to the fire that was already in her. She was losing herself; she knew this. She didn’t give a damn!

*present*

“Damn it.” Xio couldn’t help but to curse herself as thoughts of what they did...The passion, the touching, the intimate, rhythmic actions .The panting and groaning each others names on that dojo sweaty floor. Their combined body pressure and heat...It never left her.

She would had chalked it up too the ‘high’ alone..but it was only their first bout with intimacy. While they kept it normal in public, they opened themselves in private, got to know each other, truly. Through physical and personal intimate interactions. She even allowed full permission to call her by her true name, signifying him as someone irreplaceable to her, by kurilian law.

"Not that it matters, I am in Parasino not Keri-Sintao."

She mimic his deep tone as she spoke, the reason why she isn't with him rising in her mind. An argument about a future he saw gleefully and she not as much. She couldn't just give up her home for this can she, for him? Not when he still won't tell why he stole her in the first place.

It was then she heard the door to her chambers opened and the man himself stood behind it. Her heart swelled at his visage.. Before she could greet him teasingly, he spoke.

"Xiomara."

She froze as he moved aside...revealing a shorter older man with her eyes. Her heart stopped as she pointed at him. D'trine nodding was all she needed.. the reason for her kidnapping. Supposedly five years dead was smirking at her, Her father.

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616marvel · 5 years

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SOULMATE PROMPT for @blackberrywidow‘s writing challenge! Word count: 4.9k (im so sorry this got so fucking long) Pairing: Civilian!Bucky x Natasha (Black Widow) Summary: Bucky doesn’t believe in soulmates, so you could imagine his surprise to learn that his soulmate not only exists, but is also part of the Avengers.

Soul mates was such an odd concept to grasp, not that it’s anything fairly new, but the idea of soul mates tend to limit ones options and if there’s one thing that can describe James Buchanan Barnes is that he, much like most Americans, like their options. This sounds pompous, but he’s great with socializing, even more so when a pretty gal is involved. It’s to no wonder that he thinks that this whole notion of ‘she’ll light up the room once you see her’ was a total buzz kill. He’d only been serious with one girl, her name was Gretchen and he swore that she was going to be the one. It turns out, unreciprocated feelings were not fun and soul mates has a bond that ‘simply cannot be broken, I’m sorry James.’ What a load of crap that was.

Truthfully it was youth’s predisposition of naivety that got him, he really shouldn’t have bought that ring at the age of 24. Call him jaded, but what was so good about soul mates anyway? At age 32, he has yet to find his so called soul mate. Of course not finding his soul mate meant he was free to explore, and explore he did. Naturally he’s single yet again, dating was a game for him that only lasted a good month or two. Anymore will have consequences, like actually caring for them. ‘That’s the point of dating, Buck,’ he can hear his best friend’s voice echoing at the back of his head like some voice of conscience. They’re the complete opposite of one another and yet through thick and thin, they’ve managed to stay as friends.

That punk’s probably out with his wife and yet he still manages to remember the guy’s lectures. A soft chuckle escapes James’ lips at the thought; bring forth his beer before taking a swig. If he’d been any younger, he would’ve hit the club for company, but he’s 32 and it’s a Wednesday night. The last thing he needs is any excitement when he has an early shift tomorrow morning. Dive bars were god sent for a quick drink and swanky music and this place was close to his apartment, what more could he ask for?

Breaking news: Another alien attack in New York! The Avengers are seen to be fighting –

Right, the Avengers. The mighty heroes that has saved the world multiple times. James had always found their tenacity impressive, but he’s gotta wonder, who the hell pays for all of those damage? “Probably my tax money,” he mumbles absentmindedly as he shifts his attention from the TV to the jukebox. Really, he doesn’t mind giving his tax money to fix New York, but the constant threat was getting tiring. It’s like Earth was the only planet that’s worth to invade or something, couldn’t they invade Mars? If it wasn’t the president asking to build a wall, it’s aliens invading. ‘It’s always something,’ the thought lingers while he scans the 1980’s song selection on the jukebox.

On his fifth page, a chitauri bursts through the east wing of the bar, destroying half of the joint and startling all of the patrons. The chaos happened too fast, but the fear that crept on his chest was gradual, his initial instinct of assessing the situation and noting if anyone was hurt kicked in. Thankfully, no one was close to the wall when it happened and from the looks of it, everyone seemed okay. “Is everyone alright?” an authoritative voice coupled by the sparking wires reverberates from the direction where the chaos had entered. Muted blues were swift to glance at the direction, taking note of the infamous red hair and black cat suit. It’s one of the Avengers! It’s Black Widow!

James would’ve been excited at meeting one of the Avengers face to face if not for the fact that the moment he laid eyes on her, the whole room lit up.

It was at that moment that he knew he was screwed.

“Wait, so you’re telling me,” Sam’s face looked amused despite of the disbelief, “that you believe that your soul mate is Black Widow. As in, The Black Widow. The Avenger.”

James knew he shouldn’t have told Sam.

“Look, when we locked eyes – the room lit up and I could’ve swore she knew it too,” which was true, he saw the way black widow’s eyes widened at the realization.

“Nah man, I’m sure you were just awestruck! I’d be awestruck too if I were in your shoes,” ever quick to disregard Barnes’ statement, really, why were they friends?

For a man that was so against the notion of soul mates, he was never more sure that Black Widow of The Avengers was his soul mate. Which wasn’t exactly a bad thing because he’s pretty sure he’s had a crush on her since – well, the first time she came on the news. Look, he can acknowledge the fact that she’s way beyond his league, but the fact that she might actually be his soul mate made him feel all sorts of things. First, how the hell does that happen? Second, how in the world is he gonna ask her on a date, she’s a superhero for Pete’s sake and he’s – well, he’s a senior engineer for Stark Industries. It’s a nice gig, but he doesn’t see superheroes there, let alone Black Widow, aka the woman that’s apparently his soul mate. And third, wasn’t he against the idea of soul mates?

“Lets say that she is your soul mate,” Sam’s voice interrupts his train of thought, the man looking ever so relaxed as he takes a gulp of his beer, “how are you even going to contact her? She’s a super hero and you’re…well – a man who sleeps with 22 year olds.”

“It was one time and she said she was 29! How was I supposed to know that she meant senior in undergrad and not a graduate student-“ One of the things that Sam will never ever let go was that mistake. Also one of the reasons why he no longer goes to clubs (he hung that towel after that incident, though in retrospect, he should’ve hung that towel the moment he turned 31).

“Look Buck, all I’m saying is, she might be your soul mate but I think you’re hopeless in this situation. She what, came in the bar, checked if everyone was alright, then went back to kicking ass? What did you do during that whole transgression?”

As much as he’d love to argue with Sam, he knows that the guy was right. After seeing her at the bar, he couldn’t do much of anything and stopping her to say hi (because saying hi in the middle of a battle was definitely practical) was out of the question. It was his first and only time that he could’ve done something and he blew it. See? Soul mates be damned.

Except fate was a jester and he’s simply a pawn in the game. It doesn’t take a week and a half before he sees her again, fighting crime and being a hero while he watches from the sideline, yet again. He saw her take a swift glance at him before noticing the incoming punch from the goon. “Watch out - !”

Of course she wasn’t Black Widow for nothing, even if he hadn’t said anything, she was quick the side step before turning it into a roundhouse. What was he even doing there? Why was this even happening at a Target parking lot? Much like what Sam had said, he was hopeless and she was way beyond his league. Instead of getting in the way, he joins the other civilians and finds shelter while the heroes – his soul mate – handles the situation.

There was a saying that once you meet your soul mate, you tend to bump into them often; James didn’t believe it at first until he sees yet another commotion, this time in his gym. “Oh come on!” it was his favorite gym, it was close to his house and the people minded their own business. To see it in rubbles was such a shame and it was then that he realized, having a superhero as a soul mate was an occupational hazard. Once more, he’s left with nothing but a prompt glance followed by him running with the civilians.

It takes a month and four battle run-ins before it happens – before he sees her at work in casual clothes, hair still ablaze and green eyes sharp as a cat. She was asking the front desk for information but at the turn of her head, muted blues and scrutinizing emeralds meet, making him gulp at the spot.

“Geez louise-“

You ever seen a woman so pretty you actually say geez louise out loud? Because he’s never done that before but then again Black Widow is no normal woman. She embodies grace, beauty, and death; which is a weird thing to note considering she’s there, lighting up the room and walking up to him like he’s her new target. “James Barnes,” her voice catches his attention (as if her presence hasn’t already).

“Uh…ma’am,”

Ma’am? Are you serious –

“I think you and I need to have a little chat,” nonchalance threaded her tone; his only response was a nod as she walks through the hallway as if she knew the outline of the building. It wouldn’t be surprising if she did know the outline, given her background, intelligence, and connection to Tony Stark. It takes a few left and right turns before arriving to one of the meeting rooms; James doesn’t even have to ask what she’s doing prior to following her in and getting locked in the soundproof and fogged windowed room.

And then there were two.

“You know why I’m here, don’t you?” despite the lack of threat, he knows that she wasn’t up for games so he nods in affirmation, “good, since we both acknowledge that we’re each other’s soul mate, why don’t we get to the point, shall we?”

Wait, she acknowledges him as her soul mate?

Why was he proud of that? Jesus Christ-

“All the research point that we will keep bumping into each other unless we bond and I don’t know about you, but I’d like to keep the collateral damage under control,” meaning to say she doesn’t want him to die just because fate’s a massive dick. James’ isn’t sure whether he should be grateful that she thinks about his safety or offended that she thinks he can’t take care of himself. And what does the bond even really mean? He should’ve researched this but considering that he didn’t expect to see her at work or at all, he didn’t deem it necessary.

“Uhh…bond?” he sounds like a child asking that, like she was years before him. Though looking at the situation, she probably was, both in experience and knowledge.

“Bond. Intimacy. Look, I’m not one for this soul mate deal and I was taught to believe that I didn’t have one, but I can’t have another life on my hands just because fate decided that we’re destined to be together,” it was her guilt that had brought her here. The red in her ledger that made her sought him out.

Somehow he knew that she wouldn’t be the type to believe in this fairytale sales pitch; she’s as jaded as him but more so taking her background into account. Exactly what did she want to happen then? “Given our rare circumstance, it’s best if you allow SHIELD to monitor you-“

“Whoa, whoa, I’m going to be monitored? Absolutely not!” his mouth ran off before he could think about whom he was talking to. The idea of being monitored was out of the question.

“Well we can’t just leave you vulnerable – whether you like it or not, we’ll keep bumping into each other while I’m probably in mid-battle,” Black widow replied like this was a business deal, like he should just accept it as is.

“Well I ain’t going to accept being monitored by the government, if anything why can’t you just monitor me if you’re the one that's worried about my wellbeing.”

what-

What did he just say?

Jesus Christ, Barnes, think before talking!

Cerulean hues lands on the rather silent operative, unable to read her face and wondering if this was how people felt under her scrutiny. Her reply came after a few seconds but it felt like years to the brunette. “Okay, that can be arranged.”

Wait –

“Your apartment has a lot of blind spots and isn’t as well equipped as mine, nor is it as well hidden, so I’ll have your belongings transferred to my apartment by the end of the week,” again with her business-like timbre, as if living with another human being was nothing but another mission.

James opened his mouth to retaliate, but finds himself unable to find any comeback. He’s the one who suggested this idea, but he didn’t think she’d actually agree to it! Before he could even really think of a reply, she gets a call and bolts out the door without a goodbye, leaving him there with a dumbfounded expression written all over his face.

What the fuck just happened?

A part of him didn’t want to believe it, really. He slept that week trying to forget the whole thing, but at the end of the week, a pair of familiar sharp eyes greeted him at his apartment. It’s at that moment that he realizes that this wasn’t a joke and the Black Widow really did take his suggestion into consideration. What was he supposed to say in this situation? That he was joking? That he didn’t think she’d take it seriously? Rather than arguing, he follows for now, albeit begrudgingly as they finally arrive to her well-secured apartment near the Avengers facility.

Feeling intimidated was an understatement given that his neighbors were the freaking avengers and he’s living with the Black Widow all of a sudden. “The guest bedroom’s been prepared for you, you’re also in FRIDAY’s system so you have clearance levels to some rooms. I’ve talked to Tony about relocating your work here instead, so you’ll be working with some of the agents.”

This was all too much for him – they changed his job? Not that he’s complaining because this means a promotion right? Wait, that wasn’t the case right now –

“Wait, you can’t just trap me in here like I’m some kind of a liability,” that was the big picture; they were treating him like he didn’t know any better. Like he didn’t experience the world before this whole soul mate thing happened.

“Whether you accept it or not, you are a liability if it means that I’ll keep bumping into you during missions. In my job, a lot of people tend to get hurt, or worse, die. Unless we’re certain that this occurrence ceases, this is the safest method we have.”

Right, the bond. That part was still confusing to him, how the hell was he supposed to bond with Black Widow when she talks to him like he’s a responsibility? Would sex change anything? Would that create the bond? All those articles that he’s read over the week did nothing but make him question this whole thing more.

“If you don’t have anymore questions, I’ll head to bed,” and that’s how he’s left at her living room with a million questions and one running through his head.

Fan-fuckin-tastic.

James just had to work on the bond thing before he could go back to his life, right? If that’s the case, all he had to do was be charming and see where it goes. That sounded simple enough in his head but after living there for two weeks, the most he’s got from her was a good morning and goodnight. Half of the time she doesn’t give his compliments the time of day. The only thing that changed was the fact that he actually calls her name now rather than her alias.

“Look pal, she may seem hard to approach but trust me, she likes a pretty face and I’m almost certain that she’s at least attracted to you,” Clint, one of the few Avengers that he has gotten close with, consoles him as they have a couple of beers at the lounge. Out of the whole group, the archer tends to hang around the facilities’ kitchen a lot, making it easy for James to make small talk that eventually became full conversations that mostly entailed a certain redhead.

“That’s good to know, but every time I compliment her, she gives me this look like I’m a gremlin,” he rubs his face as he leans back on the couch, a sigh escaping his lips in exasperation.

“Try a different method, why not join her at the gym instead?” now that was an idea.

James would like to think that it was a doable feat. He practically lived at the gym before this whole ordeal happened and he knows how to punch – he’s sure that he can keep up with her. The brunette takes the archer’s advice, waking up at 5 in the morning just to meet her at the gym. She looks like she’s been there for a while, the sweat trickling down her skin as the obvious evidence of that as he makes himself known. The last thing he needs is her feeling threatened by him. “Fancy meeting you here, Natasha,” he offers a small greeting, she reciprocated with a nod.

Barnes spots a free punching bag and begins to work on it, endeavoring to find a perfect opportunity to ask if she’d want to spar. It takes a few minutes before he finally found the courage to ask, “Hey, did you want to spar?”

She looked at him like he’d lost his mind but beneath the scrutiny was – amusement? That was a first. She’d never looked like she was genuinely interested in what he had to say until now. There was a smirk on her lips and he could’ve sworn he saw his life end right then and there.

“Are you sure you’re game for that, Barnes?” in spite of the playfulness in her voice, he can note the almost feral and threatening tone beneath it. James gulps but powers through it.

“Yeah, it’ll be fun.”

Says the dumbass that sparred with Natasha Romanoff only to get his ass handed to him. He knew she was good and that he could never throw a punch at her even if he tried, but he thought that he could at least match a quarter of her stamina. It turns out it takes only 15 minutes before she has him face down and asking for a break because he’s pretty sure she dislocated his shoulder.

“Please tell me you weren’t going easy on me, I don’t think Sam would let me live if he finds out that I got a handicap when I sparred with Black Widow only to get my ass handed to me-“

And then she laughs, it’s really more like a chuckle, but he’ll take it!

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out,” and that tone was something he’d never gotten before. Wait, was she- was she flirting with him?

Before he could digest it all, she’s already packing her stuff while he nurses his shoulder. He doesn’t notice her jump out of the mat, nor does he notice her reach the door but she does acknowledge him, “Not bad Barnes, same time tomorrow?”

And that was enough for him to suddenly ignore all the aching bones in his body because no way in hell was he gonna let that opportunity slip by.

The next day at 5am on the dot, he finds himself at the gym ready to get his head stifled between her thighs all over again. There were bruises all over his back and rather than complaining, he wore it like a medal. How many people could say that they’ve fought the Black Widow and lived? Again he gets his ass handed to him. 15 minutes, like that's all his body could take. Maybe training with her could change his endurance. He used to think that he was pretty athletic but compared to her; no amount of six packs could match what she could do. Anyone else would’ve thought that this feat was suicide, but not her – Natasha almost seemed…entertained, proud even. Like the previous day, she smirks at him and gives him a remark that could either be taken as a flirtatious compliment or a threat. He doesn’t know which one turns him on more.

All James knows is that he suddenly doesn’t mind waking up at 5am in the morning and even if he’s sporting a new bruise everyday, it all felt worth it. Not only was he physically getting challenged but the way she reciprocated to his advances challenged him in a way that he’s never been played before.

It takes him another two weeks before he could pass the 15-minute mark, finally being able to keep on par with her for at least 20 minutes. It was small, but the road to that achievement was not an easy feat; Natasha acknowledged this and actually gave him pointers, something she hadn’t done before. “Try to block my hand this way if I’m coming to you this way,” she lunches forward and he follows her instruction, blocking her punch just fast enough to minimize the damage.

“Good, shift your feet faster so you don’t get hit. Try to move less but hit harder. The less movement you make, the more stamina you’ll save,” it made sense, her steps was always so light compared to his. His was full strength, using his whole body like a tank. He wasn’t like Captain America and he sure as hell wasn’t Hulk.

“Thanks, I’ll…see you tomorrow morning then?” because god knows how little they interact elsewhere. As much as he loves sparring with her in the wee hours of the morning, he’d like to at least be able to talk to her like a normal human being outside of the gym.

Except the strangest thing happened that day, James actually sees her at the kitchen after he finished showering and changing into comfy clothes (thank god for his day off, he really needed to tend to the new bruises). In fact, she’d actually greeted him upon entering the room like he actually existed. “Anymore creamer?” she looked at him with those sharp green eyes coupled by an amicableness that he had never seen before and all he could muster up was a nod.

“Thanks, see you later Barnes,” and she was gone right after she’d made her coffee, his eyes never leaving her trail even as she left the room.

“Did she just…greet me first?” he was at disbelief, but trust Clint to give him that pinch of reality.

“Yep. And you know, she didn’t even take the creamer,” James doesn’t need to look at the blonde to know that the archer was grinning, “guessing you impressed her at the gym, not bad, pal.”

That statement made his stomach do summersaults and he knew he was absolutely screwed.

“Geez Louise-“

After that incident, sparring with her almost felt like a date. It was so odd, flirting through fighting without the damn words. Instead of charming his way to her bed, she has somehow challenged him to flirt with her by trying to find a way to beat her. Which was honest to god, impossible. He never gives her the upper hand, never underestimates her skill, but the way she moves and fights was just on a different level and he could only hope to learn even a quarter of what she teaches him. Through absolute tenacity, he powers through every bruise, every cut on the lip, and every mixed signal that she gives him. Needless to say, he’s had a lot of cold showers since the incident.

He wonders if he asks her on a date now, would she object? Was that still out of the table despite feeling her press her breast against his back? He’s pretty sure that was intentional. She never does anything unless it’s intentional. Unless it has a purpose. She’s going to kill him through sheer blue balls alone.

James finds himself learning through mimicking her steps, keeping the movements light, but putting enough force for every punch and every block. Every session, she seems more impressed. It’s another two weeks before he finally manages to land a hit, it was on her shoulders but it was a hit nonetheless. For a quick second he was going to ask if she was okay, but the look on her face was priceless and challenging and it takes 20 seconds before his face meets the mat, his arm pinned on his back and her breast pressed on his scapula. This woman knows what she’s doing to him and he doesn’t even care, the cold showers always welcomed him with open arms anyway.

After a few seconds, he feels her move off of him, releasing him from her grasp while he prays that he doesn’t have a very obvious excitement between his legs. Joggers could only hide so much, alright?

Thankfully, a higher power was on his side and he manages to stand up without embarrassing whatever dignity he has left. James expected her to leave after beating him yet again, but surprisingly, she stays. She doesn’t make it obvious that she’s waiting for him, but her movements were relaxed, as if she was making it last. The brunette takes the opportunity and asks, “Why…why did you say yes when I asked to spar?”

It was clear that she wasn’t expecting that question considering the way she looked at him. Should he have just asked if she wanted to go on a date? Did he miss the opportunity?

Natasha hums in contemplation as she puts her water in her bag, “Because I wanted you to learn how to defend yourself.”

What?

He must’ve looked confused because Natasha continued on with her explanation, “When you said I was treating you like a liability, I agreed because other than going to the gym, you knew nothing about fighting. If you’d been faced by a Hydra agent because you were in the same location as me, I’d have no choice but to fight for you.”

It was suddenly starting to make sense. The redhead pauses, taking the towel and wiping down the sweat on her neck as she stood up straight to look at him, “I accepted to spar with you in the hopes that you’d learn how to fight and you’ve impressed me the first time we fought, so I kept teaching you.”

So that’s what it was.

She acknowledged him as an equal after he took initiative. In her eyes, he’s no longer a liability, but rather someone that can stand on their own. The fact that she could express that she was proud of him and saw him like an ally without outright saying it made his face burn and his stomach summersault. He’s so screwed.

“Go out with me,” it was a word vomit, but it was now or never, “on a date – it doesn’t have to be outside of the Avengers facility if you don’t want it to – just…just go on a date with me”

Dial it down, Barnes.

“…Please?”

Three seconds felt like a lifetime, but the smile she gave him was worth every heart palpitation that he might’ve had. It took her two steps before closing their distance and suddenly he’s very aware of the trace of gold at the rim of emerald hues. Her finger traces his lower lip and Jesus H. Christ, he could’ve swore he forgot how to breathe.

“Alright. Tonight at 7, don’t be late James.”

He likes the way his name wraps around her lips.

“Yes ma’am.”

She finally withdraws, the same smile still on her lips before turning to grab her duffle bag and heading the other way. He watched as she walked out, certain that there was a sway at her hips that was only for him to see. She’s going to be the death of him.

Thank god the cold showers were effective.

+ Bonus

“When I asked you out, I didn’t imagine our first date being interrupted by goons,” he takes a step back before pivoting to pull an uppercut, the knuckles of his fist meeting the guy’s chin.

“Really? Because this is exactly how I imagined our first date,” she was being cheeky, but there was truth underneath her witty response.

“I don't know how your dates usually go, but it usually doesn’t include AIM agents. More kissing, less punching,” for a guy trying to dodge a knife lunging towards him, he’s fairly calm – maybe because he learned how to fight from the best of the best? Probably.

“Well, now that just seems boring,” she responds and James swore he could picture her smirking, “and it’s not like I don’t have plans on kissing you at the end of the date, James –“ he hears a crack followed by a groan, “try not to get stabbed tonight and you might get more than just a kiss.”

James laughs, “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

#buckynat #winterwidow #bbwidow’s500wc #writing

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beyond-far-horizons · 6 years

Text

How I Met Your Father...Part 1

Trained by a divine sect determined to save humanity from the curse of demons, Eva is on a mission to stop the Perfect Amulet from being used to reopen the gates of Hell. But after a fateful encounter with the Legendary Dark Knight himself, she may come to learn that not all demons are evil and some humans cannot be trusted….

My headcanon on how Eva met Sparda. Please forgive any liberties, I have a fertile imagination and am not familiar with every aspect of the games. I also recommend listening to Hans Zimmer’s soundtrack to Angels and Demons whilst reading to give atmosphere.

A woman in black balanced on the ceiling, senses primed for danger. The chandelier nearest to her was dim, casting deep shadows across the stucco work. She wove them around her, pressing herself deeper into the corner. Two guards passed below and she held her breath, preparing to drop to the ground and attack, but after one excruciating minute they passed, not looking up. Unfortunately they weren’t the real trouble. Wards like spider’s work threaded through the entire mansion, it was taking every magical ability she had not to trip them.

She flipped down, landing on the red carpet, soft shoes making the barest sound before pressing herself against the wall.

The guards were gone, all that remained were portraits in their gold frames staring murder at her. She ignored their eyes as she crept forward, Cloak of Unknowing wrapped tightly around her.

Sofia was right. Eva smiled as the ethereal notes of a soprano echoed up from the levels below. Today was the perfect opportunity.

Left. Right. Nothing at the next junction. She darted around the next corner and sped silently down the corridor, her mind still tracing the movements of the guards who had turned down the adjacent passage.

If Carlo’s information is correct….Yes, there was the next pair coming down the East stairwell complaining they were missing the performance.

She slid behind a suit of armour, its polished height enough to shield her even if they did glance this way.

The chandeliers were brighter here, augmented by long Venetian mirrors. For a moment she caught a glimpse of herself - a slim black-clad figure, long blonde hair braided and pinned, drifting in and out of sight. A smile curled full lips. The Cloak of Unknowing was powerful but she couldn’t rely on it entirely.

Male voices drifted down the stairwell and she slipped from behind the armour. Pausing for the merest instance to calculate distance, she passed down it like a shadow herself in the wake of the guards.

I have to keep close to give myself the greatest window of time…

Stopping at the archway to the next level she assessed her latest challenge. Loftier than the corridor above, the one before her was also more austere. Carven warriors and grim gargoyles lined the passageway and glared down onto the stone flagging. The crystal chandeliers had been replaced by candelabra with tongues of flame.

And you called yourselves the last defence against the Night…She thought acidly as she looked at the bestial faces.

The Order had been founded to guard the Perfect Amulet, passing it in secrecy from member to member, country to country for almost two thousand years. Yet looking at this and the malevolent wards laced throughout the building, it was clear the rot had set in longer than even Father Gabriele had imagined. But whether Lord Rosvenir who currently led them was a demon himself or just a tool didn’t matter. Sofia’s spies had assured her his reputation as an extravagant host would make sure he was at the exclusive recital below.

The notes of the aria welled up, amplified by the stairwell. A shame, the girl had the purest voice. Eva hoped not everyone was corrupted by Rosvenir’s taint.

She smirked. But today, Lord Rosvenir, playing the man of wealth and distinction is going to be your downfall.

She had to act quickly. They might never get another chance. At least the guards with their red jackets and shining breast plates were easy to spot, even in the gloom. Up ahead was the entrance to the vault where her prize lay, but she would bet all she owned the eyes of those statues were more than just stone. The guards were saluting their compatriots at the vault door, halberds clanking to attention as they performed the change-over. She closed her eyes, focusing on the magic within, weaving it with deft grace around her until the Cloak of Unknowing meshed her from head to toe, but with enough subtlety it wouldn’t set off the wards. She could only keep it up for so long.

God be with me.

The old guards, now relieved, had turned, marching into the darkness at the end of the passageway. Eva crossed the threshold, placing a foot on the floor of the corridor and checked the nearest statue’s baleful gaze.

Nothing. It had worked.

She raced down the corridor, faster than the wind. The guards she had been following looked up, sensing nothing but a shift in air when a roundhouse kick snapped against the skull of the first, knocking him unconscious. A second took out his brother before he could even cry out, the Cloak of Unknowing whipping around them to silence the clatter of their falling halberds and bodies.

Eva had no time to hide them, the drain of the spell was eating into her veins and the pressure of deceiving the wards was already mounting into a migraine at the back of her head. She looked up at the vast wooden doors in front of her, decorated in fanciful shapes and twisting with wrought iron. Inside magic sang to her as sweet as the soprano below. Her gloved hand traced the ornate golden lock. Once she opened this it would only be a matter of time before the Order appeared. She took out a glowing orb from a small leather pouch and placed it against the keyhole. It melted, shivering into the metal in concentric ripples. The iron tracery wriggled like the vines it resembled and Eva braced herself for some sort of counterstroke, but the doors opened with barely a sound.

Inside a wide chamber beckoned, roof strutted with a ribcage of beautifully carved wood. Stars picked out in gold after the Moorish style winked at her as she quickly stepped inside and closed the huge doors behind her. Sunlight poured from diamond-paned windows at the far end of the room, revealing the treasures within. Tomes, wands and swords, all resonating with power, stood on stands and plinths at regular intervals around the perimeter, each illuminated by a metal sconce. But it was the ancient tapestries to either side of Eva that caught her eye. In the first a dark figure, horned and winged, faced the infernal hoards alone. In the second he pushed them back, a mighty sword hewing snarling faces as fire spun around him. On the her right the story continued, the same warrior locked in combat with a monstrosity of eyes and hands that sought to rip him limb from insect limb. In the last scene the demon and its multitudes lay in pieces beneath the warrior’s cloven feet as he held his sword aloft and light blazed upon him.

So they still pay lip-service to the legend of Sparda. She thought as she looked at the images. How can they see all this and still plan to reverse what he did?

She had always loved the story - a devil struck by justice, the slayer of his own kind, but perhaps Father Gabriele was right and Sparda was just another fabrication. After all, what demon could truly forsake the darkness? How could love move the heart of the heartless?

The final tapestry ahead of her seemed to belie that thought. Framed by the windows it showed Spada still wreathed in power, but his face was sad, wings drooping as he placed his sword against the breast of a priestess in white, their hands joined around the gold and ruby of the Perfect Amulet, blood dripping between their fingers.

And below them the item itself.

Eva grinned and ran towards the object of her desire. It was locked within a crystal display case, cushioned on red velvet, and hardly needed the light of the windows as it seemed to glow from within.

Just as Father Gabriele described. She thought. A double pendant made of rubies, one in gold, the other silver. Light and Darkness, joining the two worlds together…

Chills ran up her spine. She couldn’t hear the performance through the thickness of the walls. Had Rosvenir felt her breaking the door’s seal? Or the gargoyles seen her passage through the corridor?

She raised her hands to the crystal case and with Second Sight saw the magical weaving that protected it.

A shame you couldn’t protect the people from yourself, Rosvenir. Eva thought and channelled the sentiment into her weaving. She drew the opposing pattern in the air with luminous blue lines. It flared and both spells cancelled each other out. Eva sagged, her energy further depleted. She dropped the Cloak of Unknowing, husbanding her magical reserves for escape and blew on the crystal causing it to shiver into dust.

The Amulet shone as if recognising her, light sliding off its strange faceted surface. She sucked in a breath and with shaking reverence picked the pendant up and secured it in the inner pocket of her tunic. Even through her gloves she could feel the spark as she touched it.

“I commend your taste,” a deep voice said from behind her, “but I’m afraid I can’t let you leave with that.”

Eva leapt. The doors hadn’t opened, she would have heard it! She looked behind her to see a tall handsome man with silver hair standing in front of them. A fine purple coat stretched over powerful shoulders and a monocle twinkled from his left eye. From his expression he seemed amused.

“Lord Rosvenir, I presume?” She said, returning the attitude.

Her hands slid slowly towards the pistols at her hips. His grey eyes followed the movement and she stopped.

“Indeed.” He looked her over as she did him. “It saddens me not to avail a beautiful woman of equally beautiful jewellery, but that amulet, as I’m sure you are aware, is somewhat special.”

“That’s a shame.” She said with a smile. If he wanted to flirt so could she. “You have such an unusual collection…” She gave the room a cursory glance as she sidled over to a nearby claymore. “I couldn’t help but admire it…”

Admire it? This thing was hideous. Its hilt was comprised of a ribcage topped with a demon skull. Still it might prove useful…

“Well my lady, if you wanted to admire my collection you could have done me the courtesy of a request. I am missing a rather special performance because of this.”

“My sincerest apologies, Lord Rosvenir.” Eva said as she caressed the edge of the sword.

“If you are planning to duel me,” his voice was definitely amused now, “I’d choose that sword over there.” He nodded to an elegant blade on the other side of the Perfect Amulet’s empty plinth. “Yamato is longer than the average katana but it’s better balanced for a woman.”

“Duel you?” Eva quipped as she turned her back on him. “Why would I want to do that?”

In a lightning quick motion she grasped the claymore and turned, hurling it with magically imbued force at Lord Rosvenir. He gaped as the sword sank through his chest and impaled him high on the carved doors behind.

She watched with satisfaction as the blood dripped down the damask silk and ruined the brocade jacket beneath.

“That was for humanity, you smug bastard.” She said and strode towards the windows.

Throaty chuckles froze her in mid step.

Eva turned to see Lord Rosvenir throw back his head and laugh with the blood still gouting from his chest.

“Well, well, I guess I did deserve that.” He said and then sickeningly heaved himself forward until the blade and its oversized hilt cut through him and he fell to the ground still laughing.

Eva swallowed the vomit rising in her throat. “So you are a demon.”

“What gave it away?” He replied, dusting himself off and picking up his monocle which had fallen in her attack. “You however, are something much more interesting.”

She pulled out her guns and fired, lacing him with enough rapid-fire rounds that he was pushed back against the doors again. She edged closer to the windows, squinting through the smoke to see if she had finally put him down.

“I’m curious…” his voice said from within the haze, “if a sword didn’t work, why did you think bullets would?”

“They’re blessed bullets.” She said, reloading and trying to keep the rising panic from her voice. I’ve trained for this. I’ll bring him down, him and all his kind!

“So they are.” Rosvenir said as he emerged from the clearing smoke. “Silver-capped and filled with holy water if I don’t miss my guess?” His smile was pained. “They do pack quite a sting.”

“Who are you?” Eva snapped, holstering her weapons and trying to buy time. If this monster was at the heart of the conspiracy she must take him out, but the Perfect Amulet needed to be gotten to Father Gabriele and La Luce. Without it, these traitors couldn’t enact their scheme.

“Forgive me.” The demon smiled. “I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself properly.” He gave her a courtly bow. “My true name is Sparda.”

“Sparda?” She spluttered, her eyes going automatically to the nearest tapestry. “The…the Legendary Dark Knight?”

“It’s something of a grandiose title, I’ll grant you.” He sighed and stretched out a hand behind him. The claymore that was still riven into the doors leapt to his palm. “But one does tend to collect them over the centuries…”

Eva’s heart plummeted into her stomach.

Is it true? Is it him? What is going on here?

And worse if it was him then how was she meant to face the Dark Knight himself?

“Now I’ve given you my name.” Sparda said as he levelled the sword at her, red energy licking up its edges, “I believe it’s time for you to give me yours, Lady…?”

“I don’t care who you are or what you do to me.” She spat and gathered the last of her magical reserves. “Humanity deserves to be free of your taint!”

She blasted him with raw power, lightning bolts of energy surging through her into a geometric mesh that closed on its target with lethal force. The Heavenly Seal - her last resort. As the barrage faded Eva threw her last prayer to the Divine and smashed through the window, flipping end over end to the distant street below.

Any kind/constructive feedback makes me smile ^^ I’ve made Eva into a bit of a badass here because a) why not b) tired of the saintly mother who just stays at home c) her original creator transformed her into a powerful witch in the Bayonetta-verse. I also enjoyed extrapolating a sort of modern/renaissance world for them. DMC has some interesting influences. Sparda’s POV is next hehe

#devil may cry #dmc #eva #eva sparda #sparda #my writing #fanfiction #my fanfiction #lunna this is for you to make you feel better!

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