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nekumiko · 1 year

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For You, I Will

Fandom: Seventeen

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Light Angst

Rated: T

Chapter: 1/?

Word count: 2.5k

Chapter One: Iced Americano

As far as clichés go, their first meeting did involve coffee and exchanging numbers before they parted ways.

Except it was not a meet-cute.

In fact, she even cried.

Who wouldn't, when you're just trying to get through a stressful day and suddenly a venti-sized iced americano gets dumped onto the front of your shirt?

"I'm sorry! I wasn't looking where I was –” the culprit's apology is cut off when he hears it.

A sob.

Seungkwan's I'm sorry's grow even more frantic. People are starting to notice them, and a misleading article is not what he wants his coffee run to end up in.

But as she stands frozen right there on the sidewalk, partly from the cold liquid and the other from shock, he wills himself to calm down.

Cautiously, he touches her arm and asks in a now-gentle tone, "Are you okay?"

She finally looks up. Her face mask only allows her teary eyes to be seen, but he guesses that they're about the same age.

"I'm so, so sorry," he continues. "Let me help you, please?"

Luckily, they find a nearby bench. Seungkwan hands her all the tissues that came with his coffee order so she could dry her shirt, but a huge stain has already formed. He could only watch as she gave up with a sigh.

She then turns away from him to pull her mask down and wipe her dried tears away. "Sorry," she speaks for the first time. "That was very childish. This isn't even my favorite shirt."

"It's okay. I… can see there's more to it than that."

She sniffles. "Yeah… just a bad day."

"And I made it worse. I’m really sorry."

She shakes her head, pulling her mask back up so she could meet his eyes. "It was an accident. Don't worry."

Still, that does not make it okay for Seungkwan. "Please let me buy you a new one!"

"A new what?"

"A new shirt."

She gasps and then aggressively waves her hands in refusal. "No need! It's fine. I'm on my way home anyway."

"Please, I insist."

"Sir," she says with a slight frown now, starting to put distance between them on the bench, "I don't even know you."

Seungkwan is left speechless for a moment. On the bright side, this assures him that his hat-and-face-mask disguise today is effective. But that is working against his favor right now, as he could only reply with, "I'm sorry. I can't really reveal my identity here ."

"And why?"

"I can't show my face here ."

"Then at least tell me your name first?"

He takes a deep breath. Here goes. "...Boo Seungkwan."

"..."

"Do you mean the idol? Who's appeared in a lot of TV shows?"

This is getting even more embarrassing. "Yes."

"You have got to be kidding me."

He sighs. "You see? I knew you wouldn't believe me."

"I really can't! Because I would've known!"

"What do you mean? Are you… a CARAT?"

"Yes!"

Good job, Seungkwan. You just ruined the day of your own group's fan.

She crosses her arms. "Well, okay, I guess you do sound like him. And your eyes…" she trails off and looks away, as if suddenly shy. But it is then that she notices something beside Seungkwan.

He follows her line of sight and finds his almost-empty coffee cup.

She clears her throat before continuing, "And you did spill an iced americano on me."

If the situation had been any lighter, he would've laughed at that.

"But this is just too good to be true, you know?"

Seungkwan looks around. There aren't a lot of people around, so maybe…?

"Woah, what are you doing?"

He is moving closer to her again. For some reason, he really wants her to believe him, and he tells himself it's because he has to convince her that he has good intentions. "Okay, I can show my face to you, but I have to be… close."

"Sir –"

"Just a quick peek? Enough for only you to see." He reaches up to touch his face mask.

"Hey, no!" she almost-shouts, grabbing his hand. It's her turn to look around for passersby, and though she finds none, she continues in a semi-whisper, "That would be too risky if ever you were telling the truth! If you really are my –" she pauses, eyes widening. It's as if she's filtering out her next words as she lets go of his hand. "If you really are him, I don't want to get you in trouble."

Once again, he is at a loss. She's right. What was I thinking?

But then she sighs in defeat. "Fine. Let's say you're a good person for now. But where are we going anyway?"

Seungkwan straightens up as he looks back at the street. "There's a nearby shop that I think would suit your style."

She appears to be thinking about it for a few silent moments as she watches a few cars pass by. And then she looks back at him. "Alright. It's still broad daylight anyway, so I could just kick your ass if you try anything."

He chuckles, standing up. "Deal."

"And nothing too expensive, okay?"

"Mhmm." He then takes off his jacket to drape it on her shoulders. "To cover your stained shirt as we walk."

He could see her eyes smile. "Thank you."

~~~

"Boo-nim."

"Boo-nim?" Seungkwan repeats with a small laugh.

"How else would I call you?" She peeks out from the dressing room's curtain. "Without… you know, catching anyone's attention. If you ever are him. "

"You’ve got a point." He nods. "Anyway, do you need anything?"

She hesitates. "Well, this shirt is too cute. I like it so much."

"Show me?"

"But it's also too expensive."

"That's okay."

"No, it's not! I'll find a new one."

"At least show it to me first?"

"And why?"

"I also think it would look good on you."

She hums in suspicion, but pulls back the curtain anyway.

Seungkwan nods in approval. "Let's take it."

"I already told you –!"

"Excuse me," he calls out to a nearby staff. "We'll take this shirt. Is it okay if she wears it now?"

"Boo-nim!" she tries to protest, but gets completely ignored.

A while later, she’s back in the dressing room to take the tag off and put the newly-bought shirt on. Despite her concern, it does suit her. And to get it for free? This might just be the only good thing to happen to her today, and for that, she feels grateful. You don't meet kind strangers like these every day. So she steps out to thank her companion, only to find him seemingly lost in thought. "Boo-nim? Are you okay?"

Seungkwan seems to snap out of it when he hears her concerned voice. "Yes! Are you done?"

She nods. "I'm sorry for all the trouble today."

"I'm the one who spilled coffee on you. It's all on me. So again, I'm sorry. I hope this could make up for it."

"Actually, just you helping me calm down was already enough. A new shirt isn't really necessary, but thank you very much. You're being too kind."

They smile at each other – at least, their eyes did – until Seungkwan starts to fidget. "I… uh, never really caught your name."

"Oh." This surprises her too. Then again, she'd been distrustful of him earlier. She laughs. “Sorry, I think we were too focused on you proving that you’re…” she trails off. Suddenly, the reality of the situation comes back to her. What if…?

"Oh, that reminds me,” he says in a low whisper, “maybe I can do that face reveal here?"

That unnerves her even more. Just how would she react if he's an actual idol? And the Boo Seungkwan of all people? "W-where?"

After confirming that no one's paying attention to them, he ushers her back to the dressing room, this time getting in with her before pulling the curtain closed again. "Okay. This might be surprising but please, can I ask you to keep your voice down?"

She could only nod.

And so Seungkwan takes off his hat, shakes his hair out, and finally pulls down his mask.

And just like that, she's in tears again. She covers her face with her hands as she suppresses a whine. This day couldn't get more embarrassing.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"It's you. It really is you all this time." She peeks at him from between her fingers. "I really can't tell you my name."

"What? Why?"

"Because it's like I'm stepping on a forbidden boundary."

"Oh, come on." Seungkwan gently pulls her hands away from her face. "Aren't I just a person, too?"

This time, she's the one left speechless. Oh no. Did I just offend him?

"You've been with me for the past hour without knowing who I really am. But we're getting along already, right? I just wanted to keep this going, to get to know you more."

"Are you sure?"

He smiles. "Yes."

This is the smile she's always adored from behind the screen, from photos, from afar. No, this smile is, right at this moment, exclusively for her. With that, she tells him her name.

Seungkwan repeats her name, testing it on his tongue, and it's just so heavenly to hear. "It's nice to meet you." He then lets go of her hands so he could give her his phone. "Can I have your number too?"

Her hands are shaking, but she manages to carefully type in her contact details.

To make sure, Seungkwan sends her a message: a mere 'Hi' sticker.

She feels like fainting.

"Lastly," he says, putting his phone back in his pocket, "can I also see your face?"

Now this effectively saps all her positive feelings again. "Oh no. I'm barefaced. And I've been crying a lot today!"

"I am barefaced right now too, see?"

"But you still look beautiful…" she mutters.

"What?" He moves closer to hear her.

"Nothing! Please, I'll just send you a selca."

"Come on, it's just us."

"I really don't –"

"Okay, since you said I'm being too kind by buying you a shirt, you can consider this as payment."

"That's unfair!"

Seungkwan softly says her name, pouting. "Please? How can we be friends if I don't know what you look like?"

She sighs. Not that pout. "O-okay." Her heart is beating so fast as she pulls her mask down. Yet even now that she's nervous, she finds that Seungkwan's smile is contagious in person too.

"There, that's better. And you do look pretty, especially with a smile."

Just then, the curtain is pulled back from the outside. In a blur, Seungkwan is suddenly pulling her into him, hiding his face in her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, "there's a mirror behind you." True enough, he is facing the room's mirror, and if he wasn't fast enough, the staff would've seen his face.

But everything happening right now is too surreal! Though his arms are only hovering around her, she could still feel him breathing so close to her. She could smell his perfume, much stronger now than when his jacket was draped around her. "It's okay," she manages to whisper back.

Despite the displeased staff scolding them about using the dressing room for "things they shouldn't do in public," they thankfully got out of the store without revealing Seungkwan's identity.

And as soon as they part ways at the bus stop, they start chatting.

On her way home while he gets ready for practice.

As she prepares dinner while he's taking a break.

As she gets ready for bed while he's cooling down after practice.

'Boo-nim!' she types, insisting to use it as a nickname. 'If I close my eyes now, I wouldn't be waking up from a long dream, right?'

'Of course,' Seungkwan is quick to reply. 'Now, it was really nice meeting you, and I loved talking to you. But you need to rest already. I put you through so much today.'

'Stop saying that!' She shakes her head at his stubbornness. ' You rest now too, please. You might be busy tomorrow.'

Seungkwan sighs, thinking about tomorrow's schedule. 'I actually will be. How about you?’

'Nah, it's still the weekend, so I could relax.'

'I wish I could do that too.'

That makes her pause. As much as she wants to, as he put it, 'keep this going,' she realizes this might just be a one-time thing after all. Seungkwan just happened to be free today, and she just happened to be there.

'Did you fall asleep already?'

It's not anyone's fault. They just live in two very different worlds. So the least she could do is to not make him feel guilty. 'No, sorry. Just fixed something here. Don't forget to take breaks, okay? Fighting!'

'Thank you. Talk to you again tomorrow! I'll message you during breaks.'

She smiles a bit sadly as she replies with an okay, along with a wish good night.

Exiting the messaging app, she is faced by Seungkwan's smile again… in her phone wallpaper. Now that she's seen it up close, what used to make her feel giddy now fills her with yearning.

"I really hope I'll meet you again."

~~~

"Someone's been glued to his phone since he got back."

Seungkwan briefly glances at Seokmin and Soonyoung before he presses 'Send.' He then pockets his phone. "No, I'm not."

"Did I say it's you?" Seokmin smiles teasingly.

"Whatever." Seungkwan drinks from his water bottle. "I'm just scrolling through Instagram."

"Scrolling through someone's Instagram profile," Soonyoung now joins in.

"Why are you two even looking at my phone?"

The two older members only hound him even more, moving to trap him on both sides. "You met someone today?" Seokmin presses on. "Or someone you already know but –"

"Nothing like that!" Noticing that some other members are now looking at them, he continues more softly, "Stop it, please. Not now."

Soonyoung and Seokmin share a look before they both pat Seungkwan on the back.

"Go away." He groans as he tries to shake them off.

“Okay, okay!” They laugh as they both run away.

With a tired sigh, Seungkwan pulls his phone out again to check her new message. Seeing that she finally said good night, he smiles again… until he notices Seokmin and Soonyoung still watching him from afar.

Okay, maybe I was a bit curious. But it's just normal to want to know a new friend more, right?

With how she almost didn't tell him her name earlier, Seungkwan considers himself lucky that she gave her Instagram handle when he asked. At least, that means he got through to her, right? That she wants to treat him as an equal too.

So while he'd been waiting for her replies, he practically studied her feed (but was careful not to interact with any post even if he wanted to). By now, he'd already noted a few conversation topics he could casually bring up sometime.

Because he does plan to meet her more often.

He'd just have to find a good time and place. And of course, keep some overly-curious hyungs off his back.

#seungkwan x reader #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #nekumiko writes

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lieblingbitte · 2 years

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corporeality - fred w. & george w. & gn!reader

pairing: platonic weasley twins + gn!reader (can be read as romantic for either of them but was not intended that way) prompt: you are a ghost, haunting the hogwarts library, just wanting to be alone in your damp, dark corner reading poetry when one fateful morning, you meet a certain two redheaded boys that will flip your life? death? existence upside down! tags: oneshot, language, meetcute, besties being besties, ghost!reader, no pronouns or gender-specific terms used for the reader, fluff but maybe a tad angsty if you think about the implications too hard.... wordcount: ~2k

Most Hogwarts students didn’t know you existed. You liked to stay in the library. When everyone was concentrating on themselves, no one was looking at you. Of course, there had been a few students over the years that had noticed you, even some that tried befriending you, but you never went out of your way to try and be noticed. Not like your fellow ghosts, anyway. Sir Nicholas would boast stories of his bravery to any starry-eyed first year that would listen, Myrtle just wanted anyone to talk to, and Peeves… Well, Peeves was Peeves.

It was exam season at Hogwarts, the one time of year when your library wasn’t mostly empty. You disliked it greatly, often escaping to Myrtle’s bathroom to get some peace and quiet. Obviously, she never shut up, so that was hardly effective. But you preferred her presence to any mortal’s, so it was a sacrifice that had to be made.

“Myrtle, what was your best subject when you went to school?” you asked the other ghost.

“Oh, I was no good at anything!” She wailed. Of course. why had you even bothered asking?

You nodded, not feeling like comforting her. Really, the only thing you wanted to do at that moment was sit in your favourite dark, damp corner of the library and read in silence. But of course, you couldn’t do that, because your quiet places were flooded with students and no quiet at all! It was exasperating. You couldn’t wait for exams to finally be over and they had barely even started.

* * *

Madam Pince greeted you silently as you floated into the library that Wednesday morning. She was a severe woman, and one of the staff members that had known you during your time alive. You had no particular fondness for her, but she was the librarian and you haunted the library.

It was quiet in the mornings, especially on weekdays, even during the busy study period, and it was the only time in those couple of weeks that you actually felt at peace. You hated noise, you always had, but your senses had changed since you became a spectre. Smell, touch, taste. Hell, even your eyesight had gotten worse! Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, had assured you it was normal and every ghost experienced it, but of course, it bothered you! How couldn’t it have! But the worst part by far was your ears. Suddenly, every noise was ten times louder. it was insufferable!

“Spirits and sound waves, they exist on the same plane, my dear,” The nurse had said when you had asked her about your sudden hyper-hearing. That had been two weeks after your death.

You let out a heavy sigh as you plonked down into your corner, the one furthest from the doors. You pulled out a poetry book. You had read them all dozens of times over, but could never scrounge up the motivation to read anything else. Studying magic was useless because you couldn’t perform it anymore, you were not particularly interested in reading about ‘magical beasts’, as that included you now, and anything else was either boring or made you yearn for corporeality. Poetry was just something you enjoyed, plus your favourite books were hardly ever borrowed by other students, so you could cover them in ectoplasm without anyone bothering you about it. Well, usually anyway.

“No, I swear, the ladies love poetry!” You heard a voice from behind the bookshelves.

“And what exactly do I have to do with that?” A second voice whispered. They were getting closer.

“Everyone knows you’re the more sensitive one! I need you to help me choose a poem,” the first one whispered back. Then two identical, ginger boys walked to your nook. You panicked, dropped your book, and rose to the ceiling. There was a loud thud, followed by swift clacks. Madame Pince.

“Did you drop that?” One of the boys asked the other, looking puzzled.

“I didn’t even touch it!” The accused defensively held up his hands.

The strict librarian turned the corner and glared at the two boys. Oh, Merlin, no, no, no! You didn’t want to pin the blame on them! Your heart was beating so rapidly, if you weren’t dead already you’d surely be having a heart attack just about now.

“Out! Both of you!” Madam Pince demanded sternly.

“But, Madam-”

“Disrespecting my books AND my silence!? Out! Now!”

“We didn’t-”

“Who could it have been?!” Her voice got increasingly louder.

“I don’t know! A ghost?” One of the twins offered, which made you stifle laughter.

Madam Pince seemed to finally have noticed you. She looked up, steely-eyed. You shrugged, lips forming an apologetic smile.

“Madam, what are you looking at?” one of the boys asked, which made your eyes widen again. You froze in shock as all three of them were now looking up at you.

“An actual ghost.” The read head looked stunned. “This has to be a joke. Pinch me, George.” George pinched him. “OW! You arse! I was joking!”

You took a deep breath and let yourself sink.

“Sorry, Madam. I was startled,” You apologised.

Madame Pince took a deep breath. “I understand. I know you’d never purposefully disrespect a book,” she said, shooting a pointed look at the twins next to you.

She looked the three of you over one last time, then turned on her heel and walked back to the front desk.

You closed your eyes and sighed deeply when suddenly you felt a hand go through your stomach for a fraction of a second. Your head snapped up to look at the boy, horrified.

“Fred!” One of the twins, the one that still had both his hands outside of your body, hissed.

“Sorry, sorry! Just always wondered what that feels like…,” The other, Fred, said, not sounding sorry at all.

“You could've asked, wanker!” You said, floating up through the floor, finding yourself in Myrtle’s bathroom.

“Why do mortals always feel the need to touch us without asking?!” You asked.

“No one ever touches me…,” Myrtle whined.

“Myrtle, I honestly don’t give a toss about who’s touching you,” You snapped. You felt bad, sure, but sometimes she was just too much to handle. And she was horrible at consoling!

Myrtle wailed, and you buried your head in your arms.

* * *

It was a Thursday afternoon and you were hiding from the crowd of students in the library. You wandered the near-empty halls, ultimately finding yourself in the hospital wing.

“Hello, Madam,” you announced yourself to Madame Pomfrey, making her look up from a sleeping student she had been eyeing worriedly.

“Ah, good afternoon, dear, what can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you had time for a round of chess?” You asked, hopeful.

“Sorry, dear. I am a bit busy,” she sounded genuinely apologetic. “But you can sit in my office if you’d like, and I'll join you once I’m free.”

You nodded and entered the room at the back of the infirmary. It was not like the other professor’s offices, it was small, bright and didn’t have a desk. Only two armchairs, a little table and huge bookshelves. Most of the books were medical ones, but the healer had told you once over tea, which you couldn't drink, that she enjoyed the occasional muggle murder mystery.

You sat down on one of the wingback armchairs, looking out of the window onto the Quidditch Pitch. It seemed like the Gryffindor team was just wrapping up practice. You had never been particularly interested in Quidditch, but two fiery red mops of hair made you squint a little. The pitch was not very far away, but your eyes were bad, especially against the bright sunlight.

You couldn’t make out if those were the faces you had seen at the library yesterday until they were right in front of the window. They grinned and waved and you rolled your eyes. One of them made a beckoning hand gesture and you obeyed, phasing through the thick castle walls.

“What’cha staring at, Ghostie?” He asked, tilting his head.

“None of your business, Ginger,” you rebutted, folding your arms across your chest.

The quiet twin elbowed the other and he cleared his throat. “Look, I’m really, really sorry for yesterday.” Ah, so that one was Fred. “I should’ve asked. Friends?” He stuck out his hand, you sighed deeply and shook it.

Fred shivered, his eyes widening.

“I forgive you, I guess,” you muttered, pressing your lips together so as to not burst out laughing at his reaction.

“Why’s your face like that?” the second boy, George, asked.

“Her hand, mate,” Fred chattered.

“Aw, c’mon. I have a warm personality,” You pouted, a mischievous glint in your eye. Fred halted for a second before he burst out laughing. George looked between you and his brother quizzically.

You touched his cheek and he understood.

“Bloody Hell, you’re frigid!” He exclaimed, putting his hand over where yours had just touched his face.

* * *

Being dead can be a million times more fun when you don’t spend all your days holed up in a damp, dark corner of the library, you found out, thanks to Fred and George. Who would’ve known? You floating behind the twins had become customary, to the point where it was strange seeing them without you, their translucent friend. You helped them with their shenanigans and in turn, they helped you feel like a normal teenager. One that wasn’t a ghost, just very cold to be around, slightly transparent and, you know, incorporeal. But to them that just made you cooler! Literally.

It was a late-summer afternoon. You and the Weasley twins were sitting on the grass outside, under one of the large trees. They had both rolled up their dress shirt’s sleeves and unfastened their ties. Fred sat against it fanning his face and George’s was propped up on his elbows.

“Ghostie, cool me off,” Fred said.

“I’m not your personal aircon, you git,” you rolled your eyes, but obliged, laying your hand on his head.

“What is that?” George asked.

“What’s what?” You looked over to him while Fred tried to pry your hand off his hair to no avail.

“Aircon. What is that?”

“Ghostie, you can take your hand off me now. I’m cooled off!” Fred whined and you shot him a grin and took your hand off him.

“It’s what muggles use to keep their house cold. Read it in a book,” You answer sagely. George nodded, amazed.

“You read a lot,” George remarked.

“Lots of time on my hands,” you shrugged.

“On your cold hands,” Fred pouted.

“Need another round?” You challenged and pushed both your hands into his face playfully. George snorted and Fred swatted at you clumsily.

“Gerroff me!” he laughed. You pulled your hands back, grinning.

“Wrestling a non-tangible being, very smart, Fred,” George snarked.

“Did you tosser just call me a being?” You gasped in feigned disbelief. “You wanna be next? Huh?” You ask planting your hands directly onto his cheeks.

“Merlin, Ghostie,” he gasped, squirming in a futile attempt to escape your grasp. George stopped his writhing. “Actually this is nice. You’re my personal aircon.”

You clicked your tongue and removed your hands from his face, crossing them on your chest.

“I hate you both.”

* * *

“How did you die?” Fred asked out of nowhere.

“Fred…,” George said.

The three of you were in the Gryffindor Common Rooms, the twins in front of the fireplace and you on one of the sofas. It was November now and you were cautious to keep a distance, so as to not make them any colder.

“Don’t act like you’re not curious!”

“You’re so insensitive,” George chastised but you smiled at them.

“It’s OK, I knew you’d ask at some point,” you sighed. And so you told them. You told them about the Whomping Willow, you told them about the stupid bet and you told them about why you chose to stay back as a ghost. They listened intently.

“Wait, so you’re the reason we’re supposed to stay away from that tree?” Fred asked.

“Well, partly, yeah.”

George stood up, sat down next to you and embraced your permeable body carefully.

“George, you big idiot, don’t hug me. I’m freezing cold,” you said but did not move away.

“Don’t care,” he replied. “Plus, you have a warm personality.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

* * *

notes: hello first post :-) sthis is my first time ever posting any kind of fic online ever LOL so tell me if it sucks.. this doesnt really have a plot but its cute!!! also i bullshitted ghost lore and hogwarts geography but WHO CARES!!!! everything for plot convenience

#hp #oneshot #weasley twins #fred and george #george weasley #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #george weasley x reader #platonic #x reader #reader insert #weasley twins x y/n

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albertasunrise · 2 years

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A Problem Shared - Part 1

Masterlist

Summary: When Marcus is struck down with a sudden but serious illness, you both bond over shared ills.

Pairings: Marcus Pike x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3, I choose not to list any warnings. If you are easily triggered by health problems then do not read.

Back pain.

That's how it started.

He'd felt the odd twinge here and there but passed it off as little more than an occupational hazard. He had spent years in the field, chasing down art thieves and the like so he was bound to suffer a little as he got older. Or so he'd let himself believe. There weren't really any symptoms in the beginning. You were a cancer survivor. 3 years in remission after having your gallbladder removed. You'd been lucky. They had removed the organ and given you a course of chemo.

You had lost your hair. Something your colleagues at the office had found particularly shocking at first as you'd chosen not to wear a wig or cover your bald head. You had chosen to be proud of your journey and 3 years on your hair had grown back and the cancer was nowhere to be seen.

Marcus had been the only person not to walk on eggshells around you, but if you were being honest. You don't think he'd ever noticed you.

He was a busy man, you didn't hold it against him but you'd held a candle for the man from the moment he'd arrived. Shame you were invisible to him.

The pain in his back got worse as the months went on. You started to notice that he was looking thinner. Wavering on his feet when he stood.

You'd been called into a department meeting the afternoon he learned the truth. A presentation was projected onto the smartboard in the meeting room you occupied, listing the ongoing investigations within the squad and Marcus asked each of his lead agents for updates. Everything had seemed normal.

"Sanders?" He enquired as his eyes trailed over to your boss "Where are we on the Monet fakes?"

"We've hit a dead end." The agent replied somberly "These guys are good. The paintings themselves are so believable that so far, we've found two in a British Museum, they had had them tested and everything."

"What are you working on currently to try and track them down?" He asked and your boss’ mouth fell open as he stumbled for an answer.

"We're working on a potential sting. Myself and agent Symes will pose as rich buyers of classic art. We've been making some noise on the dark web about tracking down the Monet suppliers, hopefully, we'll get a nibble." You answered for him and shivered when Marcus's eyes fixed on you.

"Good work," Pike answered and you gave him a small smile and nod as you tried, fiercely, to stop your face flushing.

"Smith." Marcus started again "What abouuuu-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence before he collapsed. The room all sat in shock as he hit the ground like a sack of rocks.

You were the one to leap to his side, rolling him into the recovery position as you gently tried to rouse him.

"Agent Pike?" You said softly "Pike can you hear me?" You asked and he nodded weakly.

He looked unwell. Very, unwell.

"Someone call an ambulance." You ordered, noting his skin burned hot "You're okay sir." You assured him "We're gonna get you some help."

"'M'mm fine." He mumbled but he was too exhausted to push any further.

"No, you're not." You stated firmly "Stay there for me okay?"

All he could do was nod.

The ambulance crew arrived a few minutes later and Marcus was swiftly loaded onto a gurney and whisked away. You wouldn't see him again for a week.

He had sent you a meeting invite that following Monday. Calling it nothing more than 'catch up' and you'd been shocked and confused by it. Never before had you received any correspondence from him?

You accepted, feeling nervous at the idea that you'd be sitting alone with him in his office for an hour but as you knocked on the glass door, you felt a flutter of excitement at the prospect also.

"Come in." He called you and you entered, closing the door behind you and taking a seat in the chair across from him "Thank you for coming." He said simply, giving you a small smile before adjusting himself in his seat. You couldn't help but notice the wince as he did so.

"What did you want to catch up about sir?" You asked, feeling those nerves return again.

"I wanted to start by thanking you for helping me the other day. You really took charge of the situation and I appreciate it."

"You're welcome." You said with a nod, smiling sweetly at him before waiting for him to continue.

"I wanted to discuss something that's... well it's a little personal." He said awkwardly and you nodded again "You had cancer a few years ago, yes?" He asked and you were shocked by his forwardness.

"Three years ago." You replied simply "Why do you ask?"

"I need this to remain between us." He started and you nodded "I just... I needed to ask some advice."

"Advice?" You queried and he gave you a small nod "Is someone you know sick?" You asked and he shook his head.

"I am." He announced and you gasped, your shock evident "They ran some tests, did some scans and it turns out I have cancer of the kidney."

"How advanced?" You asked and he sighed.

"So far it's not advanced."

"So they'll remove the kidney and you'll be okay." You said and he winced "Right?"

"I only have one Kidney." He replied and your eyes widened "Had to give my dad my other one when I was seventeen."

"So what treatment are they going to give you?" You asked and he scraped one of his large hands over his face before he answered.

"They want to try Radiotherapy." He started and you nodded "Said I'll also likely need a transplant but the waiting list for that's pretty long." He sighed "Said it could cause me to go infertile too." He finished, the final statement coming out as a sob.

"Shit Marcus, I'm so sorry." You said as you leaned forward to place your hand over his "I know how hard that is."

His brows drew together as he waited for you to elaborate and you felt your stomach twist as you willed yourself to tell your story.

"I was pretty lucky really." You started with a sigh "The cancer wasn't advanced but they still gave me a few chemo treatments. Lost all my hair and lost my ability to have kids."

"I-" Marcus wasn't sure what to say "I'm so sorry."

"So trust me when I say that I understand." You said sweetly "If you need someone to talk to or even a shoulder to cry on. Just call me."

"Thank you." He said, giving you a weak smile as he looked down at your hand on his "I never thought this would happen to me but I suppose that's how everyone feels."

"I didn't either Sir."

"Marcus." He interrupted and you gave him a bemused look "Please... Call me Marcus." He pleaded and you gave him a small smile.

"Okay then... Marcus." You said and his eyes flicked up to yours "You're not alone. I'm here."

"Thank you."

His first few treatments left him feeling tired but you were there to help him out when he was too tired to cook or even just do laundry. Loss of appetite was the first major symptom to rear its ugly head but he forced himself to eat.

He hated sitting in that machine alone three times a week. There was a poster of the Rockies on the wall opposite that the nurse told him was supposed to distract patients from what was happening to them but it did little to keep his mind off of it. The noise it made ground on his nerves, driving him to distraction each and every time he went there but by week three he had found his distraction.

You.

He thought about your smile. How you'd gone from little more than his colleague to his one and only supporter. He was angry at himself that he'd not seen you before that day he'd collapsed. How could he have overlooked you?

You were perfect.

As the third of his treatment came to an end the sickness became too hard to ignore. He didn't want to eat, drink or even breathe at points but he felt like he needed to do it for you. If not for himself. His clothes started to hang off of him rather than hug his form. Extra holes had to be punched into his belt which you tried to do without him noticing but he did.

He just chose not to speak about it.

He'd managed to keep a brave face on at the start and a part of you was proud of him for that but another wish he'd just let you in. You knew how important it was to talk. To accept your situation and not bottle the emotions up but decided to wait for him to be ready. You were sure he'd come to you when he was.

It wasn't too long till he did.

His sobs tore your attention from the washing up and your legs took you stumbling to his bedroom where he knelt on the bedroom floor with clumps of hair in his hands.

"I knew this was probably going to happen but..." He trailed off and you simply kneeled beside him and placed a comforting hand on his back "Not sure why I'm crying over hair."

"It's perfectly normal Marcus." You said as you rested your head on his shoulder "I locked myself in my apartment for a week. Grabbed my boyfriends clippers and shaved it all off."

That statement seemed to pull Marcus out of his anguish and he suddenly felt exceedingly guilty for the way he'd been thinking about you. How he'd been taking advantage of your kindness. You'd been with him almost every single day. rubbing his back when he was sick and holding him as he tried to catch his breath when he'd finished. You'd given up your time to care for him and he'd let you. How selfish he'd been.

"Shit I... I didn't know you had a boyfriend." He said as he tried to right himself "You probably want to get back to him."

"He left me shortly after I shaved my head." You sighed and Marcus looked at you in shock "Couldn't cope with it all I guess."

"That's bullshit." He snapped and you looked at him in surprise "I'd have stuck by you no matter what." He stated and you smiled sweetly at him.

"Well, that's nice to know," You replied as you gave him a bashful look, ears burning at his confession.

You had ended up shaving his head that evening and kissing away his tears as hair dropped onto his lap and the bathroom floor. When it was all done, you had cleaned it up and settled into his bed with him, holding him as he silently sobbed himself to sleep.

As you lay there cradling his thinning form in your arms your mind wandered back to when you'd gone through this. How you wished that you'd had someone to hold you like this. Sooth you as you cried yourself to sleep. You knew that he has a longer road ahead than you'd had. That he was going to probably get sicker before he even remotely started to feel better but you would be there.

No matter how tough it got.

He then worked remotely for a few weeks after losing his hair. Not quite ready to show everyone in the office what he was battling with.

You understood.

It was easier as a woman to hide the baldness with a headscarf or wig, but for a man. That was a harder pill to swallow and when he did finally go in, everyone knew. They stepped around him, whispered in corners and pitied him from afar. You wanted to scream at them. To scorn them for their silent judgement but you knew that wouldn't make Marcus feel better. So you held your tongue and kept your anger at bay.

"You can just continue to work from home buddy." Said Calum as he handed Marcus the coffee he'd gotten him "I'm sure you're embarrassed about the lack of hair, I know I would be."

"What?" Marcus snapped, his eyes catching sight of you as you approached with the take out lunch you'd gone to fetch.

"Look at Agent Perky." He started, taking a sip of his coffee "She lost all her hair and she just turned up bald, pretending not to care but she clearly did. Sure did look weird too." He snorted and Marcus felt his anger start to bubble over.

"You have no right to talk about her like that." He snapped, chest heaving as he glanced at you before returning his attention to Calum "She's the strongest woman I know."

"Oh come on." Calum scoffed "You're not falling for her are you?" He cackled, jumping around when you gasped at his question.

"Get out of my sight Sanders," Pike growled, his breathing becoming heavier.

He felt strange all of a sudden. His face didn't feel like it was his anymore and his blood rushed in his ears. You noticed his face pale and how he'd started to waver on his feet.

"Marcus?" You asked, placing the bag down on the table "You okay?"

"Yeah." He said, nodding weakly as he tried to keep himself on his feet.

"You don't look okay buddy," Calum stated and you wanted to slap him for how casually he spoke to his superior.

His sick, superior.

"I'm..." Marcus trailed off as his eyes rolled back into his skull and his body crumpled to the floor.

You were at his side in a heartbeat. Screaming at Calum to call an ambulance as you pulled Marcus' limp form into your arms. You tried not to sob as you held him, rocking him gently as you whispered words of comfort in his ear whilst you cradled his head.

"You're going to be okay Marcus." You promised him "Everything is going to be okay."

2 months later he was told one word... remission.

It was the best word one with cancer could ever hear. After months of treatment and many tears shed, there was no sign of his sickness.

You'd held him in the doctor's office as he sobbed in relief before the two of you shared a soft sweet kiss. It had taken both of you by surprise at the time but it had felt so right. Like no other reaction would have been right in that moment but you didn't discuss after and so, after many hours of overthinking, you'd put down to being caught in the moment. You decided to forget about it. It had obviously hadn't meant anything to him. Otherwise, he would have said something, right?

What you didn't know was that it had meant everything to him.

Another month passed and then two. Marcus started to gain back the weight and muscle he lost from his treatment and his hair had even started to grow again. He sobbed when he'd seen in sprouting from his scalp and you'd hugged him tightly. It was the first time in months you'd seen him excited about anything.

"How're you feeling today?" You asked as you cleared up the dishes from dinner.

"Little stronger." He answered and you smiled at him "Hate this short hair though." he grumbled as he scraped a hand over his prickly hair.

"I dunno." You giggled "Kinda like it." You said with a wink.

"Yeah?" He asked and you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as you nodded shyly 'Mhmm."

He took a few ginger steps towards you, eyes sparkling as he continued to close the distance.

"That's good." He said finally before he found the confidence to cut the space completely.

His lips were soft and his hands warm as he pulled you close, making you melt against him. It was over pretty quickly but you didn't have to wait long before he pulled you into a slightly more biting kiss that left you breathless.

"Wow." You breathed when he pulled away and he grinned at you.

"Yeah." He whispered as he grinned at you "Wow."

"Want to continue this somewhere a little more comfortable." You suggested and his eyebrows shot up a little in surprise, your confidence waning as you started to worry you'd misread the situation "I mean... We don't- You don't- God I'm sorry... I just thought-"

You were interrupted by his lips on yours and you felt your worry dissolve instantly.

"I'd love to."

The rest of the evening was a cocktail of kisses and moans as clothes were removed and skin was explored. He made sure to show you how much he appreciated you. How he appreciated what you'd done for him and you let him. Not a care in the world was had by either of you.

It was just a cold he'd told you that morning as you'd left him in bed with a mug of tea on his side table and a kiss on his fevered brow. You knew cancer treatment weakened the immune system and meant that things like a cold hit you harder than they normally would.

He'd promised you he was okay but you'd not been able to shake the feeling that he was sicker than he was letting on.

His breathing had sounded off all morning. His skin burning much hotter than someone with a cold. As lunchtime came around you found yourself turning your key to Marcus' apartment and stepping inside, a paper bag with sandwiches tucked carefully under your arm.

"Marcus?" You called out "I brought lunch. Feed a fever and all." You continued as you dropped your keys in the bowl and made your way to the bedroom where you'd left him.

That's exactly where you found him.

"Hey, sleepyhead." You said sweetly as you made your way over to him "How are you feeling?" You asked as you perched on the edge of the bed.

He didn't answer.

"Marcus?" You asked again, turning your head so that you could look at his face on "Wake up sweetie." You said as you gently nudged him "Marcus?"

You turned on the lamp to get a clearer look at him and gasped at what you saw. His skin was pale, glistening with sweat but his lips had started to turn a startling shade of blue. You pulled your phone out faster than you could blink and dialled for an ambulance, your hands shaking uncontrollably.

You sobbed and begged for him to hold on as you waited for them. Not to leave you when you'd only just found each other. The paramedics arrived and wasted no time strapping a mask to his face and whisking him away, medical jargon being thrown around too quickly for you to follow and before you knew it you were in the waiting room of the hospital. Praying to a man you didn't believe in to spare the one you loved.

You were waiting around an hour before the doctor came you to tell you he had severe Pneumonia, the sickness taking a strong hold on him due to his non-existent immune system.

"What are his chances?" You asked and the doctor could do nothing more than shake his head.

"His immune system has been severely compromised from the radiotherapy." He started and you nodded numbly "It's harder to treat in patients like him. We'll do all we can for him but his chances aren't great." He continued and you sobbed "I think you need to prepare yourself."

Those were words you'd never wanted to hear. In the time you and Marcus had been together you'd fallen hard and fast for him. So when you were taken to him you couldn't keep yourself together any longer. You let your sorrow pour out of you and your tears stain your shirt as you slowly stepped to his side. You took his hand and brought it to your chest, sobbing softly now as you studied his prone form.

"If you can hear me Marcus I need you to listen to me." You sobbed as you stepped a little closer "I need you to fight this..." You paused, letting out a stuttering breath as readied yourself for what you were about to say "We need you to fight this."

You brought his hand to your lips and kissed his fingers before you placed it over your stomach. Your heart pounding in your throat as your gaze flitted between him and his hand.

"One more miracle for this little miracle." You said softly as you leaned down to place a soft kiss on his brow before resting your forehead against his.

"Please."

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goldentsum · 4 years

Text

━ thirst post with idol! reader - spin-off

REQUEST: abt the idol reader thirst, imagine one day you read the thirst on vlive and react to it, and you're just "oh? OH" HAHAHHAA

🎕 asked by: nonnie 🎕

CHARACTERS: kuroo tetsurou, matsukawa issei, miya atsumu, and sakusa kiyoomi

GENRE: suggestive themes, comedy, fluff?

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i can’t with this scenes lmao! i had too much fun with this pft!

you were in vlive, watching the thousands of comments flash on the side of the screen. you ate some pineapple in your fruit salad as you tried to read some of the comments in your vlive, chuckling as you do so. there were a lot of funny and heartwarming comments.

[tetsulovesy.n]: (y/n)!! you’re so pretty! D: please step on me, queen :D

[isseiissei]: you always inspire me to start drawing, (y/n)! you’re just so beautiful, every moment with you is so picturesque

[tsumwannahit]: you’re so hot (y/n), it’s not fair

[omisparadise]: (y/n), you’re always so clean and lovely

you giggled at the last comment, you don’t really know what that means but hey, it sounds like a compliment! (fanbase’s name) are always so funny and seeing their comments makes your day

“isseiissei, is that how you pronounce it? aw, that’s so sweet of you! your words make me soft, love” you cooed sweetly, the soft light on your hotel room making you look angelic. meanwhile, the male who you replied to was screaming and panicking at the other side of the world.

“i want to browse through twitter because i love seeing the content you guys make,” you said, getting your phone at the table beside you and showing your clothes to the camera. a black spaghetti singlet with short shorts that stops on your mid-thigh. when you sat back down, you saw the comment section going wild.

you chuckled, confused, while you try to read some replies and leaned closer to the phone that’s recording your vlive. as you leaned in, your collarbones and neck were more prominent in that angle. your pretty face was closer than ever, your soft confused smile still intact.

[tsumwannahit]: AASDFJKJHGFDS--

[isseiissei]: wanna draw something right now :D

[tetsulovesy.n]: this would look great in a phone call edit

[omisparadise]: :)))

you saw the four usernames again and shook your head when you finally knew what was going on. you narrowed your eyes playfully at the camera and started scolding them.

“you guys are dirty, ya know. that’s naughtyyy~” you teased, wagging your finger with a small smirk

you saw the comment section going crazy again and giggled. you opened your secret twitter account on your phone and searched your name in the search bar. your eyes widened at what you saw, blushing a bit. you looked at the camera then to your phone again.

“you guys are really... creative”

━ kuroo ♡

kuroo really saw his life flashed before his eyes when you said his username in your vlive he was watching. he just froze and looked at you in horror when you scrolled through his page, chuckling in bewilderment.

you: these are--... um.. very creative

fuck! omg omg! this is by far the worse thing that happened to kuroo wtf! the embarrassment is too much to handle! he just wanna dig a hole and die!

at least you don’t know who he was.

you: [yn.makesme_hARD] said: “you guys like my edits a little too much but i can’t blame you, while making them I get hard myself… pLEASE LET ME HIT (Y/N)!!” um, you’re very creative sir-- you’re kinda cute too

did you hear that? it’s kuroo screaming at the top of his lungs. how can he forget that he did a (fanbase name) selca day on that account-!!

━ matsukawa ♡

issei was just watching your vlive, smiling softly at your cute actions as you try to interact with them, laying on his bed. when you replied to his comment, he really did scream. his heart was beating so loudly and a red blush almost covered his face.

when you said you were going to twitter to see the content, his mind went straight to his 18+ fanarts from his other art account. but he was rest-assured cus he remembered that he blocked you on that account like any 18+ creator.

you: [y/ns_daddydom] huh... that’s a nice username...

issei stopped smiling and sat up so fast that he was seeing black spots. he grasped his phone in alarm, gasping when you just described his latest fanart of you wearing a skimpy pink lingerie.

you: they draw really good though. i approve, um, mattsun-ssi~

mattsun watched the vlive in panic when you said his name, he signed all his fanart with his nickname and now you know him... he closed his phone and laid in bed, staring at his ceiling with a blank face.

mattsun: pls let me die now

━ atsumu ♡

tsumu was a cocky little shit who hides in his identity in a fan account so he usually just says what he thinks with no hesitation. when he watches your vlive, he likes commenting a lot. like a lot.

when you said you were going to twitter, he wasn’t really alarmed or scared because his fan account was not a big one and he just usually thirst tweets in that account.

you: you guys-- when you thirst tweet, ya’ll don’t tone it down huh. you guys go all out.

okay, he was a bit alarmed at that. but you won’t see his tweets, right?

you: this one has a lot of likes and retweets. [iwanna.raw.yn] said “(y/n) REALLY SAID DADDY LIKE IT WAS NOTHING?… brb gonna fix something and if you see my right arm getting beefy, lol we been knew. sigh i want to raw (y/n) so hard tf” okay then... daddy~

tsumu watched you giggle after saying that. he just short-circuited, a frozen and faltering smirk on his face as his eyes started wavering. he threw his phone in his bed, cupping his hands together and then hid his face, screeching.

osamu: tsumu! shut the fuck up!

atsumu: you shut up! i’m having a crisis here!

━ sakusa ♡

when watching your vlives, omi likes to imagine that it was just the two of you, video calling each other. his (fanbase name) heart is screaming.

sakusa watched you spill the tea and expose your fans about their thirst tweets and content and he was lowkey panicking. he grabbed his phone as he watched you on his laptop. he opened his account and went to delete any thirst tweet he made but it was too late.

you: you guys have really cREATIVE names! like this one, [mother.ynismykink]. (fanbase name) are funny

he felt a chill run down his spine when he heard his username, his eye twitching a bit. sakusa continued to watch you and listen to you say his most famous thirst tweet.

you: i don’t like being dirty, though~

sakusa grabbed his chest, feeling his rapid heart as he gaped at you. you teasingly pout at the camera, making goo-goo eyes. you almost looked like that emoji, 🥺, but with a pout and looking much cuter.

omiomi: i.. i don’t know if i’m lucky or not..

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viking-raider · 3 years

Text

Hoist the Colours - Part I

Summary: Your father is given a governorship of a Caribbean island and you accompany him on the voyage, a new start, for the both of you. But, it doesn’t go as either of you planned, or well.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 8,841

Warning: Pirate!Henry, Fluff, Angst, Mention of death, Violence, Language, Kidnapping, Ransom

Inspiration: It’s Henry and Pirates! I got the idea after watching Pirates of the Caribbean one day!

Author’s Note: I wanted to post something new to treat the fandom. As always, thank you to the lovely @wondersofdreaming for helping me along with my stories.

The room creaked and groaned, swaying back and forth at a quick and nauseating pace, the booms and cracks coming from outside the door were muffled by the thick wood. He pushed you into the corner, panting, sweating and bleeding heavily.

“Henry.” You whimpered, trembling with fright and adrenaline.

“Sshh, it's all right.” He wheezed, breathing labored and sat down on the bed that was in the corner. “Here, look at me, my love.” He said, forcing a smile as he cupped your cheek in his shaking hand, leaving a bloody print with it. “We'll be all right, my sweet. The men are strong and capable, they'll rid the ship of these mongrels.”

“It doesn't seem like it.” You fretted, biting your lip and glancing at the barred door as something very heavy struck it.

Henry chuckled and kissed the corner of your mouth, you could taste the blood from the split on his bottom lip. “We've encountered worse on these seas, I assure you.” He groaned softly. “But, I must tell you, of all the treasures and gold I have plundered in my lifetime as a Pirate, you are the greatest of them all.”

3rd August 1686

It was a sunny morning in London, the sea air sweeping over the city, keeping it cool as Londoners and it's other residents went about their daily business. You stood on the balcony of your parents' home, taking deep breaths of the sea air and could hear your maid bustling about your room, packing your things for the voyage you and your father would be taking the next day. Your father, Thomas, had been appointed Governor of the newly colonized Lockemirth Island in the Caribbean, and you were to accompany him, with no other prospects for staying in London, and after the death of your mother the year before, he felt the both of you needed a fresh start in the world, and the governorship was that opportunity.

“Miss?” Your maid called, appearing in the balcony doorway.

You turned towards her, lifting a brow. “Yes, Jane?”

“Everything you've asked me to pack has been so.” She informed you, bundling the sides of her skirts and bowing softly to you.

“Thank you, Jane.” You smiled softly at her, saddened that you would be leaving the place that had been home all your life, away from your friends and all the seasonal events that kept London busy.

You doubted there would be such high society events like London's, on a teeny island in the Caribbean, expecting and loathing the boredom and loneliness that would no doubt fill your days there. Sighing and softly closing your eyes for a moment, you stepped back into the house as sweaty movers appeared in your room to collect the crates of the things you would be taking with you on the voyage, and taking them downstairs to the foyer, to later be moved to the storage haul of the HMS Kilmartin.

“Ma'am.” One of the movers tipped the brim of his sweat stained and worn flat hat, as he and the other mover muscled the heavy wooden crate out the double doors of your room.

“Sir.” You nodded your head politely to him, then they were gone, grunting and groaning down the spiral staircase. “I shall miss this place, Jane.” You sighed, sitting down on the edge of your bed and stared out the window. “I heard the island region is prone to hurricanes, that kick up tremendous winds and rain, capable of flattening everything in its wake.”

“Gracious.” Jane gasped, sweeping the dry packing straw that had fallen to the floor, while things were being packed into the crates. “Sounds frightening.”

“It does.” You agreed with her, a knot of fear in your stomach at the thought of being caught in such a storm.

What would you and your father do, if such a storm hit the island whilst you were there? Even worse, what if one happened, while you were still sailing to the island? It would undoubtedly cause the ship to sink, taking you, your father and everyone aboard down with it!

“And the pirates, Miss.” Jane added, after a moment of silence.

“No pirate is stupid enough to attack a ship of His Royal Highness, King James II.” You huffed, rolling your eyes at her. “It would be a grave mistake on their part, the King doesn't suffer pirates, nor does my father for that matter. It's part of the reason he was appointed Governor of the island, to prevent pirates from getting their greedy and filthy hands on it.”

“Like they did with Nassau.”

“Of course.” Jane nodded, shyly.

You sighed again, but deep down you were concerned about the pirates, your father had mentioned only the night before that one of the royal ships had been attacked and boarded by pirates on their way to Port Royal. They had taken most of the cargo and killed several of the crew members, before finally returning to their own ship and vanishing on the horizon. You tried to soothe your own fears by repeating the same you told Jane inside your mind, that no pirate would attack a royal ship. But, it barely eased that fear and anxiety.

If anything, it made it worse.

The next day, Jane woke you earlier than usual and helped you dress, before you went downstairs for one more breakfast in the house. Your father was already sitting at the table, a steaming cup in front of him and the daily newspaper in his hand. He set it down as you entered the room, standing to greet you with a smile and gently kiss your cheek, before you took your seat at the table and Jane laid out your breakfast before you.

“Thank you.” You smiled at her, picking up a fork.

“Are you ready for our voyage, my dear?” Your father asked, sipping his tea and regarding you over its rim.

“As I can be, father.” You replied, picking up your own cup of tea. “How long will it take?”

“With good weather and wind, hopefully no longer than seven weeks.” He informed you, setting his cup down on its little saucer. “With terrible weather, it could be as long as three months.”

“Let's hope it is the former, instead of the latter, then, shall we?” You smiled over at him, nervously.

“Don't worry about the journey, my sweet petal.” He said, smiling at you in a way parents did, when they were trying to be reassuring, while also hiding their own fears and worry.

“All will be well.”

You didn't argue with him.

Besides, your father had far more sailing experience than you did. He had once been a member of His Royal Majesty's, King Charles I's Royal Navy, reaching the rank of Captain, before meeting your mother, retiring and trying his hand in politics, quite successfully, at that. You on the other hand, had never been on a boat, unless you counted the little rowboat James Turner took you in to cross a small river to a picnic spot he had set up for you, during last year's social season, with Jane as chaperon. You had wondered then, as he half struggled to row the vessel, why you were doing so, when there was a small, and perfectly useful, foot bridge not ten meters away from the small dock he had pushed off from.

But, just like now, you didn't argue or question it, he wanted to be romantic, and your father was trying to be protective and reassuring.

Your father took his pocket watch out, the highly polished gold cover popping open, its soft ticks reached you as he frowned down at it, then snapped it shut again and tucked it back into his pocket. Heaving a sigh, he downed the rest of his cooled tea, neatly folded his half read newspaper and rested back against his chair, quietly regarding you across the table, while you finished your breakfast.

“Edward, have the carriage readied, we must leave in no more than twenty minutes.” He called out to his servant, before rising to his feet.

He bowed politely to you and left the room, you knew where he was going, to your mother's rooms. Your father had shut up her rooms the day of her funeral, not wanting a single item inside to be disturbed out of the places she had put them in. She had been sick for some time, but in the last month of her life, she had gotten far worse. Your father employed every respectable doctor London had, even the physician the King himself used. But, all of them had a different diagnosis and treatment for what supposedly ailed her, and none of them worked, most of them only made her worse. So, she wasted away until there was nothing left of her, but skin and bones, and she passed away. Your father was understandably distraught and brokenhearted by her death, only mechanically doing his obligations, always standing, motionless, in her dark and tomb-like rooms, as if he stood there long enough, time would rewind and bring her back to him.

There was no doubt in your mind, that's where he was going, to say one last good-bye to her, before you both set sail for Lockemirth, for what would likely be several years, if not forever. You had already sneaked into her room, during the night, taking a ruby necklace that she loved to wear, as a token to remember her by and to feel as if, in a way, she was accompanying you both on the journey.

“Are you ready, my dear?” His voice asked as he descended the staircase to join you in the foyer, lifting a graying brow at you.

“As I can be, Father.” You replied, stomach clenching inside your corset.

He smiled at you, fingertips gently brushing your cheek, while Edward opened the front doors. “Into a brave new world, my loving daughter.” He said, looping his arm with yours and escorted you out into the rising morning sun, the family carriage already waiting for you both, door open and horses patiently standing at attention.

Your father helped you inside the carriage, then followed after you, rapping his knuckles on the door to signal the driver to move forward. Both of you watched as the beloved house slowly disappeared from view, soon falling away to the wharves of London harbor. The sea air was even stronger on the wharves, mixed with the strong scents of seaweed, fish, the unwashed bodies of sailors long at sea and hot tar. The HMS Kilmartin was easy enough to spot on the wharves, its masts standing tall amongst the others, rocking in the gentle swell of the waves coming off the ocean, it glittered in the rays of the new day, showing off its blue, white and gold paint job, it was immaculate. It gave you a great measure of relief to see it, it seemed infinitely more steady and reliable than the other ships in the harbor.

“Shall we find out if you have sea legs like your dear father?” He teased you, as you approached the gangplank leading up onto the deck.

You tried to give him an amused smile, before following him up the swaying plank, but you weren't truly amused at the prospect of finding out if you were prone to seasickness or not. You dearly hoped you wouldn't be though, all you needed was this voyage to be even longer and more miserable then it already would be without you losing your stomach with every movement of the ship.

Stepping onto the deck, you clutched your father's arm tighter and planted your feet against the unaccustomed sway. Your father chuckled and helped you steady yourself, standing there for several long minutes to allow you to acclimate, then started forward again, slowly, baby step by baby step. A pair of doors swung open and a man appeared out of them, dressed completely in Royal Navy attire, giving away his station as the Captain of the ship.

“Sir Thomas.” The Captain smiled at your father, striding over to you both with the confidence of a man walking on land, instead of on the swaying deck of a ship. “This must be your lovely daughter.” He smiled at you next, sweeping off his hat and bowing to you.

“Indeed, sir.” Your father smiled, looking at you with all and more pride. “My dear, this is Captain Davis.”

“My lady.” Captain Davis greeted you, taking your offered hand and kissing it. “It is a pleasure to have you aboard my ship.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Captain Davis.” You replied, feeling a warmth creep into your cheeks.

Captain Davis's smile broadened at your words, before letting your hand go and looking back to your father. “We have your cabins ready for you, sir. The things you've asked to be taken into them are already there, awaiting you both.” He explained to your father.

“So, shall I show you to your cabins?”

“Please, lead the way, Captain.” Your father nodded and gripped your hand tighter, following Davis into a dim passageway and down a small set of stairs, to the second level of the ship.

“Sir Thomas, your cabin is here.” Captain Davis said, leading the way down a narrow hallway and motioned to a door on the left. “My lady, your cabin is just through there.” He pointed to a door across from your father's. “I do hope the both of you find comfort in them. If you are in need of anything, please inform myself or my Chief Mate, Mr. Gray.” He instructed the both of you.

You and your father thanked him and entered your respective cabins. Your cabin was narrow in length and just wide enough that your fingertips, with your arms stretched out from your sides, barely touched the walls, it reminded you of your closet at home. Sighing, you approached the bed to one side, it was built into the side of the ship, for obvious reasons, with a feather mattress laid into that, and a lip, to keep the bed's occupant from being either rolled out or tossed out with the ship's movement, no matter its speed and the type of waves it was sailing through. There was a porthole across from the bed, where you could only see the side of a ship that was docked beside the Kilmartin.

At the other side of your room was a heavy and deep chest, a chest full of your things, clothing to change into, toiletries and some other home comforts to keep you company, like a book or two. Sighing, you sat down on the bed and stared out the porthole, to what teeny strip of blue and cloudy sky you could see at the top of it.

“I already miss home.” You frowned, chewing on your lip.

It was three weeks into the voyage to Lockemirth Island from London, and you had, more or less, gotten your sea legs; as your father put it. You had only spent the first day and a half hanging over the railing of the main deck, spilling any substance you put in your body, that wasn't already there to start with. All things considered though, you found yourself rather enjoying the life on board the ship, watching the crew go about their duties, pulling and tying ropes as thick as your arms, climbing the rigging like monkeys in trees; you marveled at their ease of doing it without falling or getting tangled up. You would join your father every evening or morning for a row around the main deck, keeping each other company and sane on the long journey.

But, on the second day of the fourth week, as you woke and dressed that morning, something felt different, off to the normal air and movement of the ship. Frowning, you made your way to the top side and heard all the noise and ruckus that was going on. You had grown used to all the noise that came with the ship, but there was more of it, frantically yelled orders and every crew member was in a manic rush to and fro, carrying this and dragging that, not even looking or uttering their usual greetings to you.

It frightened the wits out of you.

You quickly found your father in Captain Davis's quarters, both frantic as the crew, but also angry. Angry at each other, something else or both, you couldn't tell, but you knew the look of fear on your father's face, you had seen it only in times of great peril and strife.

“Papa, what's the matter?” You asked, moving forward to rest your hand on his arm, trying to give him some type of reassurance.

He started, feeling your warm touch on his arm, his billowing sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “My petal.” He gasped, blinking as if it was the first time he had ever set eyes on you. “You should go back down to your cabin, Petal. It's not quite safe for you, just now.”

You frowned at him, increasingly concerned. “Why?” You asked, blinking at him and glancing down at the map on the Captain's vast desk.

“My--” He paused and let out a harsh breath through his nose, a clear sign he's annoyed and at a stalemate for what to do and say. “It's nothing to be concerned with, my Petal. The dear Captain believes he saw an...unfriendly...ship on the horizon this morning.”

“Is it a pirate ship?” You let out in a rush, eyes wide with alarm.

“Of course not, Petal.” Your father chuckled, shaking his head at you. “It was flying the colors of a French flag.”

“It's easy enough for a pirate to fly a false flag in place of their own, until they get close enough to fly it, and at that point, it would be too late for us to escape their guns or their attempt to board us.” A man standing on the other side of the desk said, pessimistically.

“Mr. Gray!” Your father roared, slamming his fist down on the desk and causing several small, lead figurines to jump and fall over. “I would request you holding your tongue with such talk in front of my daughter.” He growled, dangerously.

“Bad luck to have a woman aboard, as is.” Mr. Gray continued, ignoring your father and glaring at you with unmasked distaste.

“It seems the only bad luck on this ship, Mr. Gray,” You hissed back, jaw stiff. “is your attitude.”

Your father repressed a snort of proud laughter into his fist, covering it up with a clearing of his throat. “Be it as it may, Mr. Gray. My daughter is on this ship, and if there were anything of luck to be had, it would be with her.” He told the First Mate, but smiled adoringly at you. “You have nothing to fret over, my Petal. All will be well. That French ship was most likely just sailing back to her home port with merchant goods.”

He took your hand from his forearm and escorted you to the open door of the Captain's quarters. “Didn't you start that lovely needle point work, just yesterday?” He inquired, stepping out of the quarters with you and closing the door behind him. “I simply can not wait for you to finish and show it to me, my dearest.” He told you, sounding most interested and desperate to see the finished product.

“I did.” You nodded, still uneasy about the information you received.

“Then, go back down to your cabin and work on finishing it.” He brought you to the doorway of the passage that led down to your cabins. “I'll be down shortly and we'll take our customary round about the deck. How does that sound?” He asked, grinning at you sweetly, too sweetly.

“Of course, Father.” You acquiesced with a soft sigh, you could tell he was overwhelmed with worry and frustration and didn't wish to add to it, so you conceded, bowing your head obediently to him.

“That's a dear girl.” He smiled at you, kissing your forehead, then returned to the Captain's quarters. “So, who do we think it was?” He asked, leaning against the desk and surveying the map, the knocked over figurines having been put back in their places.

“This time of the year?” Mr. Gray replied, stroking his smooth chin. “It could be anybody. Actual French, the Spanish, but more than likely, pirates.”

“Oh, come off it, Richard.” Captain Davis huffed, mopping his sweaty face with his handkerchief.

“I'm serious, Godfrey.” Gray huffed back at him, angered that his word wasn't being trusted. “It's hurricane season in the Caribbean, the Spanish and French, unless on official business wouldn't be sailing out here. We only are because we must get the new Governor and his daughter, to Lockemirth, or we too would be anchored in London Harbor. The only people crazy enough to sail in these waters are those and pirates, that know other ships will be anchored in harbors, or trying to reach harbor before a storm brews in, so they could take advantage of their desperation.”

“It was sailing clear in the other direction, Richard.” Davis answered, shaking his head at his First Mate's paranoia. “That was at first light this morning. If it was a pirate seeking advantage, we would have seen the change of course and reappear in our wake.”

“That was four hours ago.” Thomas replied, pressing his lips together. “They wouldn't have been able to stay in our wake and out of our sight for that long, in fear of losing us.” He explained, trying to be rational with the two of them.

“Sir Thomas is correct, Richard.” Davis agreed, dropping into the chair behind his desk. “They would have been re-spotted in some capacity. They have not been, so it can only be a French ship returning to her port, most likely a head of any storms that might form.” He said, pressing his fingertips to his thumping and sweaty temples. “I have Mr. Michaels on watch duty, he'll tell us if another, or the same ship, is spotted in our wake. So, until then, gentlemen, I recommend not wasting your energy and strength of fretting about it.”

Looking at each other, Sir Thomas and Mr. Gray nodded their heads at the Captain and excused themselves from his quarters, returning to their usual morning places. Your father came down to your cabin and after answering several of your worried questions, the pair of you went up onto the deck and started doing your rounds about it, the crew was in less of rush and panic, now that Mr. Gray had given them orders to ease their distress, greeting you and your father as you passed by them.

The two of you were having lunch together with Captain Davis, when Mr. Gray came barreling into the room, out of breath and only making the smallest apologies for barging in without knocking or ceremony. Captain Davis wiped his mouth and dropped his silk napkin beside his plate with a deep air of irritation, then pushed his chair back and stood.

“What is this about, Mr. Gray?” He demanded, rounding the table to stand face to face with him.

“The ship, sir.” Mr. Gray wheezed, gulping thickly and trying to regain himself. “The French ship has been spotted again, six leagues behind us, Sir.” He informed his Captain, taking a deep gulp of air into his burning lungs.

Captain Davis's head snapped over his shoulder to your father, who was instantly to his feet and going out the door with Davis and Gray. You looked out the large bay window behind the Captain's chair to the endless and sparkling track of ocean and sky, but saw nothing in it, but choppy waves. Jumping to your feet, you rushed out of the room, catching your father's coat tails as he ran up the staircase leading to the upper deck, where the helm was stationed. Captain Davis snatched a folded spy glass from the helmsman, extending it to full length and spied out over the ocean, where Gray was pointing his finger, supposedly where he had seen the ship in question, not moments before.

You watched Davis's stiff shoulders slowly melt, making your anxiety spike, knowing if there was nothing of alarm to be seen, his shoulders would have stayed stiff, but they relaxed, like he was in agreement that there was something trailing behind the ship, and it was nothing good. You looked up as your father looked back at you and saw the same language of Davis's body, in his face.

“There's still no evidence the ship is sailed by pirates.” Davis said, handing his spy glass to your father. “There could be any number of reasons for her to turn back.”

“Why are you acting as if nothing is possibly afoul?” Gray asked, his teeth gritted as he tried to hold his temper with his commanding officer.

Captain Davis did not reply, his unfocused eyes stared off in the direction of the quickly growing black spot, you could now see, on the bright horizon, chewing on his lip as he tried to come up with something to do, some action to take against not only the possibility of the ship being indeed French and either in need of their help or sought to harm them, or if it was a pirate ship sailing under a fake French flag for evil pretenses, such as boarding, plundering and scuttling them.

“Captain!” Gray roared in his face, patience lost. “Orders!”

Davis snapped out of it and his face turned into an expression of hardened steel. “Let out the sails, catch as much of the wind as we can, try to get ahead of them as much as possible, but run out the guns in case we can not!” He snapped, then pushed aside the helmsman manning the ship's wheel.

Gray rushed to the railing overlooking the main deck and shouted the orders down to the crew, who paused for a moment, looking at each other as alarm and the urgency of it set in, then started running around to fulfill the orders. You stood frozen in place, you weren't part of the crew, those orders meant nothing to you in the slightest. So, you knew not what to do with yourself, other than stand there and watch that black spot steadily take the shape of a ship, and a mighty looking ship it was, even at such a distance, you shuddered to think what it would look like even closer still.

Your father clapped shut the spyglass and turned towards you, he looked ashen as your eyes met, his Adam's apple bobbing as he gulped down his own anxiety and fears, getting a handle on his resolve like a hand snapping closed around something valuable. He blindly held the closed spyglass out to the helmsman, who took it, and strode over to you with deep purpose, catching your elbow in his hand and turning you down the stairs.

“Sir Thomas!” Captain Davis yelled out, catching your father's attention. “Take her into my quarters, she should be safe there!” He said and the two men nodded heads at each other and your father helped you down the stairs and into the Captain's quarters.

“Papa?” You huffed as he escorted you inside, then turned on his boot heels and started out again, without a word to you. “Father!” You snapped, annoyed with him, and truly frightened.

“My Petal, fret not! All will settle down.” He told you, stopping in the doorway. “Once we out run that ship.”

“And if we do not?” You asked, brows lifting at him.

“We will.” He replied, sounding as if he was trying to convince both of you of that fact, before going out, closing and locking the quarters behind him.

Huffing and shaking your head at the door, you paced the room, trying to calm your nerves. Your father never lied to you, so if he said the Kilmartin would outrun the ship, then that's what it would do, and when it did that, it would no longer matter if the ship had good or ill deeds as its intentions against your ship, they would be lost behind and likely give up the chase. Sighing, you sat down on a padded bench under the long window at the back of the ship, staring at the ship that grew closer still.

Within the hour, the ship was considerably closer to the Kilmartin, so close, you could see the little dots of crewmen scurrying about the rigging. It did nothing to ease your anxiety and fear, if anything it made it worse, and knew your father had to be feeling the same way. With another hour or two, the ship would no doubt be alongside yours, then the real trouble and anxiety would set in.

What would they do?

What did they want?

All questions that kept circling your mind as you watched the gap between the two ships narrow more and more as time passed.

You hadn't realized you had dozed off, lulled by the rock of the ship, until you heard a loud boom and a splash of water, making you jerk and gasp. Your eyes snapped out the window and a strong dizzy spell made the room spin a full three hundred and sixty degrees, before steadying on the sight of the ship that had been chasing the HMS Kilmartin for the last several hours, you could see the bow of the ship now, clear as day, as well as the ship's figurehead, a lion's head with a rose in its mouth.

The noise that you had heard was the ship firing one of its cannons as a warning shot, an aggressive suggestion to stop trying to run and yield to them. But, you could tell by the pull of the ship, it hadn't let up an ounce of its speed, still trying to outrun them. You watched two more sails drop into place on their masts and knew, in that instant, that the pursers hadn't been using their ship's full strength to overtake the Kilmartin, they had been toying with them, the whole time.

The ship gained considerable speed in only a few minutes, leaning slightly to the starboard as it was maneuvered to pull alongside the Kilmartin. You jumped up onto your feet and looked out the windows to the side of the ship, watching as the ship slid into place beside yours, you could see the open cannon ports and the guns in place, ready and waiting for the ship's captain to give the order to open fire.

The doors to the quarters burst open and you yelped, startled, but sighed, seeing it was just your father. He gave you a half sympathetic smile, but his expression was agitated and frantic, sweat pouring from his brow and his usually immaculate clothing disheveled. He strode over to you, pulling you bodily away from the windows, eyes darting between you and the ship outside them.

“Get away from there.” He snapped, hastily. “It isn't safe.”

“I thought we were to out run them.” You said, gripping his hands in yours.

“So, we thought we would, but it seems these people are not to be underestimated.” He replied, squeezing your trembling hands. “Stay away from the windows, and no matter what you hear and what happens, do not come out of this room, until I come for you. Do you understand me?”

“If you--”

“Do you understand!” He barked, hotly.

You drew away from him, surprised at his temper towards you. “I do.” You replied softly, brows creasing.

“Good.” He nodded, letting go of your hands and left you locked in the Captain's quarters, yet again.

It wasn't twenty minutes later another shot rang out, this time from a musket, instead of a cannon. You weren't sure what ship it had been issued from and weren't sure it even mattered, it wasn't a good sign by and by. Your heart was hammering against your corset strings, there was a battle coming, even you knew that much. You dared to peek out the window again and regretted it, as the guns from both ships opened fire. Yelping, you dropped to the floor and scurried over to the Captain's desk, taking cover underneath it.

There were reports from cannons, muskets and pistols, mixed in with shouts of orders and insults, the screams of the injured and dying, the shattering and splintering groans of wood as cannonballs ripped through both ships. It felt like forever since the battle started, soon joined with the resounding clang of metal as the men from the other ship managed to board the Kilmartin and a battle of swords broke out. This was all the worst case scenarios that your father and the Captain had been trying to avoid since first spotting of the ship that morning and all you could think of was the image of your father laying on the deck bleeding to death or already being dead.

You peeked at the door from over top the desk, not willing to come out of your hiding place, once you heard the sudden and unsettling silence that fell between the ships. Had the crew of the Kilmartin won at defending their ship, or had the other ship won? Maybe, neither ship won and they had all killed each other! What would that mean for you, being the only one still alive? You couldn't sail a ship on your own, even if you knew how to. Did that mean you would be left here to starve or feel the mercy of whatever the sea and weather threw at you. Maybe you would get lucky and another ship would pass by, investigate why two ships were motionless in the middle of the ocean and would save you. Or the ship would be pushed in the direction of some spot of civilization, saving you that way.

But, the more your mind came up with these possible scenarios and questions, the more and more outlandish and infinitely impossible they became.

Sir Thomas, your father, and Captain Davis watched as the ship not only dropped two more sails, but also lowered the French flag it had been flying since it had been spotted that morning.

“Please, not a red one.” Thomas muttered under his breath. “Please, not the red.”

“What's the matter with a red flag?” A deckhand, who had been standing behind him asked.

Thomas half turned to him, lifting a brow at him. “New to a ship, I'm supposing.”

“Aye, sir.” He nodded, looking even more nervous.

“Pirates flags are signals to those the pirates are pursuing.” Thomas replied, pushing his jaw forward. “A black pirate flag means that anyone who surrenders will be allowed to live. But, a red pirate flag means, 'no quarter given'.” He explained, but saw the naive look in the green deckhand's eyes.

“In layman's terms, no matter what, everyone on board will die, despite them surrendering peacefully or not.”

The deckhand's face drained of all color, as the true gravity of the situation struck him, before he bolted for the railing and vomited over the side. Thomas shook his head at the boy, turning back towards the gaining ship, just in time to see the pitch black flag unfurl at the top of the main mast, baring a white skull with a red rose in its mouth, letting out the teeniest amount of tension from Thomas's body. He and Davis exchanged looks with each other, the same thought going through their minds at seeing the black flag, instead of the red one.

A moment later, as the ship pulled alongside the Kilmartin, a musket shot went off, whizzing past Thomas and Davis, and struck the green deckhand between the shoulder blades, knocking him over the railing and into the ocean with a splash. Thomas looked across the small gap between the ships, his eye meeting the eye of the man standing beside its wheel, as he lowered the smoking musket from his shoulder, a smug and unapologetic expression on his face as the crew of the ship lined the railing closet to the Kilmartin, their own weapons loaded and ready for whatever was to come next.

“Surrender now!” the musket wielding man shouted across. “No harm will come to you or your crew!”

Captain Davis took a step forward, resting his hand on one of the handles of the ship's wheel, grasping it so tightly his knuckles turned bone white. “I haven't surrendered to a pirate's demand in the twenty years I've been a Captain.” He hissed, under his breath and between clenched teeth.

“I don't bloody intend to now.”

“Captain, we can not afford to fight these men.” Gray hissed back at him.

“This is His Majesty's Ship and it shall stay that way.” Davis snapped, turning his head to glare at his First Mate. “Pirates be damned!” He roared out loud, turning his venom back to the other ship.

“Fire!” He ordered aloud.

There was a momentary lull, before the firing started, blast after blast of cannon fire from blew the ships' decks and the firing of muskets on deck. Men taking cover between shots to reload their guns, then popping back up again to return fire. The splashes of missed shot and dead bodies falling into the raging sea between the ships, splinters of wood rained down on top of them as balls smashed through railings, masts and hauls. A scurry of men on the pirate ship climbed the rigging with ease, grabbing onto loose lines to swing across the no man's land between the ships and boarded the Kilmartin, pulling their swords and cutlasses, cutting down any poor fellow in their way, before they themselves could pull their metal, and swept through the deck.

The Kilmartin was soon overwhelmed after that, forcing Captain Davis to wave a white flag and surrender to the organized and clever pirates. A gangplank was laid between the bobbing ships, but no one crossed it, instead, a tall and bearded man stepped forward, his hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, he wore a dark brown jerkin over a billowing white shirt and tight leather pant; lifting a brow and tilting his head at the assembly of the remaining Kilmartin crew, before settling his piercing blue gaze on Davis.

“You are the Captain of this ship, I presume?” He asked in a deep voice.

“I am.” Davis replied, not hiding his disgust with the man, whose clothing was stained and spotted with the blood of his men. “Who might you be, then?”

“I'm the Captain of the Crimson Jersey.” He replied, jerking his head towards the other ship.

A low murmur went through the Kilmartin men, their fright became even more profound hearing the name of the ship that had attacked them, side eyeing each other and their captures. The Crimson Jersey was one of the most feared Pirate Ships on the high seas, there was only one other ship feared more than the Crimson Jersey and that was Black Beard's Queen Anne's Revenge, and even Black Beard had a measure of respect for the Captain of the Crimson Jersey. While the Captain of the Crimson Jersey, Henry the Red, rarely left people alive from his attacks on their ships, he was well known for attacking well off ships and taking either people or materials as captives, until a set ransom was met, if the ransom wasn't met, then he would kill the captive or keep the materials to sell to the highest bidder at one of the Pirate Ports.

“We have nothing of value on the ship.” Captain Davis said, narrowing his eyes at the other Captain.

“Then, what is the HMS Kilmartin doing out so far from her beloved port?” Henry the Red asked, lifting a suspicious brow at Davis.

“His Majesty the King has ordered us to sail to Port Royal to retrieve the Governor there and bring him back to London, for personal commendation.” Davis told him, lying easily to the Pirate Captain's face.

“It must be some commendation for him to order it this late in the year, the threat of hurricanes are quite common about this time.” Henry replied, sensing Davis's lie, but his eyes moved to Thomas, noticing his shifty behavior and the way he kept trying to subtly look towards the doors of the Captain's quarters.

“Is there something bothering you?” He asked, stepping closer to Thomas. “Like a secret you know.”

“I know nothing of what you speak.” Thomas replied, glaring back at the man.

“Is that so?” He replied, a knowing smirk on his lips. “Then, you'll have no quarrel with me going to have a look.” He said, striding over to the locked doors of the quarters.

“Don't!” Thomas suddenly shouted, his resolve breaking away to his fear of the pirate finding you inside.

Henry turned back to Thomas and laughed at him, more than sure now there was something of great value inside. Taking a step back, he kicked the doors open with a crash of his big boot and entered. At first, he didn't see anything of value inside the room, but he didn't get deterred easily, especially when there was the prospect of treasure involved. He searched the room and as he neared the desk, saw the hem of a dress underneath it and grinned, knowing now what that treasure really was.

“Well, well.” He cooed, stepping around the back of the desk. “Who do we have here?” He laughed, watching you draw yourself further underneath the desk.

Bending down, he reached underneath the desk and grabbed a hold of your arm, yanking you halfway out before you sank your teeth into his meaty forearm. He hissed as you broke his skin and the copper-y taste of his blood touched your tongue, but his vise-like grip didn't relent, he only gripped you tighter and finished dragging you out of your hiding place.

“Oh, feisty and pretty.” He chuckled, surveying you with an unguarded eye. “I like that.” He smiled, then grunted as you stomped on his foot. “Watch yourself, wench.” He hissed, knotting his hand in the back of your hair and painfully jerking your head back, making your vision swim. “Try such a thing again and you'll lose something precious to you.” He warned, then dragged you out of the quarters.

“Let her go!” Thomas roared, taking a step towards you both, only to be stopped with a punch to the gut.

“Father!” You shrieked, jerking against Henry, only to be yanked backwards against him and his free hand wrapped around your throat.

“Father?” Henry mocked, smiling between you and Thomas. “Is this your dear daughter?”

“Let her go.” Thomas wheezed, straightening himself up. “I'll give you anything you wish, just please let her go.” He begged.

“She's all I have left in this world.”

Henry grinned at your father and turned his face into your hair. “I'm sure you would give me anything in the world to have her back.” He whispered against the skin of your temple. “So, tell me, what is it you're willing to give me for her back?” He asked, looking at your father from the corner of his eye.

Thomas floundered, his heart racing as he held your terrified gaze. “I'm on my way to take my station as Governor of Lockemirth Island, in the Caribbean.” He gasped, trying to get a hold of himself. “That is the purpose of the HMS Kilmartin being at sea. Once there, I will be in command of a very large sum of money and goods, I will give you half of it, for her safety and return.”

Henry pursed his lips and clicked his tongue as he considered the offer, then shook his head. “Three fourths of it.” He demanded, twisting a lock of your loose hair around his finger. “No less, Governor.”

Your father floundered for another moment, before his shoulders dropped and he nodded his head. “Fine.”

“Excellent.” Henry grinned, gripping your arm again and pushing your forward, towards the gangplank bouncing up and down between the ships.

“Wait, no!” You shrieked, turning and trying to get back to your father. “Father!”

“It'll be all right, Petal!” He shouted back, blocked by three of Henry's men.

“You can't!” You protested, pushing back against Henry as he hustled you forward.

“I can and I am.” Henry laughed, grinning at you, then tossed you over his shoulder and stepped onto the gangplank.

“Papa!” You screamed, flailing on Henry's shoulder.

Your father shouted your name back, but it was lost in the wind. The pirates disembarked from the Kilmartin and back onto the Crimson Jersey, careful that the Kilmartin crew didn't try to storm them and try to return the attack, in an attempt to rescue you. Once everyone was onboard, the gangplank was drawn back and the ships were separated.

In no time, the HMS Kilmartin was starting to disappear in the dying light of the horizon.

Henry kicked open the door of his quarters, then kicked it closed again, before setting you down in front of his desk. He crossed to one side of the room, plucking a bottle of dark green glass from a table, uncorked it and poured a brown liquid from inside of it into a goblet, tossing it back and poured himself another.

“You monstrous swine!” You growled at him, sneering at his broad back.

He turned towards you, lifting his glass in salute. “Aye!” He laughed and downed his drink again, before pouring yet another drink. “You'll be kept here, in my quarters, with me.” He informed you, sipping this glass.

“I would rather rot on deck.” You barked at him, upper lip twitching with disgust.

“Oh, that can be arranged, if my lady wishes it.” He chuckled, swirling his drink. “But, I must inform you, pet.” He set his drink down and approached you, pinching your chin between his thumb and index finger and tipped your head back to look up at him. “It's been several months since my men have set a foot on land, so it's been many a month since they've had the pleasure of a woman's warm body.”

You gulped, your stubbornness starting to fail you.

“While I am far more educated and in command of myself, my men are not.” Henry continued, seeing the blooming realization and fear in your eyes. “So, you can take your chances with them, which you will have none, or you can stay in the relative safety of my quarters.” The register of his deep voice lowered. “Here, my men know better than to enter and anything inside is purely mine, under my protection.” He let go of your chin and strode to his door, yanking it open.

“Your choice.”

You stared at him, gulping and biting into your lip, but didn't move from the spot he had dropped you in, seeing the validity and safety of staying where you were at. A smile crept over his lips and he slammed the door shut again, seeing you had made your choice to stay in the safety only he could give you on board. He moved back to the table, pouring a drink into a second goblet and held it out to you, but you didn't move or say a word. He shrugged his shoulders at you and downed it instead, before taking up his first one around to his desk, settling himself in the high backed chair, to do the needed paperwork that came with piracy.

“Sit down.” He ordered you, motioning to a chair beside you. “Now!” He barked, when you didn't move.

Huffing at him, you pulled the chair sideways and dropped down into it, refusing to look at him or acknowledge his presence. None of which bothered him in the slightest, he was content in the quiet privacy of his mind and work, not paying you all much mind, other than making sure you stayed where he told you to be. After sundown, a soft knock sounded at his door and, at Henry's permission, opened to a crew member, who entered with a silver tray laden with food. He set the tray down on his Captain's desk, nodded his obedient head at him and left. Henry picked up one of the plates on the tray, then pushed the tray towards you.

“If you wish to starve, that's on you.” He commented, when you didn't move. “But, don't whine about it later.” He told you, tearing off a chunk of bread and popped it into his mouth.

Rubbing at his eyes in the dim candle light, Henry stacked his papers together and put them in the bottom drawer of his desk, locking it up with a key that hung around his neck, then stood. He toed out of his boots and crossed the room, hanging his sword and pistol on a hook by the door, removed the brown leather jerkin he was wearing over his shirt and hung it up on the same hook, then locked the door with the same key that was around his neck. He turned and regarded you, still sitting, motionless and sulky, on the chair in front of his desk and rolled his eyes.

“The stubbornness of women.” He huffed to himself, going to a set of heavy curtains to one side of the room.

“The ilk of men.” You growled back at him, angry eyes burning holes into his back.

Henry laughed, jerking back the curtains to reveal a bed behind them, then turned around to grin at you. “Something we agree on, pet.” He chuckled, amused, then sighed and reached behind his head, tugging loose the tight leather string that tied his hair back and shook his head, setting free a mop of dark cinnamon curls, that softened his look considerably.

“Lay down.” He ordered, jerking his curly head to the large, curtained bed.

You snorted at him. “No.”

“That wasn't a question, pet.”

“Don't call me that.”

“I'll call you what I want, now lay down.” He barked at you, eyes hardening.

You turned your own hardened eyes towards him, but didn't budge.

Growling deep in his throat, Henry took several long strides towards you, yanked you out of the chair and back over his shoulder, unphased by you beating on his back to be put down, then dropped you, bodily, onto his bed. With you where he wanted you, Henry turned towards the large bay window behind his desk and made himself comfortable on the cushions there, stuffing one of them behind his head, before dozing off.

You laid there, surprised he hadn't tried to force himself on you or the very least crawl into bed beside you. You half expected him to wait until you fell asleep to try something, but his soft snores soon reached you. Biting your lip, you sat up at the edge of the bed and looked over at him, he was laying half propped up, the quarter moon illuminating one side of his face. He wasn't faking, he was actually asleep. Sighing, you laid back again, your mind spinning, trying to work up the nerve to steal that key around his neck and escape. But, where would you go, once you did have the key and the door open? You had a ship full of his men, on an open ocean, where the ship had already put countless miles between you and the Kilmartin.

Perhaps, you could buy your time, until and in hopes, they made port, to wait for your father's word he had the ransom, then steal away, finding safety somewhere in the port until your father and the Crown could rescue you.

“Pirates.” You huffed, then drew the bed curtains closed, not wanting that bloody pirate to be the last face you saw before you managed to fall asleep.

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tricksters-captain · 3 years

Text

Bucky Barnes imagines - Some Sunny Day Part 6

AN: And it all comes to an end....

Overall Summary: Before the Blip, you and Bucky were close. After you both returning and Tony’s funeral, you decided to go back to your home town to spend time with your family. When duty calls, you return.

In this chapter: An attack in Manhattan brings the gang back together for their final fight against Karli. (Based on S1 EP6)

(PART 1) (PART 2) (PART 3) (PART 4) (PART 5)

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, Sam Wilson x Platonic!Reader

Word Count: 3,897

Warnings: Spoilers for episode 6, Violence, some strong language, fluff

“Hello?” You put the phone on speaker as you answered it.

“I got a hit.” Sam informed you. You looked towards Bucky who had just put both your bags down by the couch.

“What is it?” You asked.

“Karli’s in New York. I think they’re gonna hit the GRC meeting.”

“Makes sense.” Bucky tilted his head, pressing his lips into a thin line.

“Right. We’ll suit up and meet you there?” You moved toward your bag to get your things.

“With these new wings, I may even beat you.” You could practically hear Sam’s smirk through the phone. You hung up and immediately started to change.

By the time you were kitted up and ready to go, the news had announced the GRC meeting had gone into a complete lockdown.

“Guess Sam was right.” You switched off the tv and picked up your final knife.

To get you down to the building quickly, you hijacked a motorbike. When you arrived there were swarms of news anchors and cops.

You dismounted the bike and headed to the front of the crowds.

“I’m almost there.” Sam’s voice came through on your coms.

“What’s the plan?” Bucky asked as he walked beside you.

“Karli’s gotta be close. Keep your eyes open.” Sam ordered. Your eyes began to search the surrounding areas.

“Well, it could be anybody.” Bucky mumbled. He was right. Karli had a huge following, she didn’t even need to be here but you were praying she would be.

“And by the way, I called in some backup.” Sam informed you both.

Then, at that moment, a stranger approached the both of you.

“Excuse me, sir. Are you supposed to be here?” The man asked before reaching to his face and removing the illusion mask. “It’s me.” Sharon was revealed underneath.

“Sharon, what the hell are you doing here?” You asked, looking around to see if anyone had been watching.

“Relax. No one’s looking for me here.” Sharon assured you both.

“Is that Sharon?” Sam had recognised her voice over the coms.

“Unfortunately.” Bucky retorted.

“Hey, Sam. I thought I’d get the band back together.” Sharon made herself known to him.

“Thank you. You’re risking a lot coming here.” Sam thanked her.

“I hear pardons aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.” Sharon tried making light of her being back whilst still being a fugitive.

“Depends on the therapist.” Bucky proclaimed. You ignored the comment as you continued to survey the scene.

“They’ll move on the building soon. Be ready.” Sam warned you as he grew closer. And he was right. Within the building, gas was let off which set off a panic. The building had to be evacuated.

“(Y/n), Bucky, what’s going on on your end?” Sam had entered the building through the window where the hostages were being ushered towards the stairs.

“Nothing. All quiet.” Bucky told Sam.

“No one’s moving toward the building.” You added as you patrolled alongside Sharon and Bucky.

“Karli’s not coming in. She’s trying to force everybody out.” Sam had realised Karli’s plan. You looked between Bucky and Sharon. Time for you to go in. yourselves.

“You guys are gonna have to do something.” Sam’s voice came through as you entered the doors. “Don’t let ’em out of the building.”

“Oops.” Sharon said after realising you just let out several people.

“There’s one of em.” Bucky pointed across the building to an impressively large guard. “I’ll get the evac.”

“I’m with Bucky.” You followed Bucky towards the stairwell.

As you were just around to reach the stairs, a woman came forward with a phone.

“Mr. Barnes, it’s Karli.” She handed the phone over to Bucky.

“I’ll go.” You let him take the call and continued to pursue the hostages.

You reached the underground parking lot in time to see the hostages being loaded up into police trucks.

You knew you couldn’t take on all the guards at once and you’d only cause a panic with the hostages, forcing them to run off in different directions and you weren’t even sure which guards were Karli’s and which were the GRCs.

You clocked the large guard from before that Sharon was meant to have gone after. He was applying some sort of lock onto the back of the trucks.

As the final guards climbed into the trucks, you took your shot. You silently ran up behind the large man and forced yourself up onto his back, your hands grabbing onto the guards face. He cried out as he threw you off but the connection was just enough to use your powers.

You fell to the floor, his memories tunnelling through your head like a bullet. He sent his boot into your stomach several times before leaving you. The trucks had already driven away and you remained on the floor so he didn’t bother with killing you.

You searched his memories for Karli’s plan.

“Sam.” You wheezed. “I know what Karli is planning to do.”

“What? How?” Sam responded through your ear piece, sounding concerned.

“She used her powers.” Sharon piped up. You looked around the garage to see her hiding behind a large concrete pillar with her eyes on the guard.

“I’m sending you the coordinates for their rendezvous now.” You typed over the coordinates on your arm pad.

Bucky finally made it down to you and helped you from the floor.

“You can’t fight anymore. You gotta sit this one out.” Bucky told you as the look of exhaustion was obvious on your face.

“Shut up and get moving.” You weren’t having any of it. You moved towards the bikes and Bucky climbed on in front.

You pulled out a small syringe from the inside of your jacket and Bucky cocked an eyebrow at it.

“In case of emergencies, right?” You stabbed the syringe into your thigh and injected the serum. It was a serum that Bruce Banner had worked on with you for these dire times. It gave you enough energy after using your powers to allow you to fight again. There were only a handful of them and the come down afterwards was worse than anything you had experienced but it kept you in the game when you needed it most.

Bucky set off on route to the hostages.

You gripped onto him tightly as he sped through the alleys and roads.

“You better speed things up, Sam. The choppers about to take off.” You heard Sharon warn Sam.

“Bucky?” Sam called out through the coms.

“I don’t fly, man. That’s your thing.” Bucky wasn’t going to be any help now that he was almost at the rendezvous point anyway.

You spotted the trucks up ahead along with large concrete road blocks.

“Drop me here.” You told Bucky as you were far enough away for them to not have seen you yet. Bucky did as he was told before speeding off ahead.

You ran down the sidewalk to keep yourself hidden. The flag smashers should be too busy dealing with Bucky to realise you were going after the trucks.

You reached one of the trucks only to find it the locks were impenetrable. It then didn’t take long for one of the super soldiers to find you. You ducked as she sent her fist towards you. You pulled out your knives, one in each hand, and began to attack.

Suddenly, a fire rose beside the truck.

“Bucky!” You shouted out as you fought. You knew only he could open those doors with his strength and his arm.

The soldier managed to get a grip on your shoulder and tossed you across the street like a pillow. You groaned as your body collided with the concrete.

“Morgenthau!” You recognised the voice as it cried out Karli’s name. It was Walker.

You pushed yourself to your feet and ran back over to the fight. Bucky was desperately trying to open the doors to the truck and John had started to attack Karli.

You lunged forward as John hit the floor, surrounded by the soldiers.

One broke away to fight you.

You growled and grunted as you brought forth all the power you had in you to fight the soldier.

Bucky had saved the hostages inside the burning truck and had come through to help John also.

You grew distracted when you witnessed Bucky falling into the building site.

The soldier took advantages of your loss of focus and managed to put you to the floor with a solid punch to the side of your head.

You vision went spotted and blurred and your head pounded as you lulled on the ground. You were unsure of how long you were lying there when you felt someone take your arm and drag you along the concrete towards one of the trucks.

Karli pulled the drivers door open and shoved you into the passenger seat before climbing in herself. She reached across you and crushed the handle so you couldn’t get out.

Your vision began to clear just as Karli threw herself from the vehicle.

The truck crashed through the gates and down onto the scaffolding. You clung onto the seat as you leant back to stop the truck from moving any further forward.

“Stay calm!” You snapped at the screaming hostages but the truth was you weren’t feeling calm yourself.

You could see Bucky beneath you.

It was one high drop.

You wouldn’t survive this fall. Not sitting in the front. Not at this height with the weight of this machinery.

“Fuck.” You cussed under your breath as your heart thudded against your chest. Bucky could see you inside and he felt his whole body tremble.

You locked your eyes with his. You didn’t want to go. You only just got him back.

Suddenly, the truck shifted again but this time it was being dragged backwards. You glanced to the side view mirror to see John trying to save you.

You couldn’t help but gasp when the flag smashers tore him away from the truck. They all tumbled down to the pit. You squeezed your eyes shut as the truck rolled forward again.

You were thrown forward onto the glass of the windshield when the truck abruptly stopped.

You opened your eyes to see that Sam had finally made it.

“Cutting it a little close, aren’t we?” You let out a shaky laugh as relief washed over you.

Sam managed to get the truck up safely. You escaped through the drivers door and embraced him.

“Looking good.” You smiled at the suit. Sam only winked before taking you down to Karli.

He threw the shield, hitting each flag smasher as he put you down.

“You of all people bought into that bullshit?” Karli looked beyond betrayed at Sam’s new look.

“I’m trying something different. Maybe you should do the same.” Sam retorted.

Just as you went to step forward, smoke bombs were sent down on top of you. It gave Karli the chance to get away.

Fortunately, Sam could use his goggles to track them.

“Hey, Sharon. We’re underground. We entered the tunnel on William. Heading south.” Sam informed Sharon on your position as you all made your way through the tunnel. “Looks like they split up. Here.” Sam stopped at an intersection.

John took off without a word. Bucky looked back at you and Sam.

“I got it.” He sighed before following.

“I’ll head this way. Don’t hesitate to call if you need me.” You broke off in the opposite way to Bucky and John whilst Sam went up ahead. You kept your guard up as you silently made your way around the place. It was like a maze and you had kept running into dead ends.

You cussed as you wished you had the app for the flag smashers in order to receive any news. It was the only way them and you would know the new meet up point.

“(Y/n), we found Karli’s team.” Bucky sent you the location. You hesitated to follow as a bad feeling began to seep into you. “(Y/n)?” Bucky questioned if you could hear him.

“On my way.” You replied, ultimately deciding to join back with Bucky, ignoring your instinct.

When you reached Bucky and Walker, the soldiers had been apprehended.

“Good job, boys.” You congratulated them. “Sam? Any news?” You asked over the coms.

“I’ve got Karli. She didn’t make it.” Sam’s news made your stomach drop.

Karli didn’t make it. She didn’t make it.

“Hey, come here.” Bucky pulled you into his chest after he saw your face drain of colour. All that was playing through your head was the girl’s memories of Karli. Karli playing with the children, her smile, her laughter, her passion.

You forced them from your mind as you made your way to the surface. Ambulances, cop cars and the press had all moved location from the GRC meeting to there.

Your eyes followed everyone’s gaze as Sam came into view.

He flew down to the ground with Karli’s body in his arms.

You felt Bucky slide his fingers down your wrist and take your hand, squeezing it tightly.

When Sam’s feet touched the ground he was ambushed with questions from reporters. He approached the senators without answering any of them.

He was thanked by them before he asked about the relocating plans.

“Our peacekeeping troops will begin relocating people soon.” He was told.

“The terrorists only set us back a bit––”

“––Stop calling them terrorists.” Sam interrupted

“What else would we call them?” They questioned.

“Your peacekeeping troops carrying weapons are forcing millions of people into settlements around the world, right? What do you think those people are gonna call you? These labels, “terrorists,” “refugee,” “thug,” they’re often used to get around the question, why?” Sam started,

“Those settlements that happened five years ago, do you think it is fair for governments to have to support them?” They argued against him.

“Yes.” Sam spoke honestly.

"And the people who reappeared only to find someone else living in their family home, they just end up homeless? Look, I get it. But you have no idea how complicated this situation is.” They tried to put Sam down but Sam wasn’t walking away.

“You know what? You’re right. And that’s a good thing. We finally have a common struggle now. Think about that. For once, all the people who’ve been begging, and I mean, literally begging for you to feel how hard any given day is… Now you know. How did it feel to be helpless? Now if you could remember what it was like to be helpless and face a force so powerful it could erase half the planet, you would know that you’re about to have the exact same impact. This isn’t about easy decisions, Senator.”

“You don’t understand.” They grumbled.

“I’m a Black man carrying the stars and stripes. What don’t I understand? Every time I pick this thing up, I know there are millions of people who are gonna hate me for it. Even now, here… I feel it. The stares, the judgment. And there’s nothin’ I can do to change it. Yet, I’m still here. No super serum, no blond hair, or blue eyes. The only power I have is that I believe we can do better. We can’t demand that people step up if we don’t meet them halfway. Look, you control the banks. Shit, you can move borders! You can knock down a forest with an email, you can feed a million people with a phone call. But the question is, who’s in the room when you make those decisions? Hmm? Is it the people you’re gonna impact? Or is it just more people like you?” Sam paused. “I mean, this girl died trying to stop you, and no one has stopped for one second to ask why. You’ve gotta do better, Senator. You’ve gotta step up. Because if you don’t, the next Karli will. And you don’t wanna see 2.0. People believed in her cause so much that they helped her defy the strongest governments in the world. Why do you think that is? Look, you people have just as much power as an insane god or a misguided teenager. The question you have to ask yourself is, ‘How are you going to use it’?”

You smiled widely at Sam as he finished, walking away. He really was Captain America.

“Sorry, I was, uh, I was texting and so, all I heard was, um, a Black guy in stars and stripes.” Bucky teased the man as he approached you.

You wrapped your arm around Sam, half embracing him as Bucky patted him on the back.

“Nice job, Cap.” Bucky smiled.

“Thanks.” Sam took the compliment.

“Sharon?” You smile dropped when you spotted Sharon trying to perform her own medical procedures beside a car.

“Your blocking my light.” Sharon hissed as she fiddled with her wounds.

“We gotta get you to a hospital.” Sam frowned at the state of her.

“She’s not gonna listen.” Bucky stated flatly.

“It’s not the worst thing that’s happened to me all week.” Sharon admitted, avoiding the mention of the hospital.

“Told you.” Bucky quipped.

“Uh, Cap?” A man came forward, interrupting for a moment.

“I think he’s talking to you.” Sharon turned her face away to not risk getting recognised. “Look, I’m sorry for how things ended down there. For what it’s worth, suit looks good on you.”

“Thanks.” Sam chuckled.

“All right, look, can we get out of here, please?” Bucky ushered Sharon to move.

“I didn’t forget my promise.” Sam turned to remind Sharon of his promise to get her a pardon before he left.

You decided to take Sharon back to the apartment and fix her up there. You had enough supplies and the experience to do an adequate job of it.

“What now? Back to Madripoor?” You asked Sharon as you cup open her top.

“Seems like it.” She winced as she spoke.

“Sam will get you that pardon. You might as well stick around.” Bucky returned to your side with a bowl of water and a cloth.

You worked in silence for a few minutes before Sharon realised something. She had been watching Bucky watch you.

“You finally slept together, didn’t you?” Sharon smirked as it hit her.

“Oh my god.” You groaned, rolling your head back.

“I mean I knew something was different...” Sharon’s smart mouth was quickly shut as you pressed into her wound.

“I’ll get us something to drink.” Bucky excused himself as he felt a blush creep up his neck.

“Bout time.” Sharon murmured but it was the last she mentioned it after the glare you shot her.

Sharon didn’t stick around after you stitched her up. You understood why but you were still hesitant to let her leave.

As she did, you started to really feel the come down effects of the serum.

“Hey. Hey.” Bucky caught you as you began to sway on your feet. He sat you down on his coach and placed his hand on your head. “You’re burning up.”

“It’s the serum.” You reminded him. It had been a long time since you used it last.

Sweat covered down your forehead and soaked your clothes. Your body ached, it felt like it was on fire, and your head was hammering.

Bucky helped you remove your clothes before wrapping a thin blanket around you. He fetched a cloth to rest on your forehead as you laid back.

His face twisted into a grimace as you began to scream and whine, writhing in front of him.

And there was nothing he could do but watch.

The pain of the serum leaving your body was excruciating. Bucky brought over the bin as you had flimsily pointed to it. You curled over the side of the couch and threw up.

Bucky brushed your hair away from your face with his hand and held it behind your head.

“I forget how bad this got.” Bucky confessed as you choked.

The rest of the night was spent like that until you eventually fell asleep against Bucky’s bare chests whilst he held you. The coldness of his metal arm was refreshing against your burning skin.

In the morning, you woke to the news that the captured super soldiers had been blown up on their way to the raft.

It was announced there were no suspects but both you and Bucky knew exactly who was responsible.

Zemo.

“There’s somethings I gotta do today.” Bucky told you as he brushed his lips against your hair.

“You want me to come with you?” You asked. You were weak but you were better after suffering through the night.

“No. It’s something I gotta do it on my own.” Bucky intertwined his fingers with yours as you rested against him.

“Okay.” You nodded. “But I’m here if you need me.”

“I know.” Bucky kissed the back of your hand before pushing himself off the couch. “Now let’s get you in the shower because you stink.”

You laughed as Bucky helped you up.

Bucky told you in the bathroom about his neighbour. He offered for you to see the memories you had missed since you last used your powers on him but you didn’t want to be informed on every thought/memory he had during the time you were away.

He told you what his plans were. It had been a long time since he had been this open.

You spent the rest of the morning cleaning yourself and then the apartment. Bucky helped before you finally encouraged him to get on with his day.

He didn’t return until late.

He walked through the door and you could see his hands were shaking still.

You didn’t say anything. You just hugged him.

The days went by and soon enough you were being called by Sam again.

He had invited you for a little celebration down at the dock. So, you travelled back down to Louisiana and back into Sam’s home town.

The children instantly went for Bucky as you both arrived. You laughed as he chased after them with a cake in his hands.

“Where is everybody?” Bucky asked them.

Sam and Sarah embraced the both of you warmly and an overwhelming sense of love flooded around you.

Pictures were being taken with Sam, the food was amazing, the beer was cold and it was a beautiful evening.

You were stood against one of the wooden pillars, watching Bucky speak with Sarah, a couple kids dangling on his arm. You smiled and took a swig from your bottle.

“Don’t get soppy on me now.” Sam joined you, sipping on his own beer.

“Me? Soppy?” You scoffed, shaking your head.

Sam rolled his eyes as he draped his arm over your shoulders. You leant into his embrace.

“I visited the memorial for Isaiah in the museum.” You confessed.

“Yeah?” Sam cocked his eyebrow at you with a smile.

“It’s a great thing you’ve done for that man.” You praised him. “I’m proud of you, Captain America.”

Sam clutched his heart with his hand dramatically.

“My god!” He proclaimed.

“Shut up.” You nudged him with your hip. You both laughed before making your way down the dock to watch the sunset.

Bucky joined you.

It felt good to be there. It felt like home.

AN: To be continued?? I’ll probably leave this fic here for now but I may continue it on in the future.

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today-only-happens-once · 3 years

Text

out of focus

title: out of focus

word count: 3955

summary:

The actions of a Fire Nation admiral during a meeting causes some problems for Sokka. The words of that admiral causes some problems for Zuko. They try to take care of each other.

“What did the admiral mean,” Sokka blurts out without really thinking about it, “when he talked about insubordination?”

Zuko freezes, the rag half-out of the bowl and his other hand still bracing Sokka’s (not quite holding it… far too gentle to be holding it). “What—uh. I, uh.” Zuko stops. Takes a breath. Tries again. He still doesn’t look up at Sokka. “When I was younger, I spoke out at a meeting.”

Warnings: burns (description of), violence, threats of violence, discussion of canonical child abuse, characters curse but no curse words are written, character is non-permanently injured, yelling/arguing, trauma

A/N: me? writing a zukka AtLA fic and posting it an hour short of midnight? Apparently, it’s more likely that you’d think.

Read on AO3

Zuko has the patience of a saint, Sokka thinks to himself.

It’s an unusual thought, he realizes. A year ago, if you’d told Sokka that he’d come to think of the Banished Prince as ‘patient’, he’d probably have thrown his boomerang at you. A year ago, Zuko was one of the most short-tempered people he knew. A year ago, Zuko was the face of the enemy.

A lot changes in a year.

Sokka barely stifles a frustrated sigh. The attempt does not seem to go unnoticed by Zuko, who glances at him quickly before the corner of his mouth twitches with something like amusement. The meeting had been going on for hours, and Sokka can’t help but feel that very little progress on the treaty had been made. It wasn’t for lack of trying, Sokka knows, but war leaves messy problems in its wake. He knows that both the literal and metaphorical shrapnel left behind by a century of conflict can’t be swept away in a night or a week or a month.

It doesn’t make these meetings any easier to sit through.

“I want immediate release of all prisoners of war,” an Earth Kingdom ambassador demands.

“I second that,” Sokka hears his father--sitting across the table from him--add, a bit more calmly but no less firm. “I have men in those prisons that haven’t seen their family in a decade.”

“Of course,” Zuko replies at the same time a Fire Nation soldier snaps, “absolutely not.”

Zuko levels a hard look at him. “Admiral, people who were arrested as prisoners of war have no need to remain so after the war has ended.” He looks to Hakoda, then to the Earth Kingdom ambassador. “I’ll draft that mandate tonight and will ensure it’s circulation as soon as possible.”

“This is an outrage!” The slam of a fist against the table makes Sokka’s hand fly to the boomerang strapped to his hip instinctively. The admiral is on his feet.

“Admiral,” Zuko says, his voice steely as he rises from his own chair. The Fire Nation soldier cuts him off.

“Where is the justice for the Fire Nation families whose sons and daughters were slaughtered by those criminals?”

“Admiral--”

“I remember a time when you cared about Fire Nation soldiers! And it’s hard to believe you’ve forgotten, seeing as you ought to be reminded every time you look in the mirror--”

“Enough!” Zuko snaps. “You will watch your tongue or you will be escorted out. You approach insubordination.”

“You are a child,” the admiral sneers. “Though one that ought to know a thing or two about insubordination, given your father’s attempts to brand you with a permanent reminder of its consequences--”

“Warriors!”

“Then again, he always was twice the leader you will never be. Long live the Phoenix King!”

Sokka sees the warning signs—the slight shift of weight, the clench of the man’s fists—and leaps to his feet. “Zuko--!”

“Sokka!”

There’s a blinding light and scorching heat. Sokka feels something slam onto his shoulder and he dives instinctively for cover as the familiar roar of a fireball explodes in front of him. The flames are bright and lick around him, and Sokka throws a hand up to protect his face. He blinks the spots from his vision as he yanks his boomerang out of his belt.

Zuko is standing beside him, his stance ready and his hand outstretched, having evidently dispelled the fireball that had been launched at him. Sokka leaps back up to his feet and hurls the boomerang in his hands towards the Admiral, hitting his hand right as he moves to launch another attack and forcing it to go wide. A burst of flames slam against the wall to the left.

The room is in chaos.

Sokka barely hears the shouts of alarm and curses over the roar of dying flames. He sees his father, already on his feet, diving underneath a bolt of red fire. Across the room, the Earth Kingdom ambassador jerks their hand. There’s a rumble in the ground before it rises and anchors around the Admiral’s feet, holding him in place.

Sokka sees the admiral’s gaze meet his own and narrow. The Fire Nation soldier bares his teeth in a snarl, his fist shooting out. Before Sokka can blink, Zuko steps in front of him, dispelling the flames just as the door ricochets open. Two Kyoshi Warriors flood in and in a series of quick strikes, the admiral drops. Awake, but limp.

Sokka thinks idly that he’s grateful that Ty Lee taught them how to block chi.

“Your father should have killed you that day!” the admiral shouts as he’s dragged through the doors. “He showed mercy on your pathetic, worthless—” the door slamming shut cuts him off.

The silence that follows makes Sokka’s ears ring. He can still feel stale adrenaline coursing through him, his heartbeat pounding in his chest. For a moment, nobody moves. Zuko awkwardly clears his throat.

“Apologies for the, uh, disruption. It shouldn’t happen again.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Firelord Zuko,” Hakoda assures him, but there’s something odd in his father’s expression when he looks at Zuko that Sokka doesn’t understand.

Zuko says something in response, but Sokka doesn’t catch it. As the adrenaline bleeds out of him, his muscles relaxing, Sokka realizes that his fists are still clenched. Sokka forces them to relax, and hisses as it sends a jolt of hot pain through his left hand. When he looks down, he realizes that the skin on the top of part of his hand near his knuckles is a blistering, angry red.

Sokka’s hiss doesn’t go unnoticed. Zuko looks at him over his shoulder, his brows drawn together in confusion before his eyes fall to Sokka’s hand. Then, they go wide.

Zuko turns back around suddenly to address the room, his back straighter. “We will adjourn the meeting for the afternoon. We will reconvene tomorrow.”

“Firelord Zuko—” an ambassador from the Northern Water Tribe protests, but Hakoda interrupts him.

“I think we could all use a breather, Kovrik. Coming back tomorrow with a clear head is a good decision.”

“Yes… yes, I suppose that’s fair.”

Sokka is finding it increasingly difficult to follow the conversation. His hand hurts, and it’s taking every last drop of his willpower and pride to grit his teeth and swallow back the whimper that wants to push up his throat. It’s not until Zuko’s face is taking up his entire field of vision that Sokka realizes everyone but the two of them and his father have left the room.

“Let me see,” Zuko says quietly, then curses under his breath when he looks at Sokka’s hand. “Where’s Katara when you need her.”

“Do you have anything that can help?” Hakoda asks from behind Zuko.

“Yes, sir,” Zuko replies, his brows still furrowed in concentration. “Though it’s not quite as immediate as waterbending healers. But it should help with the pain, and prevent infection. Follow me.”

Sokka feels Zuko take his elbow and guide him out the door of the meeting room and down the hall. He’s distantly aware that Zuko is moving quickly—not quite a jog, but only barely shy of it—through a network of corridors. His hand feels like it might still be on fire, and Sokka looks down at it again just to be sure that’s not actually the case. He tells himself that he’s endured injuries more painful than this. The broken leg was worse, he thinks, though it does little to actually help with the burning sensation in his hand.

He’s vaguely aware that Zuko says something quickly to two guards that are flanking a set of doors before he rushes in. Sokka looks up and realizes it’s Zuko’s chambers. He’d only been in here a couple of times before, largely while Zuko was still recovering from Azula’s lightning strike in the weeks following the end of the war.

“Wait here,” Zuko tells him before disappearing through another door on the far side of the room.

“You had good reflexes in there,” Sokka hears his father’s low, soothing voice speak up. He’d had almost forgotten he was there. Hakoda moves the chair that had been beside the bed closer to Sokka in a clear direction to sit down.

“Lots of practice,” Sokka replies as he sits. He hisses a little again as his hand flares and grits out a swear behind clenched teeth.

“Easy,” Hakoda says softly. He places a bracing, comforting hand between Sokka’s shoulder blades. It’s grounding, and he’s grateful.

“Wish Katara was here,” Sokka tells him, echoing Zuko’s comment from earlier.

“I know. Unfortunately, I don’t think she’s coming to Caldera for a while. She’s still in Ba Sing Se with Aang.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Her magic water comes in handy though.” Sokka gives his father a tight smile. “Get it? Hand-y?”

Hakoda snorts just as the door opens again. Zuko has his arms full of a large bowl, his hands fisting a few vials and some bandages. There’s something pinched about Zuko’s expression, and the way he doesn’t meet Sokka’s eyes as he kneels in front of him feels odd. The bowl is full of water, Sokka realizes, as he sets it on the ground and begins to empty the vials into it.

“Can I see your hand?” Zuko asks, and the question—for some reason—catches him off guard.

Sokka blinks. “Yeah. Sure.” He grimaces as he places his hand in Zuko’s, but the excessive gentleness surprises him so much that Sokka almost forgets that his hand hurts.

Zuko was many things, but Sokka can’t remember a time—even after he started to get along with the Fire Prince—that he would have described Zuko as gentle. But his grip on Sokka’s hand is careful. Almost excessively so.

Zuko hums in the back of his throat as he inspects the burns. “I don’t think it’ll have permanent damage,” he says quietly. “But I still need to treat it so it doesn’t get infected. It… might hurt, a little. But then it should feel better.”

“No permanent damage. That’s good,” Sokka says. He swallows, and nods. “Okay.”

For a long moment, the only sounds that fills the room is the quiet splash of water in the bowl as Zuko submerges the cloth rag again and wrings it out. Sokka lets his gaze float around the room.

Zuko has left it mostly bare. There’s a portrait of Iroh and a woman that Sokka remembers being the Fire Lady—Zuko’s mother—hanging on the wall near the headboard of the bed. On the dresser beside it is a drawing that Sokka did of the group of them months ago. He sees a pile of papers on the desk across the room. He thinks one of them has Aang’s signature at the bottom, but it’s too far away for him to know for sure.

Bright, painful heat searing his hand slams his attention back to Zuko in front of him and Sokka yelps, yanking his hand away. Zuko grimaces, retracing his own hand.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding more earnest than Sokka expects. “This part is painful, but it’ll stop hurting in a minute.”

Sokka fights to pull his breathing back under his control. In through his nose, out through his mouth. “Right,” he manages, his voice tight. “Right, sorry.”

“Don’t be. I know it hurts.”

Something about that line—and about the fact that Zuko still hasn’t met his eyes since returning from the other room—drags Sokka’s thoughts back to the conversation in the treaty meeting. There were several things that the admiral had said to Zuko that Sokka didn’t quite understand. He could only remember pieces of things said, but they repeat in Sokka’s head like disjointed pieces of a puzzle that he can’t quite make fit together.

seeing as you ought to be reminded every time you look in the mirror… insubordination… your father’s attempts to brand you… consequences…

Sokka’s gaze falls back to Zuko, dutifully bowed in front of him. There had long been pieces about Zuko that Sokka had found puzzling. Things about him that didn’t quite fit together. Sokka considers himself a person pretty good at figuring out how things worked together, and that extended (with less success) to figuring out how parts of people make up the sum of their whole.

Zuko, though… Zuko had always been something of a mystery. But as the words of the admiral ricochet in his mind, there’s a picture beginning to come together that is still just a little too hazy, a little too out of focus, to fill in the spaces that Sokka felt were missing.

“What did the admiral mean,” Sokka blurts out without really thinking about it, “when he talked about insubordination?”

Sokka’s brow furrows as Zuko presses the rag to the back of his hand again. Sokka realizes that his hand has stopped hurting, but he’s too preoccupied with what Zuko said to pay it much mind. “After the stuff at Ba Sing Se? When you went home?”

“No, I, uh.” Zuko clears his throat. “Before that. Before… yeah. Earlier.”

Your father’s attempts to brand you…

“What happened?” Sokka asks. The way Zuko’s shoulders seem to tense doesn’t escape his attention, and there’s a part of him that wonders if perhaps he shouldn’t have asked. But it also feels like a question that once asked, is too late to take back.

Zuko pats Sokka’s hand dry with another towel and begins to gingerly wrap a bandage around it. He keeps his gold gaze steady on the work. Sokka keeps his gaze steady on Zuko.

“My uncle allowed me to attend a war meeting where they were talking about some battle strategies to use against an Earth Kingdom battalion. There was a general that wanted our newest fleet to serve as a distraction while we mounted an attack from the rear,” Zuko begins. There’s something off about his voice, though. Something detached and careful. He keeps wrapping the bandage. Around and around and around.

Sokka frowns. “That’s not fair,” he says. “Your newest recruits? They’d be slaughtered by an experienced battalion like that.”

Zuko sighs, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Exactly,” he says in a low voice. “And that’s what I told them. I wasn’t thinking. I just… yelled at him.” Sokka opens his mouth to disagree—it sounds like Zuko was thinking, unlike anybody else at that meeting—but Zuko cuts him off as he secures the end of the bandage to Sokka’s palm. “My father didn’t… take it well. I was challenged to an Agni Kai, and I thought I would be facing the general in it, so I accepted.”

Zuko gathers the bowl and empty vials as he stands, crossing the room to set them on the edge of his desk. Sokka stands up slowly as Zuko does so. The pieces that had been out of focus for so long are starting to come together, and Sokka feels his stomach rolling with a leaden weight against what he can sense is coming.

“No…”

“It wasn’t the general,” Zuko continues, his voice so quiet that Sokka is sure he would have missed it if it hadn’t been dead silence around them. “It was my father.”

“You faced your father in an Agni Kai?”

“Not exactly. I…” Zuko stares down into the bowl of water beside him, his gaze distant. “I couldn’t fight my own father. Instead, I begged him for forgiveness. I was met with a fistful of flames.”

Zuko gestures vaguely at his face, and Sokka’s blood turns to ice.

“He…” Sokka’s throat closes, cutting off the rest of that sentence. All this time being chased by Zuko—all this time being friends with him—and he’d always assumed that the scar was the result of a training accident, or a fight with a firebender he lost. Sokka thinks bitterly and viciously that the second assumption wasn’t far off but his own father—

“I was banished after that,” Zuko says, and his voice is hollow and empty and wrong. And he finally, finally, meets Sokka’s gaze. “I was told to bring the Avatar back and all would be forgiven, or to not come back at all. That was before you and your sister woke Aang up from the iceberg.”

Sokka stands very, very still. He glances down and realizes his hands are trembling. He curls the non-bandaged one into a fist to get the shaking to stop. “How old were you?” he asks, and he doesn’t know why—of everything he could say—that’s the question that tumbles past his lips, but he feels like it matters.

“Thirteen.”

“Thir—” Sokka cuts himself off, scrubbing a hand across his mouth and swallowing hard. “Thirteen. Tui and La, when I was thirteen—”

Sokka breaks off again, his throat closing, his gaze falling to his father. When Sokka was thirteen, his father had left to go fight in the war and told Sokka he couldn’t come along. He’d protected Sokka, and though Sokka had found his way into fighting in the war regardless a few years later, he knows his father had only been trying to keep him safe. The idea of his own father striking him—let alone with a fist full of flames to his face—was incomprehensible.

Hakoda doesn’t look back at Sokka. His gaze is trained on Zuko, and there’s something in his eyes that Sokka doesn’t quite understand. But he’s seen it before. It was the same look Hakoda wears when he hears other water tribe soldiers recount war stories. The late-night ones. The ones where their voices betray the weight on their shoulders and tremble with the generations of nightmares on their backs.

Sokka takes a sudden, faltering step forward, and Zuko instinctively tenses. Sokka freezes. “Zuko…”

Zuko shakes his head. He coughs a little, as if trying to clear his throat. “Anyway. That’s—that’s what the admiral was talking about.”

“You…” Sokka tries again, his voice carrying just the barest hints of hysteria. “You were his kid.”

“Yeah, well.” Zuko’s gaze meets Sokka’s again. “He spent most of my life wishing I wasn’t.”

“Zuko,” Hakoda speaks up, his voice a low, soothing rumble to Sokka’s trembling nerves. “I… hope you understand that you didn’t deserve that.”

“I know, sir,” he replies, sounding steadier than Sokka feels. Sokka feels a little like the ground has shifted beneath his feet as he stares at his friend across the room. Zuko continues, frustratingly calm. “It… I didn’t at first. It took me a long time to understand that it was wrong of my father to do that. But I know now.”

“Where is he?” Sokka demands, flushing with a sudden and intense fury.

Zuko blinks, looking taken aback by the vehemence charged through Sokka’s voice like a steel rod. “Where’s who?”

“Ozai.”

“Sokka, what are you gonna do? Fight him? He already lost.”

“Against Aang, not against—did Aang even know?”

Zuko’s brow furrows and he rubs the back of his neck. “Um. I guess I don’t know. I never told him. I… never told any of you.”

“Yeah—and what’s that about, huh?” Sokka demands. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Sokka,” Hakoda warns, but Sokka’s words are already bubbling up throat and spilling past his lips, hot and bitter and angry.

“What, did you think we wouldn’t care? That it wouldn’t matter?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Zuko waves a hand towards the window that overlooks the courtyard. “My father already lost to the Avatar, Sokka. The war is over. The fighting is over. Aang took his bending. And that—I don’t know about you, but that’s the best, most justified end to his legacy I can think of.”

Sokka is still shaking. He can’t explain why. He knows, logically, that Zuko is right. He’s right. But Sokka can still feel his hands shaking, can still feel his heart hammering in his ribs with the urge to run something through with sword, can still feel the way his eyes sting with tears he won’t let fall. Sokka clenches his jaw and rips his gaze away from Zuko out towards the window, where he can see the sun setting on the horizon and painting the palace courtyard in an orange light.

“Wherever he is, I hope he rots,” Sokka says finally, and yet it still doesn’t feel like enough. “He deserves worse.”

Sokka looks back at Zuko, whose gaze is a little wide. He looks… taken aback. Sokka cocks an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you disagree—"

“No,” Zuko replies, shaking his head. “I just… Nothing.” The corner of his mouth tugs upwards in the barest hint of a smile. Sokka doesn’t understand why, just like he doesn’t understand why it uncoils the tight knot of burning anger in his chest.

Sokka takes a deep breath. Wills himself to relax. It helps… a little. There’s a beat, and then Sokka hears his father take a step forward. “Thank you for helping Sokka’s hand, Firelord Zuko.”

Zuko blinks, and Sokka swears his cheeks take a faint pink tint as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh. Uh, of course, sir. And… just Zuko is fine.”

Sokka glances over and sees Hakoda smile, inclining his head. “Understood.” He looks to Sokka. “I should draft a letter to Bato tonight to update him on the treaty. Will you be okay without me?”

Sokka rolls his eyes teasingly. “Yeah, dad. I think I can manage.”

Hakoda squeezes his shoulder, nods to Zuko again, and quietly slips out of the room. The silence afterward seems to stretch, and Sokka feels the lingering tension bleeding out of him as he looks at Zuko, who quietly shuffles through the papers on his desk. Sokka watches him for a beat, his gaze lingering a little on the scarred tissue across his face. Sokka swallows.

There are other questions Sokka thinks he could ask. Like why—after doing that—Zuko was still so bent on returning home to his father. But there’s a part of Sokka that thinks he maybe understands.

Spirits know that he understood what it was like to crave the approval of your father.

“Hey,” he says, and Zuko’s gaze snaps over to him. “I… thank you for telling me. I… know that wasn’t easy, and… it means a lot that you trust me with that.”

“It… it wasn’t a question of trust, you know,” Zuko replies quietly, averting his gaze. “Not telling you, I mean. It was just—”

“I know,” Sokka says, and means it. “But I also know what it’s like to have things you don’t necessarily… want to relive. So it means a lot that you told me.”

The corner of Zuko’s mouth twitches again. He takes a deep, slow breath. “Thank you for listening,” he says.

“I like to think I’m a pretty good listener,” Sokka teases, shrugging.

“You are,” Zuko says, with far more sincerity than Sokka felt was warranted for what he’d meant to be a joke. Sokka blinks at him, and Zuko clears his throat, ducking his head a little. “I was thinking of getting some tea. There’s a place just outside the palace. It’s not as good as Uncle’s, but um. Did you want to come?”

“Yeah,” Sokka replies with a small smile. “I could use a cup of tea.”

#avatar the last airbender #zukka #zukka fanfiction #zuko fanfiction #zuko #sokka #not ts #we interrupt your regularly scheduled broadcast to give you this fic for an unrelated fandom woops

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thefanfictionartist · 3 years

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The Captain’s Paramour

A/N: I worked hard write this and would really appreciate any love you can give this story. I do intend to write at least one more part to this and would love to hear any feedback or requests that you all have! If any of you have a request for a one-shot, please feel free to message me!

Pairing(s): Tooru Oikawa X Y/N; Hajime Iwaizumi X Y/N; Koutarou Bokuto X Y/N; implied Aoba Johsai X Y/N

Summary

Growing up, Y/N knew that Tooru Oikawa was someone who intimidated her, regardless of her crush on him, and she opted to stay away. When they start college together and Y/N joins as team manager, Oikawa charms his way to being her boyfriend. Happy in the start of the relationship, Y/N has yet to wonder if she was right to stay away from Aoba Johsai’s captain from the beginning.

Word Count: 4.4k

Rated M for Mature; intended for 18+ audiences.

Warning: This fan fiction contains a toxic relationship and bullying. If you are not comfortable with manipulation, dub-con, degrative language, and otherwise abusive aspects, please do NOT read this. You have been warned.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ He was someone you told yourself to only admire from afar. Regardless of the fact that you had known him since the two of you could attend school. Even then, you hadn’t spoken much to Tooru Oikawa.

It was intimidating to have him even look in your direction.

He had a god-like presence that always shines too brightly when he smiles. His eyes had a way of singling out his admirers like a lion stalking his prey. On more than one occasion, you told yourself to stop going to volleyball games because you knew that if he ended up approaching you, you’d become a blubbering mess. At least, that’s how you always pictured it.

But rather than avoiding him at all costs, you couldn’t help to watch him at his practices and games. If there was anything that no one could deny, it was that Oikawa had a talent that was nearly impossible to beat.

His talent alone had entranced you, and after years of watching him play in elementary and middle school, you found yourself applying for the manager position on Aoba Johsai’s boys volleyball team.

Purely because now you had an obsession with the game.

And since you’ve been so observant, you knew that you could at least help the boys on the team in a practical manner.

As a first year, you doubted that you would be accepted…

But after a week of waiting, you found yourself sitting in one of the school’s gymnasiums, helping Oikawa set up the net in the middle of the court for practice. You found that he was actually quite disarming in conversation, making it so that you could speak with him easily. Your anxiety about being around him slipped away with a single ‘Hello.’, and you weren’t sure if that unsettled you or not.

When you applied to be Seijoh’s manager, you expected the long hours and dedication you’d have to put in. Actually, you welcomed the distraction it gave you as an extracurricular.

What you didn’t expect was the disdain most girls had for you.

Most girls at Aoba Johsai hated you and the time you got with who they considered to be the hottest guys in school. They’d blatantly ignore you and write cruel messages on your locker and desk. In the few times that any of the boys were present during these incidents, they’d come to your defense. And you couldn’t have been more grateful to have your team back you up.

You would always assure them that the bullying didn’t bother you. It didn’t bother you much when you had friends on the volleyball teams all over the country, including the couple of female managers they had.

It was something you reminded yourself of when the crude comments written on your social media did bother you. Although, the harassment progressed farther online with absurdly edited pictures of you on certain profiles. And the comments multiplied by the day, making it all the more worse.

When the remarks got particularly bad, you would hide yourself in the janitorial closet of the gymnasium, crying in the privacy of the vacant room.

Having the girls at school, and only the girls at school, torment you was something you could deal with.

But having strangers command you to die and tell you that you were worthless hurt you more than you could have ever expected.

You were sniffling softly and nearly at the end of your tears when someone walked into the closet. Looking up at the shadow of whoever had come in, you wipe furiously at your damp cheeks, trying to erase the fact that you were just bawling your eyes out.

“Oh- sorry, I’ll be out in a sec-” Speaking softly to the intruder, you stand up, taking a deep breath to calm yourself down.

“N/N-chan?” Oikawa’s voice surprises you.

“Tooru..”

“Why are you in here?” He takes a moment to observe your features and asks another question, “Have you been crying?”

Anxiously, you tuck a lock of hair behind your ear before fiddling with the ends of it. A sarcastic, curt laugh tumbles from your throat as your red-rimmed eyes find the linoleum floor. “Yeah..” You sniffle before adding, “Pretty lame, right?”

Before you have a chance to look at him again, Oikawa’s arms wrap around you in a binding hug.

The jacket he wears feels cool against your skin and you find yourself leaning your heated cheeks against it, silent tears rolling down your cheeks from the gesture you’d never expect from him.

“No.. No, you’re not lame at all, Y/N.” His mouth rests against the top of your head and you can feel his lips twist into a small smile. “Those people are gonna get what’s coming to them for being so mean to you, I’m sure of it. In the meantime, you should just ignore it, ya?” He leans back to look at you, thumb carefully wiping away one of your stray tears.

“Maybe then they’ll get bored and find someone else to pick on.” He adds with his trademark dazzling smile.

Nodding, you agree with him, leaning back onto his shoulder as he rubbed your back to comfort you. In that moment, your personal relationship with Tooru became much more than it was before.

As far as you knew, Oikawa hadn’t spoken with anyone about what happened that day, but you did notice many things start to change.

For one thing, the atrocious bullying had stopped quite abruptly and you now only had to deal with a few harmless glares during your classes. For another, Oikawa seemed to pay more attention to you. Not that you were complaining.

He had a way of drawing you in and making you even more smitten with him, and he knew it.

It didn’t take long at all for him to claim you as his girlfriend.

And at first, you felt like you were walking on Cloud Nine. There was no way that you could’ve fallen any deeper in love with him. He was so considerate and gentlemanly and kind. He brought you on nice dates when he didn’t have practice and showered you with compliments all the time. And when he touched you, you felt a pleasure you could never imagine before. He made you happy. He did.

Really.

So you promised yourself that doing things like this wasn’t a big deal.

Because Tooru wanted it. And you loved him.

- - - - -

“That’s right, baby girl. All of Iwa-chan’s dick in that pretty little mouth of yours.” Oikawa prompted you from the side of the room, sporting a sizable bulge as he watched the action. “I want you to make him feel really good, hm?”

Following Oikawa’s instructions, you force yourself to choke on more of Iwaizumi’s girth, your eyes watching as his head tilts back to let out a deep groan.

Trying to evoke more of his noises, you wrap your hand around the base of his cock to pump the inches you can’t comfortably fit into your mouth. Behind you, Oikawa tutts, shaking his head. “Naughty girl.. You should know it’s improper to use your hands.”

Your scalp screams as he pulls you back with a fistful of your hair. A pitiful whimper leaves your lips which are covered in a messy amount of saliva.

You fall into Oikawa’s lap weakly, the back of your head on his shoulder as he pries your legs open to display your arousal. As you attempt to close your legs, embarrassed that you’re so turned on in this situation, he hooks his legs between yours, so that his knees rest on the inside of yours.

“Look at this Iwa-chan,” Tooru’s slender fingers slide along the puffed lips of your pussy, causing you to whine and grind your hips.

Before you can receive any lasting relief, Oikawa pulls his fingers away from you, displaying the way your slick sticks and drips down his fingers. “She’s such a cock-hungry slut that she’s already dripping after sucking dick.”

His fingers dip down again, and this time he teasingly enters your twitching hole and pulls a moan from you.

Oikawa starts to curl his fingers against you in a way that you know will have you seeing white. Skillfully he adjusts his wrist to reach deeper into you, brushing continuously against the sweet spongy texture of your walls.

“Tooru- ‘M close!”

And just like that, he pulls his fingers away, making you cry out. “Please, I wanna cum, Toru!” Your eyes brim with tears as you look at him, desperate for the release you nearly had.

“That’s not my name.” His eyes are dark and he gives you a small smirk before saying, “If you wanna cum so bad..” He pushes you unceremoniously off his lap, relishing in the whine you give him. “You better beg Iwa-chan really nice.”

You look up to Oikawa from the ground, wide-eyed and begging. “Sir..”

Giving Hajime a blowjob while Tooru watched was the original agreement and you weren’t sure that you much liked this spontaneous new plan.

“Please, sir..” Your hands reached for his lap, intending to try pleasuring him so he’ll want to finish you himself. “I want you to make me cum, please.” Oikawa’s vice grip stops your hands before they are even close to touching him. The grip is tight enough it brings tears to your eyes, and you’re sure it’ll leave bruises for later on.

“You heard me, pet.” He nearly spits in your face and you flinch at the nickname as tears collect on your lashes. “If you want to cum, you have to have Iwaizumi fuck you.”

He pushes you away with ease, letting you fall back onto your palms.

“So you better beg him hard.” His eyes flash with sadistic intent. “And before you even think about it.. There’s no way I’ll let you finish yourself tonight. I’ll tie you to the headboard if I have to insure it.” The smile he gives you doesn’t match his words.

When you turn to look at Hajime, you can see pity in his eyes. Like he can see just how uncomfortable you are with Oikawa’s behavior.

But both of you knew that Oikawa wouldn’t let you leave until he got what he wanted.

And that he got.

- - - - -

Events like that intense night with Hajime and Tooru became typical for you. And even though you had expressed your disinterest with being shared, you found yourself still wanting to make him happy.

What started out as a normal relationship started to feel like ownership.

You dwelled on how similar you actually became to the posts those girls used to make about you being a slut, and that just seemed to make you feel worse about yourself.

So you would go to Oikawa again and again, seeking that warm comfort he gave you that one day in the janitor’s closet, crying your eyes out about how worthless and whorish you felt. And you’d be comforted by him for just enough time to make you feel okay before he would make you feel like a whore again; crying under him as he pounded you into the mattress.

Then his pretty words would bring you snuggling up to him in bed as he told you how precious and special you were, and how much he loved you.

Even though you knew that you felt terrible and wanted to end things with him, you’d stay because you were in love, and because Tooru told you he needed you.

You told yourself that he at least made you happy sometimes, and that it was normal for him to flat out ignore you after games because he needed to make his fangirls happy. It was understandable to a degree. A guy like him would need popularity to bring him where he wanted to go and you supported him one hundred percent.

It wasn’t like you relied on him completely for happiness.

You had friends for that.

Most of your friends were from the boys volleyball league; people you had met during the many, many volleyball camps you had attended with the Aoba Johsai.

You couldn’t have been more grateful for the frequent training camps in your third year, given the growing uneasiness you had around your own team. The only people on your team you felt comfortable around were the coaches and Iwaizumi, who was always respectful to you.

After a while, you had caught on to the fact that Oikawa was making Iwaizumi feel like he had to do what he says, similarly to the way he makes you feel.

Shortly after, you heard an argument break out between them and though you haven’t explicitly talked to each other about it, you knew that Iwaizumi had gotten fed up and told Oikawa he wasn’t gonna fuck his girlfriend anymore. And that Tooru should stop using me like a sex doll to be thrown around because it’s pretty clear that I don’t like it.

You had always thought of Iwaizumi as a protector and close friend. Someone who was gentle with the people he cares about.

He always made a point of treating you as a gentleman should.

In fact, most of the boys who weren’t on your team treated you kindly and warmly. It was truly no wonder that you enjoyed the training camps so much.

Or nights like this one.

When the second and third years from the prefecture would decide to throw a party. The presence of other school’s teams made you more comfortable with the environment.

Finally you’re able to relax.

“Hey, hey, hey, Y/N!” Bokuto’s voice makes you genuinely smile. You turn to look at him from where you stand on Kuroo’s porch, seeing as he was the one with the idea to throw a party during spring break.

It takes you a second to realize that you haven’t seen Bokuto much in the past few months.

But it’s like having the first breath of fresh air in a long time when you find him smiling just as wide as he had the last time you saw him. It’s enough to keep you floating, just like it always is. “Hi, Bo.” You answer without matching his energy, because you couldn’t scrape up the vitality to do so.

His head tilts to the side and instead of pity, you see confusion in his expression before turning to lean your forearms against the railing like you were before. Your eyes simply watch the sky turn orange and fuschia as the sun sets, your face void of any expression except a small smile that Bokuto placed there.

“Uh oh..” You hear Bokuto approach you but remain looking at the evening sky. “I didn’t do something stupid, did I?”

A glance to Fukurodani’s ace has you softly giggling at the puppy dog eyes he gives you. He’s at your side, bent at the knees so he can be shorter than you, preparing to beg to be forgiven for whatever he thinks that he’s done. “No, of course not, Kotarou.” You shake your head at his words. “You’re nothing but an angel.”

Your smile gets a tiny bit bigger as you pat his head, careful not to ruin the way he styled it.

“Okay, then…” He brings his hand to his chin, straightening himself out to lean his elbow on the porch railing. Owlish eyes observe you carefully, a look of deep concentration etched into Bokuto’s features. It’s as though he thinks if he stares long enough, he’ll be able to read your mind.

You look so much more dull and lifeless now than you had been when he first met you. You had bags beneath your beautiful eyes and your cheeks had sunken in a bit. What made him the most upset was how your eyes didn’t reflect your smile.

“I give up.. Why do you look so sad?” His voice softly coos as he asks the question, head tilting with inquiry.

You shrug and give an unconvincing, “I’m just tired.”

Bokuto is overwhelmingly unprepared for how depressed you sound. His smile falters with unease. It’s normally not so easy to read other people’s emotional states for him. He knew he could be dim-witted at times but this was not one of them. It was clear that whatever had you so down wasn't something you wanted to talk about. Regardless of how much he wanted to know, Bokuto felt it was his job to try to get your mind off whatever was upsetting you.

In a few seconds, his smile is back in full force, wanting nothing more than to find a way to make you happy.

“C’mon.” Bokuto holds out his hand for you to take, excitement flashing in his eyes.

Now it’s your turn to be confused, but rather than asking questions, your hand slips into his and you let him pull you through the house to Kuroo’s backyard. Once you’re there, he lets go of your hand and runs to a playset that probably hadn’t been touched in quite a while.

There are plenty of people lying in the grass and talking around the pool, filling the air with empty chatter combined with the music that flowed outside from the house.

Your eyebrows knit together in a disapproving manner. “Bo..”

The childish excitement he has when he sits on one of the two swings on the playset is admittedly a bit contagious. But, to save yourself embarrassment from accidentally breaking Kuroo’s childhood playhouse, you try arguing as you approach the volleyball player.

“This is meant for kids like 10 and under, you know?”

His eyes glint with competitiveness as he pushes himself back on the swing. “I don’t care, I bet I’ll still swing higher than you.”

Your eyes narrow and you quickly find yourself plopping into the other swing, quickly accepting the challenge. “Oh, you’re on, Mr. Owl.” Pushing off the ground with as much force as you can muster, your mind focuses solely on getting your own swing higher and higher. A grin spreads across your face, brightening your features as you allow yourself to have genuine fun.

The rusted chains of the old swings squeak with sudden use, but luckily don’t show any sign of falling apart.

Seeing as Bokuto’s body is dense with muscle, you find yourself soaring higher than him in no time; laughter seeping out of the both of you in a hysterical manner. “I win!” You shout as you reach the peak of your swing, glancing in the direction of Koutarou. Even though you can only see a blurred version of him, you can tell that he is wearing a look of utmost determination.

“No! I’m not even at my highest yet! Just wait!” He shouts eagerly and you concede.

“Fine, you have one more minute to beat me.”

In that minute, your eyes drift to the sky and appreciate the dazzling stars above. If you focus hard enough you start to recognize a couple constellations. The first thing you see is Orion’s belt, then the whole of Orion.

As you pick out the stars of the Little and Big Dipper, you relax with the free feeling of your hair blowing back and forth with each rock of your legs.

This is what you would imagine flying to feel like, and you get lost in the fantasy of having the power to fly away from the groping hands of your team. Although, you have no idea where you would fly. Maybe you find somewhere like Neverland and be able to live to your own whims and wishes. Or maybe on some desolate tropical island with natives who actually respected you.

You’re so entranced with your thoughts that you don’t realize when you are genuinely airborne until you hear Bokuto’s voice shouting your name with panic.

The impact with the ground comes just as soon as you’ve realized that you’ve tumbled face-first off the swing. “N/N!” Oikawa’s voice beckons you to look for him from where you are on the ground. When your eyes find him jogging towards you from the house, your cheeks burn with guilt at the thoughts you had.

Bokuto’s at your side before Tooru and insistently, yet gently, squishes your cheeks in both of his warm palms to get you to look at him.

Apparently you hadn’t been answering his questions while Oikawa's presence clouded your mind. “Hm?” You raise an eyebrow at Bokuto, telling him that you’re listening.

“Are you hurt?”

You bat away his hands and shake your head while brushing the dust from your knees, which had taken most of the impact. “M’ fine. Just scraped my knees a little.” A reassuring smile settles on your face, although it falls just slightly when Oikawa approaches your side.

You could swear for a moment that Bokuto picked up on the shift in your mood when Oikawa appeared, but ended up just blaming that on wishful thinking.

“I’ll go get some bandages.” The ace leaves you with the setter before you can detest.

Tooru remains silent in an eerie manner, and it takes a lot of courage for you to look him in the eyes. “Can you stand?” He reaches out to you with long slender fingers and when you grab them, a shudder runs down your spine from how cold they feel.

“Yeah.” You answer, and within a moment you’re on your feet, being pulled into the kitchen by your tyrannical boyfriend.

“Sit.” He motions to the island countertop and you obey, swinging your legs as you wait for Koutarou to emerge from the bathroom with the promised bandages. When he arrives, Oikawa swiftly takes the bandaids from him and bends down to apply them to your knees.

Oddly, he seems to completely disregard Bokuto offering to help bandage you. In fact, it honestly seemed as though he were ignoring the ace. He must’ve gotten the same vibe, because within a minute Koutarou left the kitchen with Kuroo.

“There. All better, right?” Tooru smiles as he gives you a kiss on the cheek, holding your hips to help you off of the counter. “Come sit with me for a while, hm?”

His fingers swirl delicately at the skin peeking from between your shirt and shorts; you resist pulling away from the icy chill of his gaze and nod. “Yeah.” You agree and follow him into the living room, which was now clouded with smoke. It was hard to tell the exact source, but it was clear that a few of the people in the room were extremely high.

After a few moments, the smoke was dizzying.

You were never one to indulge in intoxication and you never really saw an opportunity where you would feel comfortable with it. The atmosphere of this room made you queasy, even more so when Oikawa pulled you into his lap on the sofa.

He pulls you close against him, and for a moment you swear you feel like you’re suffocating. Your mouth becomes dry as you pull in an uneasy breath of pungent air.

“ ‘Kawa, I need some water.” Your voice is small against the thumping music inside the house, but Tooru acknowledges your request.

“Oi, Matsu!” The setter calls to his teammate from across the room. “Can you get Y/N some water?” Miraculously, the dark-haired middle blocker hears his team captain and within a short amount of time, you have a glass of water in your hands and chug it thirstily.

Oikawa chuckles from behind you, wrapping his arms around your midsection. “Slow down babe, the water isn’t going anywhere. I promise.” He kisses the junction of your neck a bit more sultrously than you would like in public and you push your shoulder up to signal your apprehension with the gesture.

He chuckles again, his chilling breath caressing your neck and making you tense. Another kiss touches the nape of your neck as Tooru snakes his hands to your inner thighs, fully intending to pull them apart.

“Not now, Tooru.” You keep your voice quiet, not wanting to make a scene around so many people as your hands pull him away from your thighs.

If he heard you, you couldn’t tell but it was clear in your body language that you were not comfortable. Oikawa, either ignoring your words or not getting the message, again latched his lips to your neck, this time nibbling to mark you. “C’mon, don’t you think our friends here deserve a show.” He cooed the words to you while his fingers nimbly began to unbutton your shorts.

“No.” You push his hands away again and this time strain to get up and walk away. His strong arms easily pull you back down against an obvious bulge that grinds against you.

“Tooru, Stop it.” Your voice gets slightly desperate, realizing that he really isn’t letting you go, and that your pleas are falling upon deaf ears. Writhing, you free yourself of his grasp momentarily before his hand is wrapped around your wrist to pull you back.

“Oi- Shittykawa.” Hajime’s voice breaks Oikawa’s concentration and focuses the setter’s glare on his ace. “She said ‘No.’ So fucking stop it.”

With his focus on Iwaizumi, Tooru’s grip loosens and you take the opportunity to leave the vertigo-inducing room to find one that feels more safe.

The house feels much bigger now than it did when you first arrived, and even after leaving the living room, you swear your surroundings are spinning. When you reach the front door, you hear faint chants reminiscent of a fight in the very background of your mind. Whether or not the fight was actually happening, you had no idea.

All you knew was that there seemed to now be two door knobs that led out onto the porch.

You blink and focus extra hard and end up grabbing for both of them. One of your hands ghosts through the imposter knob, while the other successfully twists and opens the door to the fresh air outside.

Hope that the outside air would alleviate your symptoms quickly washed away as the wooden panels of the porch lurched beneath your feet, causing you to fall. Despite the desperate desire you had to get away from this place, you laid your feverish body on the ground.

The only thing you could do against the spinning world was to close your eyes and hope it would go away soon.

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supercorpkid · 3 years

Text

Mind Controlled – The Series.

Part 2 – Pull the trigger.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader, Alex Danvers x Niece!Reader, Lex Luthor x Niece!Reader.

Word count: 2300.

Warning: Injuries, violence, pain, angst.

Previously on the series - part 1

You land on the same room, on the same building, waiting for Lex's voice to come out of the speaker with further instructions. You’re ready to do whatever he asks from you.

“You’re back, my bösewicht.” You hear his voice sometime later. “I presume you have done a good job leaving your mothers wrecked?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Such an obedient little monster. A Super with a Luthor’s brain. Why has no one thought about this before? Oh yes, I have. But they called me a mad man for it, and yet here you are.” And there you are. Standing still, staring at a wall, waiting for more orders. “In that stupid outfit, dear Lord, why would anyone be dressed in those stupid clothes?”

You look down on your super suit. You do look stupid. This stupid skirt, horrible boots, long sleeve shirt so tight if you were human, it would mark your skin. It makes you so sick you want to rip it off of your body.

“Nevertheless, with you playing pet for me, I can do whatever I want even still in jail.” The static comes again, but Lex doesn’t stop talking. “I should’ve known Lena would be greedy and want a smart and powerful kid. But I hadn’t had confirmation, that was until mother came here to visit and told me all about you. So impressed with her little granddaughter.” He lets out a chuckle. “I can’t imagine how infuriated she’ll be once she finds out it was her, who gave me the idea to mind control you.”

You think about Lillian, and how impressed she is with you. You give yourself a cocky smile. She should be impressed, you are impressive.

“Kryptonians might have strong minds, but Luthors? We’re unfortunately just humans. So my bright sister didn’t think that having a powerful kryptonian daughter with a susceptible mind wasn’t a good idea?” He scoffs. "Oh, Lena. You may try, but you will never be smart like me.”

There’s a loud breathing sound.

“That’s enough of chatting. I have better things for you to do, my bösewicht. You’ll break me out of jail when it’s time, but first-” There’s a wicked little pause. “Let’s destroy the Super name.”

Your body is suddenly filled with rage and wrath. You want to destroy everything. You want to drop a bomb in everyone’s head. You want to make them suffer.

“That’s it. Use your rage. Destroy National City, scare them, let them see you in your worst form. Let them fear the Supers, and then, come for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

You fly off the window, looking for a place to start. You want to cause damage, you want them to be scared of you, whoever they may be.

You start off by using your heat vision to draw the ‘House of El’ symbol in the middle of the park, so they know who’s responsible for all that it is coming their way. You watch the grass burning, the form coming along and your heart beats fast, enthusiastic.

You didn’t even start the destruction part yet, and this already feels fulfilling. You know exactly where to go next.

You fly to your training center and you look down. This stupid-ass place gives you no good memories at all. You got beat up, got yelled at, got annoyed every time your powers didn’t work like they were supposed to, got angry at people looking at you thinking you weren’t good enough. You remember their disapproving looks; you remember the tiniest of sighs you’ve heard.

Fuck them all.

Your heat vision hits the ground, and your heart gets heavy, but your powers never stop. You can almost taste the feeling of being a disappointment in your mouth. And it gets you incredibly proud of yourself. You want to disappoint them. Them being proud of you means nothing at all.

You look down on the entire place up in flames. This is the right thing. Destroying this place will send them a message. You are not their little pet anymore. They can’t keep you under a leash, pretending you’re not powerful and fucking special. You’re so fucking special, even Lex wants your powers.

It’s not long until Supergirl flies in front of you. You smirk at her looking down. There’s a powerful feeling cursing through your veins. You know she can see it too. Your hair blowing in the wind, your stupid super suit moving almost in slow motion, your eyes burning of rage with little flames dancing in the dark of your enlarged pupils.

“I believe you owe me an apology.” It’s the first thing you say, after unclenching your jaw. “You called me weak.” You spit, disgusted. “You were mistaken.”

“Deeply.” Kara agrees looking down, and you notice the cars from the DEO stopping, people getting out of them in desperation, trying to put out the fire. That makes you so happy. She looks back at you. “Is this what this whole thing is about? You’re trying to prove to me you’re strong, after all this time?”

“Trying?” You scoff, then your face goes back to a frown. “I don’t need to prove myself. Especially not to someone who uses her powers to stop bank robberies instead of having the world under her firm grip.”

“I know you’re not my daughter.” Kara comes a little bit closer; you don’t move. You’re not scared of her, but she should be scared of you. “Are you bizarro?”

“You’re too far consumed in this battle of ego to see right in front of you.” You tilt your head, letting a creepy smile dangle on your lips. “Don’t you recognize your little one, mommy?”

“If that’s the case, then I have to stop you either way, little one.” Kara does her whole superhero pose and you laugh at her.

“You can’t. You don’t have the stomach.” You look down to the ground and you see Lena there. “I see, you won’t be the one doing it. Clean hands, right? Let the Luthor hurt the Kryptonian. It’s the natural order of things.”

“I’m sorry, my love. It has to be done.” Supergirl flies towards you in one motion. You still try to fly away, but she is a little faster, so she grabs you easily. You push her, punch her, you even pull her hair, but she doesn’t let go.

She lands on the floor with you wrapped in her arms, and Lena comes closer. Kryptonite gun in hand. Soon, you’re surrounded by agents with their own guns. Supergirl lets you go, flying above you, but not leaving, in case you decide to make a run for it.

You look at Lena. Gun in hand. You listen to her heartbeat going crazy and you smile at her.

Let’s play, mom.

“Do it.” You dare. “I want to see you pull that trigger. I want to see you hurt your own daughter with Kryptonite.”

“I don’t want to do this, baby.” Lena assures you, taking a small step towards you. “I promise you, I’ll figure out what’s going on with you. You just have to come with me.”

“You’ve always known, haven’t you?” You lock eyes with watery green eyes behind the gun. “You’ve always known someday the Luthor genes would shine through. Because no matter how good the Super gene is, the Luthor one is worse. So, so bad. Rotten to the core. You’ve always known I wouldn’t be able to resist.”

“I’ve told you before. We are not Luthors. We are Luthor-Danvers, and that means something. Please, stand down. Let me look at you.”

“Tell me to stand down one more time and I’ll throw-” You look at one guy on your left and point at him. “That guy into space.”

“Baby.” It’s Lena’s last try, you can see it in her face. You can see the way her finger presses lightly at the trigger. You also hear how that makes everyone else do the exact same movement.

“I’m not going to run away. But I won’t surrender, either.” You defy her. “If you want me to go with you, then you have to do it. You have to pull the trigger and you have to live with the guilt all your life.”

“I’m sorry it has come to this, baby.” But her face doesn’t hold much sentiment, nor does she lower her weapon. “But you know I have to do this. You can’t go on pulling stunts like this. You can’t keep thinking there are no consequences to your actions.”

“You are not sorry.” You smirk. “Don’t try to play me for a fool, Lena.” It’s the way her name leaves your mouth that makes her flinch. “I know you’re dying to pull that trigger and be the one who tamed a Kryptonian once again. It’s what all Luthors want in the end.”

She pulls the trigger, making you fall on the floor in pain, after a blast of kryptonite hits your chest.

“You should be so satisfied now.” You whimper. Kryptonite filling your body. “You’ve used kryptonite on your wife, and now on your daughter. It’s a full circle, isn’t it?” You spit out your words.

Lena puts you in handcuffs that strip you off of your powers, and strokes your cheeks gently. Eyes full of tears and instant regret.

“I’m bringing you back, my baby. I promise you.” She whispers delicately, like she’s not even talking to you anymore, but maybe to the memory she has of you.

But the two agents that come from behind you don’t pick you up delicately. In fact, they seem very pissed at you, and you’re shoved into the back of a van where Alex is.

“Aunt Alex.” You start with your bitchy tone and Alex breathes deep.

“Listen kiddo, I’m not in the mood.” She shakes her head, upset. “You just caused us millions of dollars in damages, Kara is a wreck, and don’t even get me started on Lena.” Alex raises her eyes from her tablet. “I know you’re not yourself, that’s why I don’t give a fuck about this. You start talking? That gag goes in your mouth in a second. Don’t think you can play me like you did with your moms.”

“I think the story would be really different if Lena hadn’t cuffed me and stripped me off of my powers.” You raise an eyebrow, not breaking eye contact. “You’re scared of me too.”

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?” Alex smiles unbothered. “I’ve dealt with things much worse, and much scarier than you and your babyface.” She grabs the gag and looks at you. “Now shut it, or I’ll make you.”

You decide to shut up. Your quarrel isn’t with Alex and the last thing you want it’s to be shut up. The best course of action is going willingly, and working something up in the DEO, because you know for sure there is where they’re taking you.

It’s Alex who shoves you inside of a cell, when you get there. Locks the glass door, and turns on some red sun lamps. You bite your mouth at the idea of it. They are very scared of you; they keep finding ways to strip you off of your powers.

It takes a few minutes until you hear talking on the other side of the glass. You can’t see them, or hear them well enough, but there’s one voice that stands out. You bitch grin to yourself.

Let’s play, momma.

"Mommy” You use your best and sweetest voice. Kara comes closer to the glass cell, and you stare at her from the other side. You want to destroy this place brick by brick until there’s nothing left, but you know if you’re aggressive about it, they won’t let you out. “Please, let me out. Can you open the door, please?"

"Kid, I'm sorry but we have to understand what's-" Kara starts, but you interrupt her.

"I'm begging you, please, please mommy." You drop on your knees. Tears falling from your eyes, and that act allures a crowd. Lena and Alex soon join Kara on the other side.

"Baby, I'm sorry." Kara gasps, and you watch Lena’s hand squeezing her shoulder reassuring. “You know I want to-”

"You said you would protect me. This isn't protection.” Your tears stop falling, you’re angry again. The act isn’t working. You clench your fist, using all the strength you have, trying to focus so the anger doesn’t consume you. You feel the palms of your hands burning, with nails digging into your flesh. “Please, this isn’t fair. Mom, please, do something.”

"I swear this is for your own good." Lena takes a deep breath, not buying into what you’re saying. Great. You’re done faking either way.

“FUCK YOU! LET ME OUT OF THIS CELL!” You bang on the cell, screaming as loud as you can. You see your blood leaving hand-shaped marks on the glass. Your scream is loud, but the banging is louder.

“Baby, please, you have to calm down.” You hear Kara’s voice trying to sooth you. It gets you angrier.

"FUCK YOU TOO! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT NOW!" They look at the blood splashed onto the glass. Your face is burning red, and Kara flinches at the sight of you. Lena doesn't, so you know your best shot is with your momma. "Kara, I swear if you don't open this cell right now, I will hate you until the day I die."

“That’s enough.” You hear Alex’s voice and the glass turns black. You can’t see them on the outside, and you know they can’t see inside either. You can’t hear their voices, so you suspect they’re not listening to your unrelenting yell anymore.

Fuck. You need a new escape plan.

#supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorp #kara x lena #kara x reader #supercorp daughter #supercorp fanfic #supercorpfamily #lena x reader #reader insert

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kendochick-moor · 2 years

Text

February 2018 - Naruto - MadaSaku (I feel like I shared part of this before...)

AN: This is a modern monster, age-bending, cop AU.

AN: It was originally written for a monster-loving friend’s birthday… but then I was worried that A) they wouldn’t appreciate me saying that publicly about them, and B) this may not be very good. So I decided to hold back. ^^; AN: I used to have a very specific gif (I think from a BBC nature documentary) that showed a squid changing colour (turning dark red) when mating… which inspired this… And now I can’t find it. Dammit.

“You think this is a good idea.”

Obito frowned at Kakashi’s bland, and vaguely disappointed, expression.

“Obviously. It’s going to make Rin crazy with jealousy. And score bonus points for me,” he said with a smug grin.

Kakashi sighed.

“Stop that,” said Obito.

Kakashi shook his head and walked away.

(Later that afternoon)

Closing the door to her squad car, Sakura heard the wrought iron gate close behind her and swallowed her irritation. Before her, the stately, four-storey, Queen Anne-style mansion spread its wings across a graciously manicured lawn. Said lawn was dotted with aesthetically plotted arbours and shade-bearing shrubberies in accordance with some master plan, to complement the spires and turrets and look-outs that topped the peaks of the Queen Anne’s delightfully whimsical roofline.

Everything about you screams that I’m supposed to feel inferior, Sakura thought as she took in the tailored blinds and curtains at the pristine, antique windows. Well, not today.

Setting her shoulders she walked straight up the stone path and knocked on the door with force.

No one screwed with the Konoha PD; certainly not a member of the Konoha PD.

(From inside)

Madara’s ears twitched at the rude noise from his home’s front door.

No one screwed with the Uchiha. Certainly not on their own territory.

Setting down his ink brush and the sea chart he’d been replicating—as Izuna kept repeating to him, he needed a hobby—Madara waited.

A far more polite knock sounded at his personal office door.

“There is a guest to see you, my Lord. An officer Haruno from the Konoha Police Department. It concerns young master Obito… again,” said the young servant in an apologetic tone.

“Show officer Haruno to the white room, Tomo, thank you,” said Madara. “And… please serve the red tea.”

“Of course, sir.”

Well. It could have been worse, decided Madara. It was a single officer. Not a brigade. This should be quick.

… and none too challenging, he thought with an internal smirk as he spied the petite young women perched on his brocade settee. Really, was this a customer service call? He wondered with amusement.

Not one to waste his time, he casually set about his usual ‘de-escalation’ manoeuvers.

“Officer Haruno?” he inquired, reaching his hand out to her.

The rose-haired officer with… fetchingly mesmerizing jade eyes, Madara noted, a touch distracted… grasped his hand in a surprisingly firm shake.

“Good afternoon. I’ve come to speak to you about your nephew, Obito. I understand he is a minor under your care?”

“He is. May I offer you tea?” he asked, hearing Tomo’s calm footsteps pad across the plush carpet.

“No, thank you. Are you aware of Obito’s whereabouts at approximately three-thirty this afternoon?”

“He would have been leaving school and on his way home,” said Madara. Hmm. She wasn’t calming. He sat and leaned forward slightly, the faint humming below his breath directed more specifically at Officer Haruno. “He normally takes the path along the river.”

“Do you have anyone who can corroborate that?”

“I’m sure I can find someone,” Madara assured her. “May I ask what this is about?”

“Please invite Obito down to join us,” said the officer, looking directly into Madara’s eyes, unflinching. “I do not intend to repeat myself.”

“I’m sure he’s resting after a long day of class, and as adults, we can find a more than satisfactory arrangement—”

Officer Haruno’s eyes sharpened. “You will, first of all, retrieve your ward. Second, you will not obfuscate when I address you, Uchiha Madara. Thirdly, you will cease your siren-song while in my presence or I will charge you with obstruction, is that clear?”

Madara smiled, his brows rising gently. “I meant no offense, only to reassure you as many are intimidated by—”

Officer Haruno drew a notebook from her pocket, detaching the pen. “I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes. This does not bode well for you,” she said in clipped tones.

“Tomo, please locate Obito,” said Madara, his eyes never leaving Haruno’s.

“Siren-song,” repeated Sakura.

Madara’s chest rose slightly before falling, and he eased his song to a light thrum.

“Kill it or I call for reinforcements and media,” said Haruno, reaching for her radio.

Madara felt his nostrils flare, then calmed himself and ceased his thrall.

“You start that again and I’m not going to give you another warning,” she said.

Madara refused to nod, but understood clearly that his standard manipulations wouldn’t work this time. Which was very interesting. Who had the Konoha PD hired that could counter his little games?

“You are not affected by the thrall?” he asked, curious.

“I’m annoyed by it, plenty,” Officer Haruno countered. “Now, there’s the matter of fourteen thousand dollars worth of damage that needs to be addressed. As Uchiha Obito’s official guardian of record—” “Fourteen thousand!”

“—you are responsible for it.”

The Uchiha patriarch, god of the seas, lord of the Uchiha clan and the leader of one of the most esteemed, if not the most esteemed and revered clans in Konoha, sat speechless in his own parlour.

“You may, of course, proceed with a trial; that will likely be more costly than paying for the repairs to the damage caused by Obito’s actions, however,” continued Officer Haruno, completely unbothered.

“How dare you—” Madara began, his grip tightening on the arms of his matching brocade chair.

There was a polite knock on the doorframe of the white room.

“Master Obito,” said Tomo, before retreating swiftly.

‘Master Obito’ took one look at his uncle and their guest and swallowed, his overconfident swagger morphing to a more subdued saunter as he crossed the room to stand closer to—but not within arm’s reach of—his uncle’s chair.

“Hey,” Obito said, his coal eyes flitting between the uniformed officer and his uncle.

Madara’s voice was low and terse. “Advise this woman that she has no claim to—”

“Uchiha Obito, I am officer Haruno from the Konoha PD. Could you please confirm your whereabouts between three-thirty and four p.m this afternoon?” interrupted officer Haruno. “I w-was walking home. By the river. As usual.”

“Is there anyone who can confirm this?”

“Hatake Kakashi is his best friend,” said Madara, though with a hint of derision. “He can—”

“Kakashi was busy… I walked home by myself.”

Madara’s chest tightened. Oh Hell. “Obito, this afternoon we have video surveillance, eyewitness accounts, and media-recorded evidence of you committing approximately fourteen thousand dollars’ worth of damage to a pair of Konoha residences on the east bank of the Naka river.”

From his seated position, Madara glanced at Obito’s legs from the corner of his eye. The weight on his shoulders doubled as spied the muddy ankles of his nephew’s jeans.

Mentally Madara swore.

Say nothing, say nothing, say nothing, he prayed, cursing the fact their guest had outlawed him using his thrall.

From her diminutive position on the brocade settee, officer Haruno’s eyes bore into Obito’s.

“Sh-should I get cousin Sasuke?” Obito asked, glancing at his uncle. “Or… Itachi?”

“I request an opportunity to review the evidence brought against my nephew,” said Madara. Perhaps there was a mistake. Though, the fact that Obito was requesting Itachi’s help was more or less an admission of guilt.

“Of course.” Officer Haruno brought a tablet out of her bag and cued up a video file. “Tap the screen when you are ready,” she said winsomely, humouring them.

To Madara’s credit, he maintained a stone face that would have impressed even that prick Senju Tobirama as the video played.

—when Obito looked over his shoulders and tried to climb the fence…

—when Obito got stuck, then broke the fence and fell off…

—when Obito was chased from the yard by a dog…

—when Obito swung a stick at the dog… —when Obito ran away from the dog that got the stick…

—when Obito summoned a wall of water to scare off the dog…

—which then flooded the yard he’d been trying to break into…

—which then caused damage to the yard…

—and then the neighbour’s yard…

—and then the neighbour’s fence…

“There’s more,” said officer Haruno when Madara returned the tablet without a word. He had given up defending his nephew when he saw the legion of fish leaping out of the water to beach themselves on the patio stones at Obito’s request. Only someone from their family could have commanded them that way. He knew it had been a very hot day and doubted the smell would go away without a thorough cleaning.

“There’s no need,” replied Madara.

He glared at Obito, who visibly shrank from the retribution promised in his uncle’s eyes.

“I agree to pay all damages, along with offering the services of the clan free of charge to repair the work.”

Officer Haruno nodded. With that, she replaced the tablet in her bag and stood, holding her hand out to Madara.

He watched her a moment before he stood, too.

“Will there be any repercussions for my idiot nephew?”

“Not as long as the work is completed quickly and well, and those cheques don’t bounce,” Officer Haruno said confidently.

Madara nodded, shaking her hand.

Haruno’s smile was professional and a formality that he wished, unreasonably, would have warmed up to him. It was rare for him to encounter such an unflinching member of their local police department. Especially since he more or less ran it.

She turned to the doorway. “Would you care to accompany me to the station to make an official statement?”

Letting out a low breath through his nose, Madara nodded. “I will follow you in my own vehicle. With Obito.”

“I appreciate your cooperation, Uchiha Madara.”

“Thank you for restricting the access to this damaging evidence, Officer Haruno,” he said. It was a small threat, but maybe, if he phrased it the right way—

“If he does it again, everything goes public in a very ugly way,” she replied bluntly, holding Madara’s gaze.

With that, she walked herself out.

The white room was silent a moment before Obito let out a low breath and a weak laugh.

“Kind of gives you shivers, doesn’t she, eh, Uncle?” Obito said, propping his hands on his hips. “Kakashi said not to mess with her, but I think she likes us, you know? The clan, I mean.”

Something low and terrible clicked in Madara’s mind.

“Could I be part of the clean-up crew that goes to fix things up? I could apologize, and maybe—”

“You did this intentionally to Officer Haruno’s home?” snapped Madara.

Obito paused. “Well, this wasn’t the exact ending I had in mind—”

Madara took a long, deep breath…

(That night, at Tsunade’s office at the precinct)

“I knew he would,” snorted Tsunade in her cup. It was after hours which meant it was finally acceptable for the medical examiner to enjoy a medicinal cup of something somewhat stronger than tea for most but which mostly felt like water to her.

Sakura grinned at her mentor and ‘mother’.

“He didn’t make a single excuse once he saw the video,” said Sakura. “He took ownership and brought the checkbook to the station, brought Obito, apologized, the whole bit.”

Tsunade smiled. “Good,” said Tsunade. “Grandfather was a very good influence on him in that respect.”

“He was pretty embarrassed. I get the feeling everything will be put back to rights before I get home tonight,” she admitted.

Tsunade looked in her glass before setting it down.

“Good,” she repeated.

Sakura looked at her mentor. “Is that why I was sent, instead of some Uchiha?”

“Hmm?”

“Because I would hold them accountable?”

Tsunade shrugged a shoulder. “Or the other officers wanted a sacrificial lamb and didn’t want to risk getting in their patriarch’s bad books.”

Sakura thought it over.

“Mmmmm. He is used to getting his own way,” she said, tapping her cheek.

“Not in everything,” said Tsunade, looking at her cup again. Then she looked over to her desk, where she kept three photos. Her only personal effects in the room.

“Did he say anything else?”

“Not really. He was sincere in his apologies and said his clan would have everything finished by sun-up tomorrow.”

“No helping him,” said Tsunade.

“I’m not.”

“Mmmm-hmmmm. But you want to.”

Sakura looked at her own glass of water. “He was genuinely sorry.”

Tsunade gave her the stink eye.

“He’s also your type—don’t give me that innocent look. We both know you have a soft spot for the Uchiha.”

“It’s not like I’m going to do anything about it,” pouted Sakura. “And he’s old enough to be my…”

Tsunade gave her a knowing look that had Sakura squirming.

Wisely, Sakura shut up.

“Yeah. Stop right there. We know, after certain precedents, that dating older men isn’t exactly a hardship for you to overcome.”

Sakura’s cheeks coloured. “When we realized, we cut everything off—” “Mmm-hmmm,” murmured Tsunade, topping off her gin and tonic.

Sakura pouted for less than a second before they both burst out laughing.

“He thought you were going to turn him into a toad,” giggled Sakura.

“I considered it,” said Tsunade, hiding her grin behind her glass.

“That time you croaked behind him, he almost jumped out of his skin.”

The women laughed together, clinking their glasses.

“‘Sage mode’ enabled,” laughed Sakura.

(The next morning)

As the first hints of sun flitted through the slats of her blinds, Sakura reached out to her phone to cancel the alarm before it sounded.

True to his word, Madara had sent several crews of workers over to repair Obito’s damage from the day before. It was finally winding down.

It just would have been nice if they had put up a sound barrier for the night.

With a jaw-cracking yawn, Sakura considered calling in late for the day, but decided it was better to show up and pretend nothing had happened.

Then her doorbell rang.

With less than her usual cheer, and less than her usual clothing, Sakura opened the door to glare at her uninvited guest.

“The… the renovations are complete if you’d like to…”

Madara’s words faded as Sakura stomped out in her flip-flops, short-shorts and tank top, ignoring the fact she wasn’t wearing a bra in the chill morning air, and went to survey the repairs to her yard.

If Uchiha Madara and his clan were going to be noisy all night to inconvenience her sleep, they could be likewise inconvenienced as she stepped out to inspect their work.

“Looks great,” said Sakura, eyes still half-shut. “Thank you, now go away.”

She turned back to her home and was about to head back to the front yard again when she felt a warm weight settle on her shoulders.

She glanced over her shoulder in confusion.

“You looked cold.”

Sakura frowned.

In Madara’s defense, he did not blatantly look at her chest, and Sakura gave him points for self-control and trying to do the gentlemanly thing by putting his shirt across her to shield her from the morning chill.

However, as he’d spent the evening assisting with rebuilding her backyard and stunk of sweat, and had obviously taken advantage of the situation to remove his shirt and show off his buff physique, she demoted his points to leave him at nil again, because now she had to shower and distract herself from his chiseled abs and aristocratic features and damn those forearms had to be illegal, and who said Uchihas could have guns like those?

Suns out guns out, as Naruto would have quipped.

And the sun was definitely out.

Sakura tore her eyes away from Madara to nod and go back into her home.

He was obviously using his siren-song on her again, she decided. Yes, that had to have been it. Siren-song. Sea gods and their siren-songs and…

His shirt was still warm around her shoulders, skimming her thighs as she climbed the stairs and turned her shower on full blast.

When she exited her shoulder later, far more relaxed and somewhat languid, she appreciated that the Uchiha Repair Crew had vacated her yard and left her without further disturbance… outside the apology card and bouquet of blue, violet, white and magenta lilacs, with instructions on how to plant the stems to grow them into full plants, should she wish.

He had signed the card with only an ‘M’.

Not that she would have had to guess who they were from.

(A week later, at Kakashi’s apartment)

“He drained your pool?”

Obito sighed, his shoulders slumped. “He said no water for six months.”

Kakashi’s brow furrowed. “Is that… safe?”

Obito shrugged. “I’ll live. I’ll just spend more time outside.” He glanced at his phone. “Forecast says rain in four more days!”

Kakashi nodded. Obito glanced at him.

Kakashi ignored him.

“What do you know about her?”

Kakashi ignored Obito’s question, pulling out a book.

“Oy! She was one of your mentors, right? What do you know about her?”

“She isn’t interested in kids,” said Kakashi, not looking up from his book.

“What is she interested in?”

“Older men,” deadpanned Kakashi.

Obito’s face scrunched up.

“Powerful older men,” added Kakashi, turning the page.

Obito’s fists clenched.

“Gods,” clarified Kakashi. Then he looked up at Obito and smiled. “Powerful gods.”

“I’m going to be a—”

“No,” said Kakashi, going back to his book.

Obito grunted in frustration.

… then went back to pouting.

(At her desk in the precinct)

As the LED on her desk phone lit up, Sakura’s brows furrowed in surprise.

“KPD, Haruno speaking,” she answered.

“Has there been any further trouble with my idiot nephew?” asked a deep, familiar voice.

Refusing to smile, Sakura aimed for professionalism. “None that’s crossed my desk.”

“Good. And the repairs to your residence?”

“Looks better than it did before the disturbance,” she said honestly. “You went above and beyond.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Sakura felt a light hum inside her and listened carefully. After a few seconds she admitted she could not detect any signs of siren-song, so whatever she felt was… secondary.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” she asked, curious.

Silence for a heartbeat, then Madara’s low sigh. “No, thank you.”

“Have a good afternoon.” “And you,” he replied.

Yet he did not hang up.

“Lord Uchiha?” she asked.

“Hn?”

“Is everything alright?”

“Of course.”

Sakura bit the inside of her lip lightly. A flush was beginning to warm her cheeks.

“I’m hanging up now,” she said, feeling a trifle awkward.

“Yes.”

It was her turn to falter.

“The flowers,” he said after a moment. “The lilacs?”

“Yes. Were they acceptable?”

Sakura did smile, then. “Yes. They’re lovely. Still blooming. I’ll be planting the cuttings in a few weeks, once their roots grow out a bit. Thank you very much, they’re perfect.”

She heard a faint sigh—relief?—from the phone.

“I’m glad. Thank you,” he said.

“That’s my line,” she said, still smiling.

“Hnn,” he said, and she definitely recognized the Uchiha’s satisfied purr in its tone.

“Good afternoon, Lord Uchiha,” she repeated.

“Madara,” he corrected.

“... Madara,” she acquiesced.

They hung up, reluctantly.

(At the Uchiha main residence)

Izuna watched Madara as he held his brush over his ink, staring at his masterpiece nautical chart.

“You’re going to do something stupid,” deduced Izuna aloud.

“I’m doing no such thing.”

“You haven’t made a mark on that chart in over seventeen minutes. You’re planning something and it’s going to be trouble and stupid.”

“You’ve been reading too many psychology books.” Madara reviewed his chart again. He was still working on it. On his own time. “Go annoy Obito, he needs your help.”

“You’re his legal guardian.”

“I’m everyone’s guardian, by law,” said Madara. “Including yours.”

“Have you figured out why she was able to resist the siren-song?”

That gave Madara pause.

“Must be a new technique taught at the Academy,” said Madara.

“Do you know who her mentor is?”

Madara straightened and turned to look at his brother.

“You’ve been talking,” remarked Madara suspiciously. “To who?”

“I asked around about her clan. Haruno.”

Madara held his tongue. Izuna may be a warmonger, moreso than even himself, but he rarely interfered in Madara’s personal life.

“You’re concerned,” read Madara, scanning Izuna’s face.

“She’s not human,” said Izuna. He folded his arms across his chest.

Madara considered the information. “What is she?”

Izuna looked at a framed photo kept on Madara’s shelf. The photo showed a younger Madara and his once best friend, Senju Hashirama. “She’s affiliated with the Senju.”

Madara’s brow arched. “The clan or the coven?”

“Is there a difference?” sniffed Izuna.

“She protected the clan,” reminded Madara. His intonation made it clear he meant their clan, the Uchiha.

“She and Sasuke were friends. He probably asked for a favour,” said Izuna.

“Then we should thank Sasuke for preserving the clan’s reputation.”

Izuna stared at his brother.

Madara held his gaze.

Then Izuna smirked. “Does she know?”

It took him a moment to catch onto Izuna’s intention, but then Madara clenched his jaw. “That’s no one’s business.”

Izuna’s brow arched and he chuckled, shaking his head once.

“It can be quite startling for someone who isn’t from the clan,” reminded Izuna.

“Out,” said Madara flatly.

(Several weeks later, at the summer festival)

She wore white lilac in her hair.

It was tucked tastefully behind her ear, the stem woven into her waterfall braid as it cascaded down to her shoulders.

Her eyes were bright, her face clear and warm, and somehow she beguiled him from across the pavilion.

“You’re pathetic,” said Izuna.

“Go babysit Obito,” ordered Madara, mildly hopeless with besottment.

With a disappointed sound in his throat, Izuna wandered off to supervisor Obito—who still had at least six weeks left of surviving off rainfall, fog and the occasional ‘tripping episode’ through a child’s sprinkler, which he was kidding himself if he thought the rest hadn’t noticed—and left Madara to deal with his lack of mental fortitude.

“I see it’s still thriving,” he remarked, approaching Sakura with a flutter in his stomach.

“What is?” she asked.

#my writing #my fanfic #madasaku #monsters #witches

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nevertheless-moving · 3 years

Text

Suicidal Misunderstanding XIII

Part I - - - - - - Part II - - - - - - - - - - - - Part XI - - - - - - Part XII

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Cody waited impatiently in the entrance room to the hall of healing, ignoring the surprising number of Jedi who drifted by aimlessly.

As far as he could tell they were coming in just to stare at him, make meaningless small chat with the tight lipped receptionist, glance around, approach as if almost to talk with him, then drift out again without having accomplished anything.

Embarrassingly, it took him several minutes to realize why they were behaving so oddly. In his defense, a) he didn’t have much of a baseline for Jedi behavior in temple.

And b) when numerous vod had approached him today to try and find out ‘why the General had missed last night’s conference,’ and ‘why Cody had been unreachable for large chunks of time, that was seriously unlike him,’ and ‘why had Cody gone to the Jedi Temple and stayed there for hours upon hours yesterday morning,’ and ‘why haven’t you taken your bucket off today,’ and ‘why has no one gotten a comm reply from General Kenobi since Ghost Company went drinking,’ and ‘why isn’t Skywalker answering comms,’ and ‘why do the Jedi seem so riled up today,’ and ‘why are you and Rex so tense,’ and, ‘are you going to the temple now,’ and ‘what the kriff happened to my desk,’ well.

They just asked directly.

He had grown so inured to unfamiliar Jedi silently willing him to answer their own jedi-variations on ‘What the fuck is going on with Obi-Wan’ that he almost didn’t notice when Windu came to stand next to him.

“Here as a visitor?” He asked the Master stiffly. He was almost feeling wound-up enough to fight for his place in line.

“No, I’m waiting to speak with Skywalker,” he replied, temporarily placating the Commander.

An unfamiliar Jedi Cadet with a short braid on the side of their head walked in, attempting to look casual and failing miserably. The small furred padawan stared nervously at Cody and Mace, and actually managed to open their mouth. Windu raised a brow. They immediately snapped their jaw shut, bowed, and scurried out.

Cody watched through the window as they joined a group of even tinier Jedi. After a brief conversation with lots of waving limbs from all parties, the group turned in unison to make eye contact with Cody’s visor. Cody inclined his head slightly. They all ran off, practically tripping over their robes.

“Wasn’t sure if the eyebrow would work,” Mace muttered. “It’s been 50/50 today.”

“I’ve just been hiding whenever I can,” Cody confessed.

Mace winced. “My apologies for the delay in putting out a statement. We’re still trying to work out - an adequate substitute. At least for the upcoming campaign.”

Cody nodded, “I assumed as much."

“I assure you, we’ve taken your thoughts into consideration. You’ll receive a notice of the Council’s final decision before we send out a mass bulletin.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Fortunately, finally, Anakin stomped into the atrium, followed closely behind by the Nautolan soul healer.

“Ah, Knight Skywalker, do you have a moment? I’d like to have a word with you.”

Anakin startled at Mace’s words, but recovered quickly when he noticed the slow moving crowd just outside the door. “Of course, Master Windu,” he said with a bow.

“Commander Cody, would you care to follow me?” Aerdo said with a smile.

Cody and Anakin exchanged grim nods as they passed one another, following the Masters in opposite directions.

- - - - -

“The situation in the expansion region is deteriorating rapidly. We had already intended to send the 212th to moderate the situation after Umbara’s latest declaration. But increasing separatist activity in the sector means that we cannot afford to delay or under-commit. The hyperlanes are being taken, and with them, republic control over crucial supply lines is now threatened. We must deploy the third system army, the day after tomorrow at the very latest. They’re our best equipped force for the situation, not to mention the only uncommitted division large enough to make a meaningful impact. There is no viable alternative.”

Anakin nodded at Mace uncertainly. He had been keeping up with troop movements before everything, and, trying to keep himself sane, had even checked the news in between cutting off the Chancellor and visiting Obi-Wan only to find him unresponsive again. But...why exactly was the Master of the Order telling him this?

“You’re not seriously thinking of sending Obi-Wan? I mean even if he miraculously wakes up tomorrow...”

Master Windu sighed. “No, of course not. Which is why I’ve asked you here.”

“You...can’t be asking me to lead them?” Anakin asked, feeling lightheaded.

“I admit, the council did consider it. You are the one of our most successful Generals. Not to mention the one most familiar with Obi-Wan’s troops. Between the fact that the 501st is also needed on Umbara and every other Jedi’s unwillingness to step in to the position, your name came up multiple times.” Mace pinched the bridge of his nose while Anakin stared uncertainly.

“No, I have not brought you here for a promotion. I want to speak with you about your opinions on candidates for the 212th...as well as to ask if you believe yourself capable of leading the 501st without...losing yourself. I’ve finished reviewing your civilian casualties and consider your observed losses- tolerable, at least.”

Windu looked exhausted at having to say that out-loud and Anakin fidgeted, biting his tongue.

“As long as you are under the supervision of another Master, and if you swear to me on Obi-Wan’s life that you will report yourself if you find yourself slipping- I leave the command of the 501st up to you.”

Anakin felt queasy. How could he help Obi-Wan if he was half a galaxy away, on what sounded like a long, protracted campaign. If he refused to go, that would leave both the 501st and the the 212th without their generals. Or...was this how he could help? Carry one of his burdens for him? He was more than ready to lead! Probably! He had been leading! Part of him longed to charge into battle immediately- wash off his helplessness with blood. Anakin didn’t know how to fix Obi-Wan mind, but he was good at fighting, good at war.

And that thought brought back the ever-lingering cold. How could he trust himself? His...violence... it might have driven Obi-Wan to suicide. He still didn’t know! And if he left he wouldn’t know for months! He promised Obi-Wan not to kill again- how the kark was he supposed to do that while being a General?! Did ordering people to kill count, or was that worse?

“I need to think about the 501st ,” Anakin whispered.

Master Windu nodded. “I appreciate that. You have until dawn tomorrow to decide- in the mean time, let’s discuss the 212th.”

“Who’s the top choice?”

“Master Pong Krell. He’s actually our only choice that wouldn’t require reorganizing other assignments significantly.”

“He’s...a good duelist.” Anakin said, trying to think about what he knew of the Besalisk, “What division does he command?”

Windu grimaced. “That’s actually why he’s the best choice... Of the troops he’s had direct command over since the start of the war, over 85% are dead. He’s never lost a battle but...”

Anakin closed his eyes, “Right.”

Plenty of excellent fighters among the Jedi made terrible generals. He’d have to look over the Besalisk’s military record- it could just be terrible luck. Plo Koon had lost an entire division to the Malevolence, but he still was one of the best.

“When you say he’s the only choice...”

“Most Masters I’ve breached the subject with were extremely reluctant at the thought- I don’t want to force anyone into a position beyond what they’re willing to handle.”

“I guess that makes sense...but it seems...off?” Anakin trying to articulate his uneasiness.

“Our method of ‘promotion’ has a tendency to elevate those who should perhaps not be taking on more responsibilities.” Mace acknowledged grimly.

“Because... good Jedi aren’t really ok with war. And you’re only promoting Generals who are fine with the whole thing?” he said thinking of himself. “Or can’t say no?” he added bitterly, thinking of Obi-Wan.

“It’s not an ideal situation” Mace agreed, lines around his eyes growing.

Anakin scrubbed a hand to his face. He had been doing more thinking about the ‘concept’ of war and violence in the last two days than he had the last two years of actual fighting. There hadn’t been much point before, war was happening regardless of his feelings. Not to mention the fact that there wasn’t time to quibble over these sorts of things in the field. As much as he was desperate not to disappoint Obi-Wan again, he didn’t really enjoying being forced to consider this stuff now. It made him...itchy.

“Have you considered just putting Cody in charge of everything?” Anakin finally asked.

“Of course, but the Senate would never approve...”

- - - - -

“...With those few exceptions, the only major thing left to restock is perishables. But that’s more your department than mine, sir.”

Cody finished his report.

Obi-Wan continued to lay still, looking frail in the large medi-bed. The restraints made the image that much worse.

“Fuck.”

Cody swore and, for the first time since crawling out of bed that morning, yanked off his helmet.

“General. General Kenobi. Obi-Wan can you hear me.” he said hoarsely, leaning over the bed.

The General didn’t move.

“Obi-Wan if you can hear me- try and shift around a little bit. Blink. Do anything. It’s me- Commander Cody. I- please, sir. Just do anything, they said you- you did this on purpose so please confirm you’re in there. I’m- shipping off soon and, I- I just need to know that you’re going to be ok. Please. Anything.”

Cody hovered absolutely motionless, watching for any sign of response. But Obi-Wan continued as he had been, lifeless but for his slow and steady breaths.

Cody collapsed to his knees, vision spotty. Gasping for air, he rested his head on the side of the bed, desperately trying to pull himself together.

After several long moments he pulled of a glove, tentatively reaching for Obi-Wan’s hand. It felt cold.

“General, if this is some sort of- dark force attack twitch your hand, ok? Please. We’re trying to understand- we’re here for you, just clench your hand if you’re under attack and someone will come to help.”

Cody paced his breaths to Obi-Wan’s, pulse slowing down to match the wrist in his grasp.

“Obi-Wan, why are you doing this? I don’t understand.” Cody rasped.

“You- you told me I was one of your best friends. You- I don’t know why you think so highly of me but please you have to know I think the universe of you. We all do, but I really do. You don’t have to fight anymore if you don’t want to, we’ll protect you, you know that. You have to know that. But I can’t- I can’t imagine the rest of the war without knowing you’re alright somewhere.”

Cody pressed Obi-Wan’s hand to his forehead, choking back a sob.

“You said you had a ‘last mission.‘ I don’t know what that means. You’ve talked about after the war- I don’t get why your life has to end with a mission. I'm not sure if I understood anything you said, but I’m right here and I would never hurt you. I don’t know what you saw but I would die first, ok? I want you to know that I would gladly die before hurting you so- so you don’t have to worry about whatever vision you had. Just wake up and tell me what I have to do and I’ll do it.”

Cody sat on the floor, clinging to Obi-Wan’s hand and continuing to breathe.

Eventually, the door clicked open behind him.

“Commander Cody? I’m terribly sorry but it’s been an hour...” Healer Aerdo’s voice came trickling in.

“I understand- is there time for me to say goodbye?” Cody rasped, not looking back.

“Of course.”

The door clicked shut and Cody stood jerkily.

“Goodbye, General Kenobi. Obi-Wan. I’ll take care of the men for you while you’re- resting. Please, I know I say this a lot but take care of yourself, ok?”

Cody pressed Obi-Wan’s hand to his forehead one last time before reverently resting it on the bed. Pulling his helmet on roughly, he turned sharply and marched out the door.

Obi-Wan remained determinedly still.

Next: XIV

#star wars #my au #suicidal misunderstanding au #star wars au no 27 #potentially triggering #suicide discussed #self-harm referenced #starwars #made myself cry a little whoops #fanfiction #codywan #star wars fanfiction #angst #pong krell is his own warning

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