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dreamerdoesthewritething · 1 year

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[Did anyone ask for Part 3, aka the sequel to this and this? No? Too bad, you're getting it, anyway.]

Leon has been staying with you for over a week now. It's nice having your best friend in your life every day again, nicer than you thought it would be. This isn't the first time he's lived with you. After his family was killed, your parents brought him home, where he stayed until he decided he wanted to go back to his house. He was a teen when he made that choice. Your parents had managed to gain ownership of the Kennedy house for that exact reason.

He had moved out of that house a couple of years ago, selling it with the help of your father so he could live somewhere smaller with less horrible memories. Turned out his nightmares were worse in the place where the murders happened than anywhere else. Made sense, but he didn't think about that when he chose to return. He wanted his own place, a kind of teenage dream. What teen didn't want a house free from rules? But it didn't work out in that nightmare colonial. He traded it for a little townhouse and put the rest of the money in savings for future use.

That townhouse was his new home, the only one for him...until now, when he found he couldn't go back.

You had returned to work just yesterday. Coworkers offered their condolences, having heard you suffered a terrible loss which led you to take a leave of absence for a month. Some asked who it was. They had their reasons. Prayers, curiosity, sympathy, etc. You managed to get away with, "I don't wanna talk about it," for now, but you had a feeling it wouldn't work for much longer.

The thing is...Leon asked you to keep him a secret. He doesn't want anyone to know he's around. Even if that means everyone still thinks he's dead, he has to remain hidden. It's quite the paranoid request, but he wouldn't make it for no reason. You made this promise. You intend to keep it, no matter what.

Your parents have stopped by once during this week to check up on you. Leon hid in the guest bedroom. That's where he stayed whenever you weren't home. Hell, sometimes he'd be there even when you were, just in case. Can't be seen, or at least has to try to be seen by as few people as possible.

His behavior was like a fugitive, a man on the run. But he's a cop. He committed zero crimes. It's his job to arrest the criminals, not be a criminal himself. You try to imagine Leon doing anything illegal. The worst you can see him doing is shoplifting a candy bar from a gas station, and even then only because he was holding it and forgot he hadn't paid for it yet.

So what is he hiding from?

Maybe it's the press. Surely everyone would want to know how he managed to escape from Raccoon City as one of a handful of survivors of both the viral outbreak and the nuke. He didn't need that shit. Not now, not ever. It reminds you of when reporters kept trying to bother him after the murders of his family. Your mother and father shielded him from that as best they could, eloquently but firmly telling the journalists to fuck off. Leon was a little boy, not a news story. He always told your parents how thankful he was for how much they took care of him then.

Now it's your turn to do the same.

You're unlocking your front door, coming back from work at the end of the day. You feel something hard press against your back as a hand suddenly covers your mouth to muffle any sound you might make. Struggling is instantly impossible. Someone else finishes opening the door and you're forced inside.

Next thing you know, you're tied up on the floor. There's strangers in your house with guns. You're still reeling from being assaulted in the first place, so the shock and fear of your situation hasn't quite caught up to you yet.

"Where's Leon?" one of the armed men demands.

"Leon? Who--?"

"Don't even think about it," the man growls, getting up in your face. "You know exactly who the fuck Leon is. We wouldn't be wasting our time with the likes of you if we didn't know that."

Your brow furrows. "I was gonna ask who the fuck you are, for your information. I'm not so fucking stupid as to try to play dumb with dickheads who attack me in my own goddamn home."

The man backs off, but not enough for you to feel even a little more comfortable. The fear still hasn't taken hold. You press on. "Now, I don't give two shits who or what you work for, but as an American, I have rights! Rights that have been violated the moment you put your damn hands on me! If you think this won't come back to bite you--"

"Your rights don't matter in this," the man says. The look in his eyes has you shutting up, because it's clear if you keep talking, he will hit you and he will take great pleasure in doing it. "Look, princess, I'll make it real simple for you. We need Leon. You tell us what we wanna know, we get outta your hair, and it'll be like this never happened. You get that? Cuz trust me, I don't wanna be here any more than you want us."

"What are you going to--?"

"None of your damn business."

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to be strong. This man is intimidating, but he's talking about your best friend. He's with other men and they're all armed and they want your best friend. If this guy knows anything about you, he should know you won't put Leon in danger just to save yourself. You'd never.

"Just kill me. I ain't telling you shit," you say.

It doesn't have the impact you want since your voice is shaking and you can feel tears stinging your eyes, but it's the truth. You won't talk. You won't give up Leon to them. They've disrespected you, threatened you. They're hunting Leon for some reason. You don't need to know the reason, you decide. You can die without knowing, as long as it means Leon is safe.

Before the scene can escalate, your hero swoops in for the rescue, bypassing all the other armed men to put himself between you and your immediate threat. You wish he hadn't. Now they'll take him away from you to do...whatever it is they wanted with him. If he just took this opportunity to escape...

"Mr. Kennedy," the man says. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?"

"Yeah, I know," Leon says in a tight voice. "But that's on me, not her. She's got nothing to do with this, alright? Leave her alone."

"You brought her into this. What have you told her?"

"Not a goddamn thing! She's just given me somewhere to stay! That's it! She doesn't know anything!"

It's true. He hasn't told you anything about Raccoon City or the month he was gone after that. He was protecting you by keeping that to himself. Now he's protecting you again. The desperation cuts right through to your heart. Just who are these guys that they've got Leon Scott Kennedy so scared for you?

"Even if I believe you, which is a fucking huge if...I have my orders. We're to take both of you in for questioning." The man shakes his head as the other guys grab Leon and pick you off the ground. "This wouldn't have had to happen if you'd just stayed on base, Kennedy. You have no one to blame but yourself."

You're pushed into an unmarked but clearly military vehicle, still tied up with an armed man on either side of you. Leon is likewise sandwiched in the seat across from yours, facing you. The leader of the squad and another guy take the front and passenger seats. Then you're off to...who knows where?

Leon is seething as he looks at you. It's not because of you, but rather what you've been subjected to by these people. The men are unbothered by his glare. They don't care about his feelings or yours. They'd rather not be here, anyway.

"Why?"

He's speaking through gritted teeth in a dangerous tone you haven't heard before. All the other people in the vehicle look at him.

"Why is she still restrained?" Leon demands. "There's no goddamn reason for it. We're literally fucking trapped in here with you. Untie her. Now."

Despite the odds being very much against him, Leon's unspoken threat is not ignored. The men at your sides undo the bindings around your arms, finally setting you free. Your arms are stiff and sore, but you'll get over it. Well, if you make it out of whatever this is alive you will.

Without warning or care about potential consequences, Leon takes your hands in his. His stare is still so intense.

"Did they hurt you?"

You shake your head. You don't want to talk, not after everything that's just happened, not with these strangers around. Besides, you get the feeling you're going to be doing a lot of talking in the near future, whether you want to or not. His hands give yours a reassuring squeeze and doesn't let go.

"I won't let them do anything to you, I swear."

It's a little late for that, you think. You suppose he simply forgot the word "else" after "anything" since he didn't see how these guys introduced themselves to you. He's also forgetting they have weapons while he doesn't. He's hardly in any position to be making promises to protect you or even himself.

You're both so fucked and the worst part is you have no idea why.

-_-_-_-_

You face hours and hours of questioning from government men, stuck in a tiny humid room with a single bottle of water and no food. They won't even let you out to use the restroom, forcing you to hold your bladder. They want to know anything and everything Leon has told you since he showed up at your doorstep. You tell them over and over. Your story never changes. It's never good enough, though.

What are you supposed to do when they refuse to listen to the truth?

You're tired. You have to piss more than you ever have in your life. You don't even know where these government agents have taken you. Any patience you had before is gone. Your tongue hurts from all the biting you've done to keep from crying. They don't deserve to see your tears. They're not worthy of that victory. You just want to go home. Why won't they let you?

You can't take it anymore. And you just scream. A guttural, screeching sound with no words. All your stress vocalized in one long, distressing noise. Your captors don't know how to react to this, so they just yell at you. Threaten you with physical harm if you don't stop. They're already harming you by keeping you here.

The shrieking is the last straw. Other people come rushing into the room, chewing out your captors for holding you in this shithole for so long. One of them, a woman, ushers you out to the nearest restroom, apologizing for not intervening sooner. She assures you that you'll be free to go and will be compensated for this. Ah, hush money. At least that's what it sounds like.

What about Leon?

She can't say. Or won't say. It's not her place. She isn't allowed. Another secret. You feel sick. You want to go home, but you don't want to go without knowing he's okay.

What she can tell you is they're not going to hurt him. He's a valuable asset to America in a new war and they're not about to do anything that might cost them his loyalty. You're pretty sure they already crossed that line when those men held you captive in your own home, but you keep that to yourself.

After your much-needed potty break, you're escorted into a much nicer room with air conditioning. You're provided with food and drink while they arrange for someone to take you back home. Should you be concerned about possible drugs in this stuff? Eh, fuck it. Hunger and thirst overrule paranoia right now.

When your way home is ready, Leon is there with your escort. Stoic, but his eyes burn with a harsh blue flame. If he could burn this place to the ground, that'd be the ignition. Some of that rage seeps into his expression when he looks at you. The redness around your eyes and your sniffling give it all away. They made you suffer. They made you suffer, because of him.

It's just you, Leon, and the driver. The car they're using is expensive, but it's also a boring black government-typical vehicle. You and Leon climb in the backseat. You haven't said a word to each other since your reunion. Frankly, you're done talking for the day if you can help it. You don't feel safe to do so, anyway. This car is probably wired to record anything and everything you do.

You're so, so tired. You can't keep your head up or your eyes open anymore. You fall over until your head meets Leon's shoulder, using it as a pillow. He lets you. You deserve this rest. You deserve so much. You deserve so much more than to have a friend like him, a friend who shows up when you're grieving his alleged death and pulls you into such a mess.

He doesn't bother waking you when the car pulls up to the house. Instead, he picks you up and carries you inside, laying your sleeping form on top of your bed. He takes off your shoes, then tucks you in more properly. It can't be comfortable sleeping in your work clothes, but he's not about to strip you or change your clothes while you're unconscious. Not without consent. You've been violated enough today...More than enough...Way, way more than enough.

Now that you're back where you belong, the weight of today starts taking its toll on Leon. He can't rest yet, however. He knows your home has been messed with and he'll be damned if he lets them keep their bugs and wiretaps and shit just because he's here. They know that. He told them as much when they confronted him for running away from the training camp. They've already forced his hand. They already used Sherry's safety against him. They're not getting to use his best friend, too.

Minding your peace, he scours every itch and crevice of your house for their devices, tearing the electronics out and stomping them under the heels of his boots. He checks everywhere twice, then a third time, just to be sure. It all ends up in a trashcan, which he tosses outside until he can dispose of this shit more permanently. It's the least he can do.

He returns to your room, taking a seat on the corner of the bed and looking at you. You're restless in your slumber. It's to be expected, he supposes. He lets out the heaviest sigh, closing his eyes. You shouldn't have had to go through any of the things those assholes put your through. He shouldn't have put you in this position. What kind of friend is he?

And when he thinks about that month...

He was beginning the training the government "asked" him to join, a task force for fighting B.O.W.s and other miscellaneous issues. Any connections to the rest of the world were prohibited. They wanted him to themselves, believing he had no one. He let them believe that, just like they let everyone who ever cared about him believe he perished with Raccoon City.

They let you believe he died.

A month of mourning.

For him, too.

He had to come to grips with the incident on his own. So many people met once and lost shortly thereafter. People he never got the chance to meet until after they were no longer human. The mysterious woman in red whose fate he wasn't sure of. Zombies. Monsters. Death. So much death. More than he ever thought he'd see in his lifetime.

You didn't have to see any of it. You didn't need to. You always had an active imagination. What horrible images had you tormented yourself with when you thought he was dead? How much did you cry for him? How many nights did you lose sleep? Just how did you grieve for him, the little boy you comforted during the worst times of his life turned into a man you thought became nothing but ash?

Just thinking about it churned his stomach. Neither of you asked for this. Neither of you wanted any of this. Neither of you deserved what you've been through since he decided to join the RPD.

Your eyelids flutter, then open halfway. He can't stop himself from gently cupping your face.

"Leon," you murmur.

"Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No...You haven't slept."

A small smile. "That obvious?"

"Yeah...Look shittier than usual."

"Oh, you're one to talk."

You grab his arm and pull him down with you, his chest against yours. Your arms wrap around him. As if you're actually strong enough to keep him there if he didn't want to be. Your grip is rather lazy since you're only half-awake.

"Go to sleep."

"Is that an order, ma'am?"

"Mhm."

He shifts his position to get more comfortable. You're unconscious again already. He doubts he'll actually fall out as easily as you are right now, but he'll stay here regardless. Can't risk waking you up, after all. It'll be day soon and you certainly don't need to know that.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

#dreamer writes #resident evil #leon kennedy #leon s. kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader

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princessofdorkness · 1 year

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This had vamp!eddie written all over it. Might do a part two if you peeps like it! Also it’s kinda proof read but if I missed anything let me know!

Warnings: slight suicidal ideations, angst, vampire!eddie, kas!eddie, mentions of blood but not a lot, (again, if I missed anything pls let me know!)

((Reposting this so it gets in the tags!))

It had been a month since the “earthquake” and you were forced to drag yourself to school for the first time since he left you. The school only allowed one month to “grieve” and then any other absences would be put on your record. One month. What a joke. They think one month would be enough and maybe it would’ve been if you hadn’t known the sad truth. The fact that Eddie sacrificed himself for a town that didn’t deserve him. And worst of all the fact that the love of your life was taken away before you two could graduate and get out of this shitty town.

But you couldn’t think about that right now. You had to go to first period and the last thing you wanted was for the stuck up assholes to see you break. No, that was for late at night when you couldn’t sleep, plagued by nightmares of that night. Usually you’re pretty good at hiding it during the day but by the time lunch rolled around you couldn’t help but miss the lunchtime rants he’d climb up on the table for and the way his head would tilt back as he laughed at something one of the party members had said. And before you can catch yourself you realize that your already crying and you feel your stomach turn so to avoid emptying your stomach in front of the whole cafeteria you raced outside.

Luckily, the fresh air quells your nausea and your feet take you to the one place they always did when you weren’t in the cafeteria for lunch. You approach the familiar picnic table, covered in leaves and sticks from not being used. You brush off the bench and sit down, sighing as you reminisce the times you had with him. Just as the tears began to flow again, a rustling sounded from somewhere in the woods. Your head whipped around as you grew quiet. Now, you usually wouldn’t be this paranoid. Before you’d blame it on an animal and go about your day but with the events of last month, you’d been on high alert.

Staring out into the woods you focus your hearing and keep your eyes peeled in case something’s out there. Right before you look away a tall shadowy figure runs behind some trees. Your breathing picks up as you stumble trying to get off the picnic table. On the way down you realize you scraped the outside of your leg on the wood. Before you have the chance to push yourself up and run you feel a hand close around your ankle. There’s a brief moment, before you look up at whatever’s got a hold of you, where you think about him. About seeing him again after whatever’s got you was done with you and you were finally at peace.

Only after seconds pass did you realize that nothing was happening. All you could hear was the ragged breathing of what sounded like a man. Slowly you opened your eyes to find the one thing in this world you had been missing. His eyes were the first thing you noticed. Bloodshot and pupils as crimson as the blood you feel trickling down your leg. It was Eddie alright, being so close and feeling his arm around your ankle letting you know that this was definitely not a dream. You don’t even have it in you to scream or struggle. You’re just happy to have him back in any way which you know is selfish but you could never help it when it came to him.

You feel his hand close tighter around your ankle, breaking yourself out of your trance as it borders on painful. You start to piece together the details of the man (creature?) in front of you. His eyes, almost glowing, mixed with the death grip he had on your leg, now beginning to take in the rest of him. You realize now that he seems to be having an internal battle with himself, one that almost looks painful, a sadness in his eyes to match your own. He stares down at your leg, confusion and sadness swirling around in the air mixed with something else…something deeper. It bubbles between the two of you, almost like it never stopped. You don’t dare break the silence, too paralyzed by the shock of just being near him again.

After what seems like an eternity you muster up the courage to speak,

“E-Eddie…?” You whisper quietly, sitting up a little to reach your hand down to where his is on your ankle. Before your able to reach out for him you see his head snap up from where he was staring down at your leg. Then as fast as he was here he shot up like the mere mention of his name pained him. You know he’s probably ten times stronger then you but watching him walk away again sounds like the worst hell you could ever imagine so you quickly reach out for his arm, a quick and desperate “No.” leaving your lips.

He turns to you a slight look of shock on his face, like he can’t believe anyone would touch him after what he’s become. This makes the tears you didn’t know we’re falling increase tenfold. You slightly pull him closer by his hand and he surprisingly lets you.

You let out a raged breath through your tears, "Either kill me or kiss me. Don't just let me go." You beg into the air, wondering if the words will get through to him.

They seem to as his brow creases in the middle, like he’s constraining really hard. Like he’s trying to dig deep to figure out why he didn’t just tear you to shreds. Why deep down he feels as though you’re supposed to be important to him, or at least the person he was before…everything.

He stares at your tear stained cheeks like you’re a puzzle to be solved. Even in his old life he can’t remember anyone ever crying for him. It’s strange remembering himself before everything. It’s like flashes that come in and out before the creature he’s become takes over again. He can feel it simmering below the surface but he’s too focused on not going completely berserk on you to really explore that.

You’re scared that at any second he could decide to bolt again so before you can think of the possible repercussions your lunging at him, your hands planted firmly on the solid ground as you push yourself up the few inches so your lips meet. His hand shoots out to hold the meat of your thigh like he was looking for something to anchor himself to this moment. Afraid that if he let go he’d do something terrible that he’d regret.

But then something unexpected happens as the kiss deepens. Those flashes he’s seen become more vivid than ever. Like a movie reel of his life’s most important moments. He grabs your face gently, wanting to chase these memories he thought would only ever be just fragments.

Strangely enough everything that flashes before his eyes includes you in them. He sees you sitting on a couch next to him with a group of people he can’t quite place just yet. You’re all watching a movie and he leans over to whisper something in your ear that he can’t quite remember but the quiet giggle you let out makes his chest warm and fuzzy.

The next memory is you two sitting in the back of a vaguely familiar van at dusk by a lake. You have your head on his shoulder, gazing up at the stars. He passes you the blunt you’ve both been sharing, “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” He turns to you as you look up at the stars.

“Sure is…” he agrees though you’re not sure if you both were talking about stars. The next memory seems more tense. They’re in a trailer all decked out in army gear. Even in a memory he can feel the tension in the room. While it’s just the two of them he can hear other voices just outside the room.

“If anything happens…” he hears himself say, “bail, you hear me?” He grabs your face just like he is now. “If I loose you…” he whispers, feeling tears run down his cheek, looking down at the floor in embarrassment.

“Hey,” you say, gently. He feels your hand lift his chin forcing him to look at you. When he does he’s taken aback by just how much love seems to be behind your eyes. He never thought someone like him would ever experience a love like this and the idea that it could all be ripped away scared the shit out of him.

“I love you…” he hears you say, like you’re in his brain or reading his mind. “Whatever happens…that will never change, ok?” Her voice quivers, and she’s nodding like she’s trying to convince herself just as much as him.

“I love you so much.” He says with more conviction then he thinks he’s ever had about anything. If this was the last time he got to hold you he needed you to know just how much you meant to him.

“Come back to me…” He hears her whisper but after a moment he’s not sure if it was the memory or not. Before he has too much time to explore the question he’s back in the woods, his lips a mere centimeter away from yours.

He takes in a raged breath as he opens his eyes. You gasp lightly, looking into his more muted eyes, still red, but not as vivid or bloodshot. Almost like muscle memory his thumb begins moving back and forth where it still lays on your leg. He searches your eyes, almost like he’s trying to decide if this is real or not. And then, through the sounds of the forest around them he says the one thing she never thought she’d hear him say again,

“…y/n?”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x plus size reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fan fic

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monstress · 11 months

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succession finale thoughts

rewatching already because i need to write this down while i'm still on that finale high

the immediate problem of the episode is stewy making drama. i love himmm

why would "golden parachute" frank even be in the consideration to vote 'no' for the deal??? we're grasping at straws here oh i feel for tellis despite his soulless blond self

NICKY BEE FIRE IT UP ONE LAST TIME ... god im gonna miss this theme song 🥺

when shiv said that tom is easy to manipulate while mattson is looking at the political cartoon of them. what a blunder

shiv calling her mom an associate in front of mattson slkflskgls

"are there any positives about the nightmare we've shared?" "yeah you've fallen in love finally. fallen in love with our scheduling opportunities." goddddd im so obsessed...yessss they're so awfulllllll like so true jesse make this show also a story of their marriage noah baumbach whomst????

sorry to be so kenstewpilled but the white button down, sleeves rolled up and this line???? delectable. i must speak my truth here like how could stewy not vote 'no'?

new jess.....good for you Jess you escaped this sinking ship

i gasped seeing kendall's sunglasses this episode. that has to be japanese made. nowhere else in the world make such stylish sunglasses. gorgeous pair

greg makes 200k? per month OR year????? answer me. answer meeeeee

love the Lawrence name drop! like we miss u king

the entire lukas and tom dinner scene is sooooo

tom confessing all he he built was sand and he's paranoid to keep what he has. mattson knowing he's hungry but wants to know if he's willing to betray shiv

THEN lukas immediately belittling shiv : she was pushy, she wasn't as vital as i thought she'd be, i'm SUCH a big man i know everything, she's fuckable and she wants me too

and TOM eats it????? so mattson chooses him !!!!

ugh i dont want shiv she has a lot of ideas and i want to fuck her ugh fucking disgusting ubermensch i hope jeryd doesn't win ohio and waystar royco gojogo get FCC up in their ass

alexander skarsgard's line read and acting choices r amazing tho

me to my sister: why haven't any of them used a live translator to check what the swedes are talking about? (greg in the final episode uses one) OK FINALLYYYY

shiv screaming from another room is hilarious

logan promised kendall ceo when he was seven.......the crown prince.....if dad didn't need me i don't know what i would be for.....

shiv and roman bonding at the beach after election night. when they're doing impressions of kendall and knowing sarah and kieran are each other's fave scene partners....this scene was the one that hit me that i'm watching the FINALE finale

meal fit for a king scene....when i watched this scene i was all smiles but underneath the DREADDD knowing they might be showing this because it may be the final time the scenes are happy together. oh honey. we got a big storm coming.

not shiv saying all that to willa and connor not getting slovenia in the end....the terror

the iphone video dinner scene? cheesy as fuckkkkk im sorry that was sentimental as shit and maybe a tad unnecessary. i did cry tho i did...

"IT'S FUCKING TOM." the fight in the bathroom??? mattson rallying his crew???? the convoy to hq??? with THE MUSICCCCC???? FUCKKKK UGH HOT UGH!!!! GO OFF NICHOLAS!!!!

loveeee roman's all black outfit. so chic! (he's still mourning 🙃)

and we cheered. if anything else, us gay stewy truthers won succession

(also noticed that in the above pic - the only picture of the kids on logan's table is shiv. forshadowing? maybe, maybe not but lol)

the final 20 minutes of the finale *screaming into a pillow*

like roman immediately spiralling upon seeing gerri. doubting himself, questioning his autonomy, his worth. and did kendall....break roman's stitches on purpose. to like?? steady him somewhat??? good god. what the fuck.

shiv in this shot like...this is the closest to ultimate power she'll ever have and she's reveling in it. despite herself, she enjoys being kingmaker. that's why she went into politics

it's just. i wanna wrap my head around why shiv didn't vote 'no'. is it because she *has* seen the toxicity of protecting this company infect her brothers during election night? they should take the deal and get out? is it to freeze kendall and roman out of the company as they often had done to her? if i can't be ceo, then no one can? and mattson wants tom to be the ceo and i get to manipulate tom so i win this battle? i can keep my proximity of power by virtue of being a woman that my brothers would never have? is that it? does this make sense?

(but we all know mattson is keeping tom because he's a yes man. he won't have any real power in the waystar royco gojogo so like *sad kazoo noise*)

kendall lying about the manslaughter not being real. the real thing they've bonded over??? just because it may not make him ceo??? jelly-spined move

shiv laughing kendall going 'i'm the eldest boy' and walking away going "fucking child". lmaooo deserved

i wonder if roman saying all that abt sophie & iverson is a way to distract kendall from shiv, maybe even a little spite to get back at him for supposedly lying abt the manslaughter

roman going "we're nothing." yeah...yeah....you are.....

(but they have 195 per share....so)

kendall clicking the elevator to floor zero. cinema.

the one guy entering the elevator with kendall. has he been oblivious abt what just went down? if it were me, i'd wait for the next one

tom being ceo slgjklskglskglsklhgsfglskg

him keeping gerri and karolina this is a win for the glass ceiling shatterers /jk

and tom keeping greg? will he needs someone to bully since mattson&mencken is gonna use him as a punching bag in turn lol

yes the tiger! he destroyed his cage! yes YES the tiger is out!!!!

i truly can't believe that roman came out of this series unscathed (somewhat). like his breakthrough this episode? him realizing his self worth has been hinged on inheriting the company aka his father's love? time to go back to therapy

(also him drinking a martini because that's gerri's favorite drink. what a choice!)

and friends i was rubbing my hands with anticipation when tom approaches the car just hoping hopingggg shiv was in it and when it turns out she was??? i was chanting 'hand in unlovable hand' over and over and when tom offered his hand??? i was fully clapping it AND when shiv TOOK IT?? i was fully screamingggg

in all seriousness, what a bleak ending for shiv. relegating herself as the wife of ceo. just like her mother. the power dynamics of the man she think is beneath her is now her husband and the father of her child and in the company position she coveted all her life. she can never win...she willing stay in the tarpit....shiv my tragic girlfailure i love youuu

when kendall shows up in the park in a tweed coat i was like 'oooo i hope colin is behind him' and when they pan to show he is?????? i was cheering. the micheal corleonification of kendall roy

head under water.....aaaahhhh ambigious kendeath my beloved <3

#logs #succession hbo #succession spoilers #kenhive we won but lost 🫡

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someotherdog · 10 months

Text

character: bill open: f/nb — 24+ only plot: bill is part of the notorious los lobos locos gang; your muse is very much not part of the criminal world, but recently was held hostage by masked men after a bank heist gone wrong. a few weeks later, your muse starts to date a nice man named bill that works in real estate development. unbeknownst to her, her new boyfriend bill was actually one of the men that held her hostage. only dating her to keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn't recognize him or rat on his crew, he might be falling for her for real. ( based on the town ) the only requirement is no jessica henwick fcs, as that’s his sister’s canonical fc, and nothing t*boo. it's up to you if she's completely oblivious or maybe has her suspicions! this post was made using beta editor, please do not reblog it in legacy as i no longer have access to it!

at first there had been a perverse excitement to it. naturally duplicitous, bill often felt duper's delight in his normal life, but there was an extra thrill to his current con. she had no idea that the man that held a gun to her head a month ago was the exact same man that had taken her on three dates so far. it only started because gabriel got paranoid that she'd recognized them and then logan suggested they'd go back and finish the job. so really, in a way, bill was saving her life. of course he found her beautiful when he was holding her at gunpoint, but there was rarely a woman around that bill didn't find beautiful, and by 'saving' her, he was saving himself and the lobos. it wasn't the worst way to spend his nights, so he didn't mind sticking around just to figure out what she knew and who she was going to tell. that night, on their fourth date, he had taken her to a piano bar that was on the other side of the city. taking a sip of his whiskey, he set the glass back on the table and leaned back in the booth, "so how are you feeling? are you still have nightmares about the heist?" bill asked, desperate to ask her if she had seen or suddenly remembered the wolf tattoos that decorated the masked men's necks—the same one that was inked onto bill's, sitting just beneath the collar.

#indie rp #indie crime rp #indie para rp #indie starter #indie roleplay #1x1 rp #open rp #* STARTER / open .#* BILL LIM / narrative .#normally he's not part of a bank heist crew as the gang is more white collar crime. credit card fraud and money laundering that kinda thing #but i was just thinking abt this movie while at work and was like hmmm. i gotta do it. i'll do an au idgaf #queue are my queen rebecca!

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the-obiwan-for-me · 9 months

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So it seems you wanted more specific Bo’ket questions? I have them lol.

I’m curious about how they treat Edi. Given how hard Bo’s pregnancy was and how tiny and fragile she was when she was born, are they overprotective of her? Are they afraid that they might lose the one child they were miraculously able to have after struggling for so long?

Also, how does Eli get along, being a Twi’lek in a family of humans? Does he have any specific needs or requirements that they have to keep an eye on? Does he have any memory of Wela as he grows up?

I imagine that they both have nightmares every once in a while because they’ve seen some shit. How does Tol’ket take care of Bo when she has a particularly bad one? How does Bo take care of Tol’ket when he does?

Finally, what do they do for fun? Like if they dropped the kids off at auntie Satine’s for a while, what would be the first thing they’d want to do?

Yes! Thank you! I needed more specific questions....it was like being hungry with a fridge full of food but you have ADHD!

Edi WAS tiny and fragile early on, and Bo and Tol'ket were very paranoid and very protective. But Edi is also a Kryze girl, which means she very quickly showed everyone that she was going to be a fighter. Within a few months of her birth, she was more or less catching up to Avi, and absolutely unstoppable after that. I'm sure having a big brother, a cousin the same age, and all of the Skywalker herd really helped her want to keep up. By the time she was a year or so, both Tol'ket and Bo relaxed, though there was always going to be a low grade level of protectiveness, above and beyond what you would normally expect of those two.

As for Eli, physically, the biggest hurdle the first few months is dealing with malnutrition and making sure he was otherwise healthy. It's hard raising a toddler in the circumstances Wela had to raise him in, but she did the best with the hand she was dealt. Tol'ket already speaks some Ryl and works to improve it. Bo spends a lot of time while on bed rest using space! Duolingo to help her learn Ryl. She also reads up on Twi'leks and their culture. They want him to know both his birth heritage and his adopted heritage.

He doesn't really remember Wela. Not in concrete ways. It's kinda like how Leia describes her mother in ROTJ...vague impressions. But he does remember the songs she sang to him. And he really holds on to them.

Yes, Bo and Tol'ket both have nightmares. Tol'ket less so, but they're there. Usually when he has them, Bo just holds him and plays with his hair and grounds him (most of his are about losing her or the kids like he lost his siblings and his grandfather).

Bo is complicated. She had different types of nightmares. If they're about losing Tol'ket, or war and battle related, it's usually enough just to be held and soothed, like she does him. But sometimes she has dreams about Pre....in those moments, Tol'ket has learned that holding her is not helpful. He might run a shower or bath for her, make her tea, get her some cookies. And that usually helps wash away the sick, greasy feeling Pre dreams leave on her.

What do they do for fun without the kids? Sleep?? lol A good dinner out, maybe go to the opera or to see a play. Stuff that's hard to do with babies and toddlers.

OMG. How much I love them!

#bo katan kryze #edean tol'ket #bo'ket #she said the word #she said the word au #ask me anything

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oleanderblume · 1 year

Text

Screaming into the void on this one. TW for trauma talk, csa, resurfacing memories n shit.

So I come home to my parents house about once a month for around a week. It's when I'm off work and really have nowhere else to be (until now thank fucking god)

I stayed in their guest room, which was my old room when I was a kid.

So...I've been trying to leave and move to another country, and my brain, being the dissociative asshole that it is, likes to flood trauma memories when I'm in a particular mindset. Typically it's when I'm feeling "safe" as in: I'm not currently being abused or traumatized on a daily basis.

Well recently its been flooding me every time I get closer to leaving, and it floods me with these highly specific memories that all have to do with my dad.

Now like, I've been abused my whole life, in a multitude of ways, including by my dad. My major shit is with sexual abuse, always has been, probably always will be. And most of what I've got came from my neighbor.

This stuff is not.

And like...it's been in contention on more than ine occasion, because of how big the blanks are and where they fit in our personal timeline. But now it feels like someone opened the fucking floodgates because it's all I get ever now. Just him. Just stuff with him.

I'd been dreading coming home because I didn't want to interact with my parents. My mom knows about some of the abuse (though I'm beginning to believe she knows much more than she lets on) and she tends to very fucking deliberately trigger me. Specifically over CSA stuff.

It's been this cycle of remembering things and then pushing them down for a week, then they come back up again, and if I ask about it or mention certain shit from when I was in that specific age range, I get a full dose of gaslighting.

No one in my family ever really like, paid attention to me, so my memories and feelings are pretty isolated, and it's been years so it's only me and the potential perpetrators who could corroborate my story, and those people are my parents. So of course they won't.

Anyways...I'm gonna talk about the memories now.

Essentially they took place when I was 11-14(?) And for the longest time I thought they might have just been a weird dream.

I'm just standing in my door and my dad is standing in front of me, talking about how my mom is mad at him and that he loves me and loves me like he loves her. I think you know where I'm going with this :/

I have other ones too. Mostly at night. He worked night shift so he would come home at 2 or 3 in the morning, and I can't tell if it's a real memory or not but he would come in my room to do stuff.

I don't know what to make of it. I don't want it to be real, that would be pretty fucking psychologically damaging. .

But here's the fucking kicker right?

I'm trans. I was recently home for several weeks because I had gotten top surgery and I had no choice but to stay with my parents for that time. While I'm heavily incapacitated, on lots of pain drugs, and sleeping a vast majority of the day.

I'm not new to nightmares. But I don't usually talk in my sleep, or beg. The only time I remember doing so was with a friend who had startled me awake because he touched me and I said "please don't" (context being my ex bf used to SA me while I was sleeping)

Ever since I stayed there after surgery and every time I stay there now, I get unbelievably paranoid. Like, can't sleep comfortably paranoid, and especially around my parents.

I had several nightmares about being touched and stuff, and like. It's different because I'm an adult, legally and all.

My parents don't really view me or any of my siblings as adults, let alone thinking, breathing people. They view us very similarly to objects that they can surround themselves with to look pretty and control through fear, pain, and extortion. Always sort of been that way.

It's gotten particularly bad since my sister pulled her son from them because my mother physically abused him. So she directs her anger at me because she can't punish my sister. She also directs her anger at me for being trans. Idfk probably some like, ownership issue she has with my body or whatever the fuck.

Point I'm getting at is basically: I'm pretty sure my parents knew, facilitated, and covered up at least a portion, if not all of my csa. And because they are especially mad at me for being not what they want, and also costing them (inadvertently) access to their grandson— that it might not have stopped(?)

They know I have DID. They gaslight the fuck out of me until I stopped talking about it, but they know it's there, they know I forget things and repress shit, and even if I haven't, they know how to gaslight incredibly well. My mom especially.

There are blindspots in my brain that make taking advantage of that stuff especially easy.

So...I came home the other night, stayed for a couple of days with my parents. My dad stayed up with me and my brother until we went to bed. He stayed up a little longer.

But I'd gone to bed. I'd forgotten to lock the door, but I fell asleep pretty quickly. But I kept waking up. I woke up cause I heard my dad walking around the house, talking. But they were that fleeting sort of waking where it's only a few words before you roll over and go back to sleep.

I had a nightmare that he came into the room and did things. I think it was a nightmare, at least. I do t know. It didn't feel like a normal nightmare and I woke myself up asking for my mom like a little kid. And I remember...certain things...that aren't easily replicated in a dream.

I of course asked him the next day if he'd gotten up some time in the night to do something, but he said no.

I don't like talking g about this. Because it's basically speculation and speculation on a thing I so viscerally do not want to be true. I worry that I make stuff up, convince myself of a reality that doesn't exist and then react to that as though it does. Idk.

It's especially hard because the next day my mom triggered the ever loving fuck out of me and then got mad at me for shutting down the conversation because no, I in fact do not like hearing what pedophiles say to children while they hurt them. It's fucking triggering. Especially after the night previous.

She's been making constant remarks on my size or weight, most often saying I look pregnant, asking if I'm pregnant. Which is impossible, because I don't have enough sex with other people for that to even be a concern.

The one that bugged me was her remark after I'd come back home after being legitimately assaulted, she said I looked 3 months pregnant :/ which is literally impossible because I'd have had to had sex while I was fucking UNCONSCIOUS and healing from surgery.

Most of this is just rambling sorry. It's 1 am and I need to sleep but I needed to say something somewhere, sorry.

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Spite in Misery - ao3

(rather silly AU of Delight in Misery, only even more petty and passive aggressive, and also slightly more JC/LWJ)

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“What do you want?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“Sanctuary,” Lan Wangji said, prim and proper as he always was, the perfect untouchable iceberg as always, except maybe for the small child he was holding. “For me and my son.”

“Wait, you fuck?”

Wait, that wasn’t the right question.

“Why do you need sanctuary here?” Jiang Cheng asked, utterly bemused. “There isn’t a single place in the cultivation world you wouldn’t be welcomed –”

Except here.

“– and anyway, your brother, his sworn brothers, and your sect would demolish anyone who even thought about hurting you. Who in the world could you need sanctuary from?”

“My brother,” Lan Wangji said. “His sworn brothers, and my sect.”

Jiang Cheng stared at him.

Lan Wangji stared right back at him.

And then he collapsed.

“No,” Jiang Cheng said to the unconscious or possibly dead body currently lying across the threshold of the Lotus Pier and the small feverish-looking child in barely better state splayed out beside it. “I refuse to take responsibility for this!”

“You will not say anything about the room I have chosen to house you in,” Jiang Cheng said. “You will not complain about the food, the amenities, or make any requests whatsoever. Do you hear me?”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji said.

Jiang Cheng ought to have expected as much.

“And don’t think this means I’m going to like you or anything,” Jiang Cheng added self-righteously.

“I despise you with every drop of blood in my body,” Lan Wangji said.

“…so noted,” Jiang Cheng said.

After a moment, he added, “I don’t care!” and stormed out.

After yet another moment, he came right back into the room where he’d put Lan Wangji – it was just a convenient room, not specifically Wei Wuxian’s room, and if putting Lan Wangji in there meant he could delay having to clean out all the personal possessions left in there and actually repurpose it, that was his business and no one else’s – and said, “Why do you hate me, exactly?”

“Do you care?” Lan Wangji asked. He was examining the small cot Jiang Cheng had set up to put the still-unconscious and therefore nameless child on.

“Obviously,” Jiang Cheng said. “Or I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji said.

Jiang Cheng waited a few moments, moments that grew longer and longer, and finally he realized – “You’re not planning on telling me?”

“I despise you,” Lan Wangji reminded him.

“Oh, you – you…!” Jiang Cheng ground his teeth together. “I’m the one giving you sanctuary, remember?”

“I came to you because you were the only one powerful enough to accomplish the task and spiteful enough to do it. I did not come here to owe you any favors.”

“Well, you’re going to owe me one anyway,” Jiang Cheng said, scowling at him. “You – you – ugh. Forget it!”

He stormed back out.

And then he realized he hadn’t actually brought the medicine that he’d intended to bring to Lan Wangji, so he had to go in and drop it off, but then he was finally able to storm away properly.

“I was under the belief we had agreed it would be best for us to see each other as little as possible,” Lan Wangji said, his voice even icier than usual – which was saying something.

“That’s right,” Jiang Cheng agreed, eying him warily. “I’m only here personally to drop off your medicine because it means fewer people know that you’re here.”

He’d thought that he would need to bring in a doctor for Lan Wangji’s injuries, but it turned out to be whip marks from a discipline whip and Jiang Cheng – well. Jiang Cheng knew everything there was to know about injuries like that.

Sure, he’d had to take A-Yuan to a doctor, he didn’t know shit about pediatric illnesses, but that was fine, it didn’t give the whole game away. Jiang Cheng was able to pass him off as some random sad orphan he’d taken pity on, which wasn’t far from what he suspected to be the truth.

“In that case,” and Lan Wangji’s voice was even colder, which how, “why do you live next door?”

“This was the only room available,” Jiang Cheng lied.

Lan Wangji glared death at him.

“Beggars can’t be choosers. I’m giving you sanctuary, aren’t I?” Jiang Cheng scowled. “Anyway, I told you that you weren’t allowed to complain about the room.”

Lan Wangji did not appear impressed.

“How’d you know I was next door, anyway?”

“You have nightmares.”

…right.

“I’ll invest in better soundproofing, then,” Jiang Cheng said haughtily. He wasn’t ashamed of having nightmares. After the life he’d lived, it was only to be expected.

“I don’t want to be around you at all,” Lan Wangji clarified.

“Too bad.”

“I don’t want you spending time with A-Yuan.”

Oh, so that was the real issue here. Well, in that case, the answer was still – “Too bad.”

“He’s my son.”

“He’s in my house,” Jiang Cheng said. “In my sect, in my lands, in my part of the cultivation world, which is the only reason you came here rather than literally anywhere else, remember? Because I’m a territorial bastard with a paranoid streak that won’t let anyone come look for you in here without hovering over their backs like a shadow, making it impossible for them to actually find you – sound familiar?”

Lan Wangji’s face twitched. “I did not say that.”

“You thought it,” Jiang Cheng said, and Lan Wangji’s silence proved he was right. “Anyway, I don’t care if you don’t like me spending time with A-Yuan. He’s one of the only people who can make Jin Ling laugh.”

“He wants to be his big brother,” Lan Wangji said. He sounded like he had swallowed glass.

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng said, not understanding. “Good for him?”

Brothers didn’t have to be biological, he thought, and that old pain tore through his heart the way it always did when he thought about Wei Wuxian.

“Worthless,” Lan Wangji said, glaring at him, and Jiang Cheng almost agreed with that assessment of himself – thoughts of Wei Wuxian usually had that effect – except of course it was Lan Wangji saying it, so naturally he had to disagree.

It was oddly reaffirming, actually. He might beat himself up as being worthless, useless and pathetic, a broken shell of a man who couldn’t keep a single member of his family alive, who had nothing and lived for nothing and existed purely for the sake of his sect and Jin Ling –

But the second Lan Wangji said that he was worthless, Lan Wangji who was wrong about everything, Jiang Cheng was immediately convinced that he was the best thing that had ever been invented.

Wait, was this how Wei Wuxian used to feel all the time?

No wonder he was always tormenting Lan Wangji.

“I brought you some books on physical rehabilitation,” Jiang Cheng announced. “No, don’t thank me - the sooner you’re better, the sooner you can leave.”

“It will not be too soon,” Lan Wangji said.

Personally, Jiang Cheng didn’t think Lan Wangji was going to be leaving for at least another year, maybe a few more years, not with that many strikes of the discipline whip to heal and his disordered qi to straighten out, but it was nice for both of them to see a destination at the end of the road in which they didn’t have to see each other all the time. Either way, he agreed, so he wasn’t going to ruin the rare moment of complete harmony by being persnickety.

“You should knock before entering,” Lan Wangji added, prissy as always.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. He probably should have, yes, but he always had the ‘it’s my house’ thing to fall back on. This was the Lotus Pier where the rules of the Lan sect didn’t apply, and as far as he was concerned, that was reason enough to ignore etiquette. Anyway, Lan Wangji was here alone and healing just the way he’d been doing the past few months, what exactly was he going to be doing that Jiang Cheng might walk in on –

“Oh,” Jiang Cheng said when Lan Wangji attempted, with dignity, to extract his hands from inside his clothing, which was unfortunately not something he could do subtly. “Were you trying to jerk off?”

Lan Wangji looked mutinous.

“…were you failing to jerk off?”

Lan Wangji now looked like he wanted to rip Jiang Cheng limb from limb, even though it ought to have been clear enough that Jiang Cheng would only think to ask the question because he’d had a similar issue for a while there. The time after his family had died had been brutal, and he couldn’t even use getting off as a shortcut to fall asleep because every time he tried he couldn’t keep it up; it’d been awful. He’d been terrified that he’d broken his own dick somehow, which led to worries that he wouldn’t be able to have kids in the future and thereby fail his parents and ancestors in a brand new and yet unexplored way, which led to even more panic and even less sleeping. It hadn’t been until someone (he suspected Nie Mingjue, bizarrely enough) shoved a medical treatise about trauma reactions under his door that he’d realized it was a fairly normal aftereffect and managed to calm down a little.

Nie Mingjue had also given him so much work to do that Jiang Cheng hadn’t had time to even think about that sort of thing until nearly half a year later, at which point everything was working again and he’d completely forgotten it was even an issue until halfway into the afterglow.

Good man, that Nie Mingjue.

“If it’s a symptom, you need to tell me these things,” Jiang Cheng said, taking far too much wretched enjoyment out of the whole thing. He’d give Lan Wangji the trauma book, of course – he still had it – but he had to get his wins in where he could against the perfect iceberg, cheap shots or no. “As your current attending doctor, I’m responsible for your care –”

“It is unwanted but necessary. It is simply something that I must endure,” Lan Wangji said grimly, and Jiang Cheng raised his eyebrows.

The book had covered that, too, although that hadn’t been his problem, personally.

“Oh, I see,” he said. “You keep getting hard, is that it? And then retraumatizing yourself when you try to jerk off, which means you can’t satisfy the need, which means you can’t solve the getting hard all the time problem, which in turn affects your cultivation and so your healing…yeah, I see the issue. You should probably get someone else to do it for you if you get really desperate.”

“I see no one but you,” Lan Wangji said through gritted teeth.

A problem, Jiang Cheng admitted.

Still mostly Lan Wangji’s problem, though.

“Well,” he said with the smarmiest smirk he could manage, “as your attending doctor –”

Lan Wanjgji threw a book at his head.

“What are you planning on doing once you’re better?” Jiang Cheng wondered.

“Why are you talking to me?” Lan Wangji replied.

“Oh come on,” Jiang Cheng said. “How can you say such a thing after taking advantage of me? I let you into my home –”

“You will not be able to rely upon that fact forever.”

“I will be able to rely on that fact for eternity,” Jiang Cheng disagreed. “I let you into my home, I hid you away from the world – which isn’t actually as easy as I make it look, just so you know! Your brother is practically scouring the earth –”

Lan Wangji looked like he’d bitten into something extremely sour.

“I’m sorry, did you think he was not going to do that? And recruit his sworn brothers to help him?” Jiang Cheng asked. “I thought the whole point of this was – well –”

“It was.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I do not enjoy hearing of it.”

“Listen, if you’re going to decide to torture someone by turning your back on them and disappearing without a word, you should at least have the guts to own it.”

“You speak from experience, I take it.”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Did you somehow forget everything that happened back then with Wei Wuxian?”

“…you were the one who turned your back on Wei Ying.”

Jiang Cheng laughed disbelievingly. “Oh, yeah, sure,” he jeered. “Because I was so well-known for my backbone when it came to Wei Wuxian. I definitely was the one to come up with the idea to throw him out of my sect and cut ties, yeah, definitely, that’s completely what happened. I mean, obviously, I always got my way when dealing with him, every time, that’s how it always was between us. He had nothing to do with it.”

Lan Wangji was glaring at him. “Not then,” he said, each word cutting like a sword. “The Nightless City.”

“You mean the time he arrogantly and completely without warning started a fight that got my sister killed and then murdered three thousand people, including some of the very few family members and friends I had left?”

Lan Wangji was silent.

“You do mean that time,” Jiang Cheng said, marveling. “Are you insane? Even if I wanted to, if I took his side then, I’d have had no claim later on to grab him as a prisoner before anyone else did. The Jin would have executed him for sure! And slowly!”

“The Burial Mounds –”

“He imploded in front of my face!” Jiang Cheng shouted. “I had to see – when he – he died! He was – he did – you don’t even know – no, you know what, I’m not talking about this. Not with you of all people; you hated him.”

Lan Wangji’s hands were fists. “I did not.”

“No? You did a good job of acting like you did,” Jiang Cheng sneered. “Always talking about how you wanted to drag him back to Gusu just because it would make you feel better –”

“Better than leaving him.”

“I did what he wanted! And yes, fine, maybe that was my mistake. Maybe I should’ve ignored what he wanted, maybe I should’ve dragged him back to the Lotus Pier and locked him in a little room for the rest of his life the way everyone knows your dad did to your mom – ”

Lan Wangji flinched.

In fairness, Jiang Cheng was exaggerating about everyone knowing. He only knew about it because he’d heard his mother spit it out at his father during one of their nastier fights, and he was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to have known about it, either.

“– but stupid me, I thought he’d be happier being free and alone than stuck with someone he clearly didn’t want to be around him anymore! But what do I know? Maybe I should ask you, you selfish bastard. You’re the one in his position this time, you’re the one who’s doing the turning away – I bet you don’t even know what it’s like to be the one that’s not wanted.”

Lan Wangji stared down at his hands as Jiang Cheng jumped up to his feet, Zidian crackling to life in his hand despite himself, persisting even though he tried to suppress it.

“I’m going to go hunt down some demonic cultivators,” he said, trying in vain to keep his temper even a little bit and knowing it was a lost cause. “And then I’m going to bring them back here and make them scream somewhere you can hear it. You can chew on that with some glass for all I care!”

“You handled that last one well,” Lan Wangji said. It sounded like someone was pulling teeth from his head.

“You’re sick,” Jiang Cheng announced. “I will go get some fever medicine at once. Are you experiencing any other symptoms in addition to hallucinations? Or should I be checking for signs of possession instead?”

Lan Wangji was back to glaring at him.

“I don’t know what drove that sudden spurt of niceness and I don’t care to know,” Jiang Cheng informed him. “I don’t need your approval.”

Lan Wangji ignored him. That was more customary.

Also unfortunate, because Jiang Cheng managed to get less than half a shichen of work done before coming back into Lan Wangji’s room (not Wei Wuxian’s room) and saying, “Okay, what exactly did I do?”

Lan Wangji looked at him sidelong.

“Seriously,” Jiang Cheng said. “What did I do that was so impressive that even you approved of it?”

“The demonic cultivator. The last one.”

Jiang Cheng frowned, thinking about it. “The – stupid one, you mean?”

Lan Wangji stared at him, and then looked at the ceiling, long-suffering. “The one from Yunping.”

“The stupid one,” Jiang Cheng confirmed, and then he was ranting again because he couldn’t seem to stop ranting about it. “I can’t believe the idiot got into demonic cultivation as a way to make money! That’s just – it’s just – if I ever figure out who paid him, I’m going to rearrange their guts with my sword. Lousy rotten opportunistic…!” He coughed, realizing he’d gotten started again when he’d promised Jiang Meimei that he’d stop. It apparently got old after the sixth repetition. “Anyway, what’s so notable about that?”

“You accepted him as an outer disciple of your own sect.”

“Well, yeah. What else was I going to do with him? He’s clearly got some talent for cultivation if he figured out demonic cultivation without dying. It’d be a waste to send him back to be a fisherman or a dockworker or something.”

“You didn’t kill him.”

“I’m not going to kill someone who got into demonic cultivation as a way to raise funds to get medicine for his sick mother,” Jiang Cheng said, rolling his eyes. “The idiot’s on tomb-sweeping duty for the next year to make up for having manipulated corpses the way he did, that’s punishment enough. It’s not at all comparable to the usual sort of amateur demonic cultivator, the ones that summon corpses to torment former lovers or murder business partners or that sort of thing – those are the ones I use as an example to warn everyone else. What’s the big deal?”

Lan Wangji said nothing.

“Fine, keep your secrets. Can you watch Jin Ling today? I have a – uh – important meeting.”

“Another woman that you have no intention of actually marrying?”

“Shut up and mind your own business.”

“No, but seriously,” Jiang Cheng said. “What are you going to do once you’re better?”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Lan Wangji said, his voice muffled on account of his face being firmly in his hands. “Go away.”

“Listen, we’re still neighbors, we still need to talk. There’s no point in being suddenly shy about it just because you’re still in the acceptance phase of grief in connection with the whole me helping you with getting off business –”

“Never speak of it.”

Jiang Cheng sniggered. He wouldn’t have pegged the Lan sect as having uncontrolled libidos, much less Lan Wangji, but apparently the situation had gotten truly dire. Anyway, really, getting mockery rights was totally worth an arm work-out and having to put up with Lan Wangji, the latter of which he had to do anyway.

“You really are taking advantage of me now, though! My poor virtue –”

Lan Wangji looked at him through his fingers. “You don’t have any virtue.”

“Really?” Jiang Cheng asked, suddenly curious. “I strike you as someone with a lot of experience –”

“I meant morally.”

“Oh. Hey!”

Lan Wangji rolled his eyes. “Pathetic.”

“Not as pathetic as someone who won’t answer a straight question,” Jiang Cheng said. “What’s your plan for after you’re healed? Are you going back to the Lan sect? Or start traveling as a rogue cultivator?”

“Why do you care?” Lan Wangji asked.

“I can care!”

“But you don’t. Not about my affairs.”

Jiang Cheng had to admit this was correct. “Fine,” he said. “I need a name.”

Lan Wangji frowned at him.

“For A-Yuan,” Jiang Cheng said. “It’s been a year. The kid’s as healthy as he’s ever going to be, and he’s old enough for me to shove him in with the rest of the younger generation now that we’re starting lessons back up – cultivation, swordsmanship, shooting, etiquette, all the usual. But I can’t register him in the class without a surname, and I need to know if that surname’s going to be Lan or if you plan on changing it to something else.”

Lan Wangji was frowning at him.

“I know, I know, you’re in hiding,” Jiang Cheng said. “It’s fine, it won’t give you away even if you do pick ‘Lan’. I can register him as a Yunmeng Lan instead of a Gusu Lan, the surname’s common enough that no one will suspect anything unless you make him start wearing a forehead ribbon, which I don’t think you lot do at this age yet anyway. But if you’re planning on continuing to hide from your family after you get better, you’re going to need to do something about all of that.”

Lan Wangji looked sour.

“Anyway, long story short, that’s it. Your plans, I need to know them.”

Lan Wangji looked even more sour.

“Well? What is it?”

“We will return to the Lan sect,” Lan Wangji said.

“Not that hard, was it,” Jiang Cheng said. “I knew you were just throwing a temper tantrum.”

Lan Wangji rolled his eyes.

After a moment, he said, “What do we do about Jin Ling?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do we do about Jin Ling’?” Jiang Cheng asked suspiciously. “I had to fight half of Lanling Jin for the right to raise him here, we’re not doing anything about Jin Ling – anyway, who’s ‘we’? He’s my nephew!”

“A-Yuan sees him as a little brother.”

This was true.

“They will not want to part.”

…also true.

“Moreover,” and here Lan Wangji looked especially sour, “I believe A-Yuan has taken you as something of a – second parent.”

“Well, that’s nice,” Jiang Cheng said. “He’s a cute kid. Anyway, don’t take it so personally. Kids just do that, they adopt any adult in the vicinity as their own. I mean, certainly Jin Ling thinks of you as…wait. Wait. Are we co-parenting?!”

“Mm. Took you long enough to notice.”

It had been a bad day, a bad week, and a bad month, and Jiang Cheng’s temper, never good, was on the verge of imploding, so naturally that was when he completely lost all self-control he might have had and marched over to Lan Wangji’s room to blurt out, “Why do you hate me?”

Lan Wangji’s hands stilled over his guqin.

“I know why I hate you, even putting aside the fact that you’re a jackass with the emotional capacity of a brick,” Jiang Cheng said. “But I really have no idea what I did to you to make you hate me.”

There were so many options, after all. He was a cruel, vicious, and bitter man – he was a terrible parent, unlikable as a friend, barely sufficient as a sect leader, and such a failure at connecting socially with anyone that he’d been blacklisted as a marriage prospect despite being handsome, young, rich, and powerful. There were so many reasons to hate him.

But he didn’t know which one was the one that made Lan Wangji look at him with disdain, even if he thought that perhaps there was slightly less of that these days than there had been before.

“I hate you because you abandoned Wei Ying when he needed you,” Lan Wangji said. “He was your brother, and you left him behind – more than that, you led the charge against him, resulting in his death.”

…that was a good reason.

Jiang Cheng wouldn’t mind being hated for that reason, actually. It was a nice change from all those people who congratulated him for having done the right thing: all those smug sect leaders that comforted him for having raised a white-eyed wolf in the family, the ones that said his actions showed that he had a good backbone and a righteous bearing, the ones that had the gall to send him gifts of congratulation on the anniversary of Wei Wuxian’s death to thank him for his contribution to the cultivation world when all he wanted was to be left alone to mourn…

“That’s fine,” he croaked. “Okay. Yes. That’s – fine.”

“Why do you hate me?” Lan Wangji asked in turn. “You said you knew.”

“Oh, that,” Jiang Cheng said. “Same reason.”

Lan Wangji stared.

Jiang Cheng shrugged. “I mean, I know you were always harsh on him when we were together at your uncle’s lectures, which was completely fair given how much he was always bothering you. But he really did try sincerely to help you when we were all the Wen sect’s camp, and in the cave with the Xuanwu – but after, in the war, when he showed up with his demonic cultivation, you suddenly turned on him even though he was just doing it to help. You kept telling him he had to stop, even though you knew he was doing so much for the war effort, and you wanted to take him back to Gusu to do who-knows-what to him…you even snatched him away during the battle of the Nightless City! I saw you. I was so afraid you were going to kill him, I completely lost my head. I looked for you everywhere – I really don’t know how he was lucky enough to get away from you that time.”

Lan Wangji stared at him.

“And then you didn’t even bother to show up to the siege of the Burial Mounds in person,” Jiang Cheng added, feeling bitter. “After I heard from the Lan sect that he escaped from you, I briefly thought that you’d changed your mind and let him go. I was counting on you to be at the Burial Mounds to support me in claiming him as a Jiang sect prisoner – I had Chifeng-zun signed on, if reluctantly, and with you leading the Lan I could’ve made a decent argument. But then you didn’t show, either you or your brother; instead you sent your uncle, and of course there wasn’t even any point in asking him, was there?”

“…I didn’t know,” Lan Wangji said. His voice sounded strangely hoarse. “I wasn’t informed. It was shortly after…”

He nodded at his own shoulder, meaning the disaster on his back. Jiang Cheng hadn’t asked how it happened – he really wanted to know, as in really, really, really wanted to know, but even he was aware that actually asking would be unbearably rude. Still, he was surprised by the timing of it. How had Lan Wangji managed to end up in the hands of his enemies then? Who had even been left to do it to him?

“Yeah, well,” Jiang Cheng said, shaking his head to try to kick away his curiosity the way he would something clinging to his foot. “You were still a bastard to him when he needed you, so I hate you.”

He frowned.

“Also, you hate me,” he said. “So I hated you back just for that. Though I guess, since your reason for hating me is valid, maybe I should stop hating you back for that?”

He considered it.

“No,” he decided. “You’re too annoying not to hate.”

“The same for you,” Lan Wangji said after an unusual hesitation.

Jiang Cheng nodded and, feeling oddly relieved at not having found a new basis for self-hatred, departs.

“So once you’ve reestablished yourself at the Cloud Recesses, we’ll exchange extended visits on a regular basis so the kids can see each other,” Jiang Cheng said, and Lan Wangji nodded. “A minimum of three weeks per season, whether in the Lotus Pier or Cloud Recesses, and preferably double that.”

“Agreed.”

“In the meantime, you’ll work on getting the trade agreement we hammered out through your brother and sect elders as recompense for the time you spent here.”

“Mm.”

“An agreement whose source you will be disclosing very carefully because the Venerated Triad will not hesitate to murder me if they figure out without adequate warning it was me that was housing you for all this time.”

Lan Wangji said nothing and promised nothing.

Bastard.

Still, after nearly three years, Jiang Cheng was pretty used to it.

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng said. “Is there anything I’ve left out?”

“Joint night-hunts.”

“Right, right, we’ll make a point of regularly going on joint night-hunts – wait, why are we doing that? You don’t need me to watch your back now that you’re fully healed.”

Lan Wangji’s gaze wandered.

“Oh,” Jiang Cheng said. “So we can keep having hate-sex on the regular?”

“…mm.”

“Why didn’t you just say so? It’s not like I’m doing anything else – or anyone else. Blacklisted, remember?”

“Unsurprising,” Lan Wangji said, like the bastard he was.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, whatever. The set-up works, doesn’t it? I’m blacklisted, you’re apparently eternally pining for Wei Wuxian of all people – your taste is the worst – so who’s going to call us out on it? Go on, get out of here already. I’ll see you next month.”

“Well,” Jiang Cheng said, looking between the newly resurrected Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, abruptly made of an issue he had hitherto not considered based on Lan Wangji’s screaming body language. “This is. Uh. Awkward?”

#mdzs #jiang cheng #lan wangji #my fic #my fics #spite in misery #delight in misery #sometimes you get a silly idea #and then you write it

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youare-mysonshine · 3 years

Text

heavy || bucky barnes

Summary: reader’s mental health has been taking a decline and bucky is there.

Requested: No

Pairing: TFATWS Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: talks of mental health, depression, anxiety, angst, cussing.

Word Count: 3.2K

A/N: Hey guys, I’m back I guess lmao. I’ve really been struggling with my mental health lately and I guess I kinda just wanted to put it into words, something productive? And I’ve been feeling our angsty emo boy bucky barnes. Most of you might’ve followed me for my Oscar fics but I kinda wanna branch out and I thought this would be a good time to do so. Anyways, I know that some of you have inboxed me or messaged me and I haven’t responded and I’m sorry. But I just want you all to know that if you’re struggling, I’m always here to talk. About anything, always. So, I hope you enjoy this. I might’ve cried while writing this lmao and I also might’ve ended it on such an awkward place but, i’m still getting used to writing again. (Flashbacks are in italics)

————

Bucky didn’t miss the dark circles under your eyes. He didn’t miss the way you sort of slouched as you approached him. He didn’t miss the way that your smile didn’t really meet your eyes.

“Hey,” You said in a breathless voice. “Sorry, I’m late. I got held up.” You said as you took a seat across from him in the booth. Held up. It was better than telling him that you were thinking of just not showing up at all. In the end, you knew that you couldn’t do that. You couldn’t just blow off your new friend who you had so enjoyed spending time with. So, in a rush, you got dressed and made your way to the small, quiet diner that you two had taken to frequenting together. Bucky Barnes was an enigma if you’d ever met one. The way that you had met was rather.. cliche and something straight from a story.

You had been trying to lay off of the caffeine for a while, realizing that you had nearly gone through an entire packet of 32 k-pods that you had just purchased. You realized that you might’ve had a problem. You had been going pretty strong with staying away from caffeine for the time being, until you passed by a coffee shop and got a whiff of coffee. You just couldn’t help yourself; you bought a cup of coffee. It was when you were walking down the street, holding the cup of coffee in one hand, looking down, that you didn’t see someone walking right in your path. You had collided into what seemed like a solid wall and the impact had caused you to squeeze the cup of coffee in surprise, the warm liquid burning your hand, staining your clothes and the other person. You had realized it was another person you had crashed into when you heard them let out a low cuss.

Bucky’s grumpy self had been fully prepared to tell you off for crashing into him, having just left his therapist’s office, but when you looked up at him with those bright eyes of yours, a million apologies spilling from your lips a mile a minute, he swallowed whatever harsh words had nearly sprung forth. He had apologized as well; both of you had been at fault. Bucky had been going over his session with Dr. Raynor that morning, completely lost in his own mind, and you had your eyes trained on the ground, something that was a bad habit of yours. The shock of realizing you had bumped into a man, a really really handsome man with the brightest blue eyes you had ever seen, had made you temporarily forget that you had practically scorched your hand with the coffee, and that you had gotten it on him as well.

“I’m so, so sorry.” You said once again, quickly averting your eyes from the handsome stranger’s face. Instead you focused on the smushed cup in your hand and the stains on his leather jacket. It just made you feel even terrible. “I, I can pay for you to get your jacket cleaned, if you want. Really. I wasn’t paying attention and I just, for whatever reason, squished my cup and.. I’m sorry.” You said, kind of breathlessly.

“It’s.. it’s alright.” His voice was like the coffee that you had been drinking. Smooth and rich. It was deep, something that reverberated deep in your chest and had your stomach fluttering with butterflies. “I wasn’t paying attention either. Really, it’s fine. And don’t worry about my jacket. No harm, no foul.” He said. “You should, uh, you should take care of that hand. Hope you didn’t burn yourself too bad.” He gestured to your hand, still clutching the cup, with one of his own gloved hands.

“Oh, I’ll be fine. It wasn’t that hot. Thank you, though. And again, I’m really, really sorry.” Sparing one, seemingly, last glance at the handsome stranger, you side stepped him and began to walk away, tossing the empty cup of coffee in a trash can on the sidewalk. But you didn’t get very far because that deep voice called out to you, halting you in your tracks.

“Can I buy you another cup of coffee?” Bucky’s mouth had opened and spoken the words long before his brain could even catch up. He didn’t know why he had asked you that, but something in his gut was just telling him too.

“What?” A look of total bewilderment had crossed your face and he had seen it.

“I just, well I thought that, since I bumped into you, I could make it up to you by buying you a new cup of coffee. If you wanted, I mean. You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything.” Bucky clarified, hand stuffed in his pocket, waiting for your answer. For a few seconds, you simply stood there, unsure of what to say because surely this wasn’t happening? The last time that you had gone out with a guy was.. well, shit, you didn’t even remember the last time. The little voice in the back of your head, that anxious, paranoid little voice, was telling you not to go off with a stranger. You’d watched too many episodes of Criminal Minds and other true crime shows and documentaries to know that situations like this never turned out well. However, you didn’t get a bad feeling from this particular man. He seemed just as awkward and slightly frazzled as you felt. So you agreed.

“I’m Bucky, by the way.”

“Y/N.”

That had happened about two months ago. Ever since then, you and Bucky had formed a strong friendship. Your first time getting coffee with him had been awkward, as were the next few times that you had seen one another. But things got easier. Becoming friends was easy. You kind of fell into this routine, almost as if you two had known each other your whole lives. That was why Bucky telling you who he really was had been terrifying for him. He carried around guilt and shame and just contempt for everything he’d done. Everything The Winter Soldier represented, and when he told you, he figured that you would think the same. He had asked you meet him at the diner that had now become your spot and and you remember how he nervously wrung his gloved hands together. You remember when you asked him what was wrong and he didn’t verbally respond but he took off his gloves; the right one first and then the left, revealing a shiny black metal hand, golden lines intricately placed.

He told you then. Maybe he didn’t tell you everything but he told you who he was and he had braced himself for you to get up and storm out. Or, to yell at him and tell him how much of a monster he was. But, it never came. Instead, you reached out and placed your hand on top his. Not his real hand, but the metal one. You didn’t say anything. You just gave him that smile that was quickly becoming his favorite. Sometimes, silence spoke a thousand words. To Bucky, you had become kind of a respite for him. Even in the late nights or mornings when he woke up after a nightmare. Or after a particularly hard session with Dr. Raynor. He had closed himself off from other people except you.

Bucky might not have known it, but he gave you the same level of comfort as you gave him. You found yourself craving his presence. Every time you were around him, you couldn’t help but to smile or laugh. In the time that you spent together, your mind was clear and free from all your worries. It all evaporated into thin air. Your mind, usually so active with all sorts of thoughts and worries, could finally rest when you were with Bucky. You could sleep. You could get up in the morning without that stress and anxiety drowning you. It was okay. It was great.

Until it wasn’t.

“No problem, doll.” He said, gloved hands clasped under the table on his lap. “I already ordered. Got your usual. Hope that was alright.” He added, to which you nodded absentmindedly.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s fine. Thanks Buck.” You said, mustering up a half hearted smile that didn’t reach your eyes. It was like even smiling drained the energy from you. You were exhausted. Not even just physically but mentally and emotionally. You had been having such good days for a while now, since meeting Bucky. You felt like maybe you would finally be alright but.. this feeling of hopelessness, the feeling that nothing was quite right, it was heavy. It weighed you down. It suffocated you. You wanted to be alone, but you also couldn’t stand to be alone because when you were alone, you were just stuck in your head and being in your head was the absolute worst place to be.

The intrusive thoughts had started. They told you that you would do nothing but weigh Bucky down. That he didn’t need someone like you in his life, someone with clear problems of their own, when he was going to therapy trying to better himself. Even if it had been mandatory for him to go. You wanted to push him away, save him from yourself, but you also couldn’t stand the thought of losing him.

Bucky noticed the shift in you. Normally when you two met up, whether it was at the diner or anywhere else, you would usually talk his ear off. Not that he minded, he was content to just sit back and listen to you. Sometimes, you’d tell him about a new book that you had started reading. You had just started reading the fifth Harry Potter book and you were trying to get him to read them. You’d tell him about your day. You’d ask him how his day went, how it went with Dr. Raynor, though you never pushed for more information. You always let him share if he was comfortable with it and he appreciated that. Sometimes you teased him for being such an old man.

The food came soon after you had arrived and sure enough, Bucky had ordered your usual. It sent a pang through your heart when you realized that he had memorized your order, down to the extra syrup and whipped cream on the pancakes. Bucky always liked to make fun of you for ordering the same thing when you came to the diner. No matter what time it was, you always ordered the pancakes with extra syrup and extra whip cream, with the strawberries on the side. Secretly, though he found it adorable.

Today, you had barely even taken more than a few bites and that was what really let Bucky know that something wasn’t right. You kept your head down, eyes on the pancakes and you cut them up, bringing a few up to your mouth and chewing slowly, but you mostly just moved them around your plate with the fork in your hand. Bucky himself had barely taken only a few bites of the food he’d ordered for himself, but it wasn’t for lack of appetite, it was because of the growing concern. His bright blue eyes were now a stormy grey, kind of like the clouds that you see during a heavy storm. His brows were furrowed, giving him an appearance almost as if he were angry.

“You alright, Y/N? You’ve barely eaten your food and normally you finish before I do.” He attempted to joke, to bring about that smile that seemed to always fill him with warmth. He half expected you to look up at him with that cheeky little smile, a mischievous look in your eyes and say “You know, I would be offended by that, but I know why you eat so slow, Buck. I completely understand. You don’t want your dentures to fall out.” But it never came.

You don’t know what it was. Bucky asking you if you were alright or if it was simply all the pressure of just.. everything, finally breaking, but you could feel the hot tears in your eyes. They blurred your vision until you couldn’t really see the plate of the pancakes in focus. The dam had finally come apart and you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You set the fork down and buried your face in your hands, your shoulders lightly shaking as you began to cry. All Bucky could do was stare for a few seconds, alarm written all over his face. Alarm and distress because he had no idea what just happened and if he had done something to upset you.

“Woah woah, hey. Sweetheart, hey. What’s wrong?” In seconds, Bucky was out of his side of the booth and scooting in beside you. You felt the comfort of his warmth, you felt his arm tentatively, almost hesitantly, slide around your shoulders and anchor you to him. You shook your head, attempting to calm down, to stop the tears but the more you tried, the more they seemed to come.

“I-I’m sorry, Bucky.. I.. I’m sorry.. I-I’m fine. Really.” You said, sniffling. It was apparent to you both that you were not alright and he really just wanted to get to the bottom of it. Or at least attempt to comfort you. But doing that in the middle of a diner with other people around wasn’t ideal.

“Hey, my apartment is only a short walk away. Come on, let’s get you out of here and somewhere more quiet.” You didn’t protest. You just nodded and slid out of the booth after he did. Bucky took out his wallet and placed a few bills on the table, paying for the uneaten food, and then quickly led you out of the establishment. He kept his hand on you, almost like an anchor. Whether it was to reassure you or himself, he didn’t know and you didn’t mind either. It was probably the only thing that kept you from retreating inside of your mind and giving in to the panic that so desperately wanted out.

You didn’t even realize that you had reached his apartment until he had led you up the stairs and you were standing behind him as he unlocked the door. He allowed you to step in first and then quickly followed behind you, shutting the door as he did so. You didn’t really get the chance to take in his apartment because he had ushered you to sit on his couch while he knelt in front of you.

“Alright, you’re scarin’ me here, doll. What’s wrong? Did someone hurt you?” The sheer look of concern and slight panic in his face and those pretty eyes of his made the waterworks come back again. You shook your head, your face scrunched up in anguish. Hot bullet tears fell from your eyes and left a wet path in their wake down your cheeks. Bucky wasn’t one to pry; he hated it when people tried to pry into his life and he didn’t do it to you, but he couldn’t stand the sight of seeing you cry. He couldn’t stand the sight of your once bright eyes and cheery smile just.. gone. You eyes were sad and your lips were pulled into a frown. “Talk to me, baby.” He practically pleaded.

“I just.. I don’t.. I don’t know how to explain it, Buck.” You cried. “I-I.. I just feel like..” You let out a frustrated cry when you couldn’t find the right words but Bucky was patient. He reached a hand up, cupping your cheek and wiping away the tears that kept falling. “I don’t feel.. happy. Everyday I wake up and I just, I feel fine for like a few seconds and then everything just comes crashing down on me. I can’t ever stop thinking. I can’t sleep at night. I’m tired. I’m tired of feeling like this, Bucky. And I feel fucking crazy. Sometimes I feel like you don’t even really like me. I feel.. hopeless, like nothing is ever going to be okay. I might feel okay for a few seconds but then it just goes away.” You explained, though you were sure that you probably sounded like a raving and ranting lunatic. “Before I met you, I liked being alone but I also hated it because when I was alone, I would just overthink and overthink and overthink about every fucking thing. If it wasn’t one thing it was another just giving me such bad anxiety and.. I don’t know what to do anymore, Bucky. I’m just tired of feeling like this. Feeling like nothing is ever going to be okay, like I’m never going to be okay. I just feel.. alone.”

His heart was well and truly broken. In the two months that he’d known you, he hadn’t known how badly you had struggled with your mental health. He hadn’t known the war that you fought within your mind, and how bad it had become. You were such saving grace for Bucky; you saved him from the wars inside of his mind. The constant feeling of guilt that he fought with on a daily basis, and now.. he just wanted to do the same for you. He wanted to shoulder some of the pain that you carried, the pain that seemed to be weighing you down. Both of his hands now cupped your cheeks so delicately, as if you were the most precious thing in the world to him. His blue eyes were shining, looking at you with not pity, but something like.. understanding. If anyone knew what you were feeling, it was Bucky.

“You’re not alone.” His smooth and rich voice was so soft, so gentle that it brought on a new set of tears. “You’re not alone, sweetheart. Not anymore. You know why? Cause you got me.” He said. “I know what it’s like to feel hopeless. To feel stuck in your head. To feel like nothing is ever gonna get better. I felt like that in Wakanda. Sometimes.. sometimes, we need help. And I know I’m not one to be talking considering that I don’t really like talking to my therapist or even going,” That roused the smallest of smiles from you. “I’m here. You know that, right? I’m here. You got me and I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I don’t care if you have a million bad days. I don’t care if you feel like you’re bothering me. I’ll be there every time.” You two have gradually gravitated close to one another until your foreheads were pressed together. Bucky was still knelt in front of you on the couch, his hands still holding your cheeks. Your eyes were closed and you could feel his warm breath fanning your face. The tears had stopped falling but you were still sniffling softly. “You’ve helped me. Even if you don’t know it. You’ve helped me.” He was whispering. There was no one but you two in his apartment but he was still whispering the words meant for only you to hear. “Now, let me help you. Please.”

“Okay. I trust you, Bucky.”

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #james buchanan barnes #sebastian stan #tfatws #mcu #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff

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supercorpkid · 3 years

Text

Once Upon a Time in…

Storybrooke.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader, Emma Swan x Reader, Regina Mills x Reader, Snow White x Reader, Prince Charming x Reader.

Word Count: 2900.

Previously on the series - Neverland, Camelot

“So we’re back at square one.” You sigh, looking at Henry, while he is reading his enormous book.

“Not entirely true. We know that we have to lift the curse so you can leave, and that we have to do it fast before you become a character of the book.” He says, without raising his head at you. You’re almost arguing when a plate with at least 20 pancakes is placed before you. That stops your mind mid-rant.

“Thanks, Granny.” You smile at her, who smiles back before leaving. “Except that we don’t know who cursed the town, so I might as well embrace my fate of being a fairytale character right now and forever.”

“You know, there is another way.” He finally looks at you and you encourage him with an eyebrow raise. “Too risky and honestly? I don’t even know if they would agree to it…”

“Would you go on with it already? No need to build up the climax, we’re already past that.”

“Another curse.” Henry says and you furrow your brows. Having two curses surely doesn’t sound like the solution. “A liftable curse, of course.”

You just blink at him when he doesn’t say anything for a while.

“Ok, what if my mom cursed you into believing you’re a part of the story? You would be written into the book-” You open your mouth to argue. “But it comes from someone who knows and can undo it. So, when the time comes, she lifts the curse and you’re not in the book anymore.”

“Uh.” You think about it for a second. “Sounds like it could work. It would be like if we had a countdown watch and after your mom’s curse it would just pause it.” You say and he nods in agreement.

“The protection spell around town gets lifted and she undoes your curse right after. The countdown restarts but you would be ready to leave.” He finishes your train of thought. “Only thing is whether she will agree to this.”

“Well, we’ve got to try, right? Might be our only hope.” You’re almost out of the booth when you look at the pancakes in front of you. “Give me a minute.”

“Can’t believe you’re thinking about food right now.” Henry rolls his eyes at you.

“Can’t believe you’re not.” You say inhaling the food in front of you in exactly one minute. “Ok, I’m done.”

“This was traumatic to watch.”

You ignore him and you both run out of Granny’s to Regina’s house at the end of the main street. You try to go slower so he doesn’t fall too far behind, but you’re still in front of her house way before he gets there.

“Next time, give me a ride.” He is breathing hard next to you but recovers faster than normal. “Mom? Are you here?”

“In the kitchen, kid!” You hear Emma’s voice, and you follow Henry to it. You find both Regina and Emma making breakfast together. The scene doesn’t fail to bring tears to your eyes. It’s too familiar. “Oh, you guys are together, great!”

“We think we have a, well, it’s not a solution. It’s more like a-” Henry looks at you.

“Band-aid.” You give them a forced smile.

“Let’s hear it.” Regina asks and you and Henry do your best explaining the whole thing. “So I would undo the curse and she’ll leave, huh?”

“I know it’s not ideal but-”

“But it’s pretty good.” Emma says. She comes closer to you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Are you sure about that, though?”

“No. I know nothing about magic.” You shrug. “If this was science or anything related, I would probably be sure, but this is outside my area of expertise. If you two think it could work, then I trust you to bring me back when it’s time.”

“You should know all magic comes with a price.” Regina adds.

“What’s the price?”

“We’ll learn about it later.” She raises an eyebrow at you. You think of Lena and how you need to go back home to see her eyebrow raise.

“I’ll pay.”

“Well, then hold on to it, kid.” Regina says with a smile. “You’re about to become a fairytale character.”

You and Henry look at each other. As good of an idea this was, you didn’t consider all the outcomes. You’ll become a fairytale character; you won’t remember anything about your actual life. You won’t remember your moms, aunts, cousins, girlfriend, grandmas… You know it’s what you have to do, if you ever want to make it out of this reality and back into yours, but still. Not remembering Jamie’s laugh, Maya’s kisses, Kelly’s comfort, Alex’s shoulder squeezes, Lillian’s head tilt, Eliza’s soft voice, Lena’s green eyes, Kara’s smiles, it almost makes you want to forget about this and find another way.

“Ok, the curse is ready.” Regina says and you look up, coming back from your thoughts.

“Smells funny.”

“I know, sweetheart. It's a curse. It's not meant to be pleasant.” She says, making your heart beat faster on your chest. You hold your necklace strongly in your hands; remember your family one last time. Then close your eyes.

“Yay, food!” You open your eyes and look at your moms on the other side with a stack of pancakes in front of them.

“Hey, leave some for your brother.” Regina says, stopping you before you grab all of the apple pancakes she has made.

“Fine, you can have one, Henry.” You joke, putting just one on his plate from the stack in front of you.

“Be nicer, honey.” Emma kisses the crown of your head, before sitting next to you. You smile, putting two more on his plate.

“There, you’re eating just as much as me now.”

“Listen kids, today Emma and I will be working with Mr. Gold to see if we can lift the protection spell around the city. You two will spend the day with the Charmings.”

“Oh, come on, moms. We’re old enough to help!” Henry says and you agree.

“Of course you are. And we will need your help when the time comes. Just, well, you know how is like to work with Mr. Gold-”

“Always an adventure.” You and Henry say in unison.

“Something like that.” Emma agrees looking like she wanted to disagree, instead. “Besides, I thought you had archery lessons with your grandma today?”

“Yes!” You agree, excitedly.

“And Henry, you will be hanging out with your grandpa at the station, right?” She gets his answer in the form of a nod. “Well, great, we’re all very busy today. But we’re still meeting at Granny’s tonight for dinner, ok?”

“Sure thing, mom.” You get up and kiss her head. “See you guys later, I’m late to meet grandma.” You kiss Regina’s head right after. “Bye, mom. Squirt, wanna a ride?”

“Stop calling me squirt.” Henry complains, getting up from the table. “See you later, moms.” He follows you to the front of the house. “Don’t run so fast, I just ate.”

“You know I only have two speed levels. Fast or breaking the sound barrier.” He jumps on your back and out you go, fast enough to be at the station in a blink of an eye. “See you later!”

It doesn’t take long before you and Snow White are walking in the woods close to the city. You love spending time in the woods with her. You love just sitting in silence and letting your senses become even more refined. Sure, you have super hearing, but she teaches you how to focus even on the simpler things. Leaves in the wind, steps in the woods, birds chirping. There’s no other place you feel as in peace as in the woods with Snow.

“So? How are the woods today?” She asks, hand on your shoulder.

“Was there ever a time where there wasn’t anyone in the woods doing weird stuff?” You ask, making Snow laugh loudly next to you.

“Not in Storybrooke.” Snow agrees with a smile and points a direction for you both to walk.

“How do you want to do this?” You ask, putting your bow into position and closing one eye, looking around.

“Like we shall do everything.” You look at her and she winks at you. “Together.”

You miss the shot. You try again. Your arrow breaks. You try again. You lose your temper. You try yet again.

Day after day. Week after week. Month after month.

‘Together’ is the word to live by.

“Mom, can you help me take control of the panic attacks?” It’s late at night when you ask her that. Regina is happy that you’re asking for her help, and you two sneak into her office while Emma and Henry watch Space Paranoids.

“Remember,” She holds you, before she starts. “These are nightmares I’m putting in your mind. None of them are real. You’re safe and sound at home with us. Say the word and I’ll stop.”

“Ok.”

“But sweetheart, you’ve got to fight it. With all the strength and courage I know you have. Concentrate and fight it.” Regina says, and you nod, closing your eyes.

Your mind is filled with visions. Terrible ones, by the way. You see people dying, by shot guns and swords. It’s a war inside your mind. You know it’s not real, but the feeling is the same. You try to run but your legs feel wobbly and weak, and you fall on your knees. There’s a pool of blood under you and when you look to the side you see Henry with glassy eyes, completely lifeless.

“NOOOO!” Your heart starts beating into your ribcage, as you shake before reaching for him. “Please, please don’t be dead.”

“Concentrate. Focus.”

“HE IS DEAD! IT’S MY FAULT!” You yell, with tears wetting your face.

“It’s not your fault.” Regina says in your ear. “Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe.”

“HENRY! PLEASE COME BACK!”

“What’s going on?” You hear his voice. Regina has already stopped filling your mind with visions, but still you see his glassy eyes staring at you. “Hey, open your eyes. I’m here.”

You see him. But your body is still reacting harshly to the vision. You cry and shake. You’ve failed, but you’re not the one to back down.

Day after day. Week after week. Month after month.

You’ll overcome your fears.

“Hey honey!” Emma wakes you up, with an excited greeting, and you roll to the side not opening your eyes just yet. “I could really use your help with something.”

“What is it?” You mumble, still too sleepy to talk.

“We’ve gotta help Ella. And I thought we could have some mother-daughter bonding time.”

“You’re my mother. Isn’t that enough of a bond?” You ask, as a joke, and you get a chuckle in response.

“Come on. It would be much faster if you could fly around and find her for me. Otherwise I would have to use magic to find a shoe and then more magic to track her, and then-”

“Oh my God, ok. I’ll help.” You get up and get ready in seconds. “I know you just want my help because I’m faster than the Flash.”

“Faster than a flash, honey.” Emma corrects you. “Let’s go!”

So you find Ella, just before her evil stepmother shoots her, and you stand tall in front of her because you’re indestructible, and your mom uses magic to contain her evil stepmother, and it’s just another day in Storybrooke. You know, for a really small town, there’s always something going on in here.

“Saving the town with my kid.” Emma throws her arms around your shoulders with a smile. “What mother could ask for more?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think being saved probably doesn’t sound so bad.” You complain, getting a tight squeeze from her.

“Sitting around waiting to be saved, with no idea whether someone’s actually going to come for you-” She sighs, loudly. “Trust me, I know doing all the saving all the time sounds exhausting. But waiting around is-is as bad as it can get, honey.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

Day after day. Week after week. Month after month.

Heroism comes first.

“Are you ready?” Snow asks and you agree excitedly. Bow and arrow ready to shoot. You look at her getting in position. “Together.”

You nod, and you two aim at the same spot. Both of the arrows travel together and land side by side in the middle of the target. You smile, excited. “I feel like the Green Arrow!”

“Who’s that?” Snow asks and you look at her furrowing your brows.

“I-I don’t know.” You think and think about how that name just easily left your mouth. Huh. Weird.

Days. Weeks. Months.

“Here comes the town’ superhero!” Emma says when you walk in the kitchen.

“Here is the town’ savior!” You answer with a smile.

“I could use your help out there today, kid!” She widens her smile.

“Doesn’t this town have enough heroes?” You sit next to her, and she kisses the crown of your head, before placing a plate of hot waffles in front of you.

“But only one is super.” She winks, making you giggle in excitement. You’re convinced right away.

Days. Weeks. Months.

“Focus. Concentrate.” Regina says, close to your ear. And you breathe deep trying to do so.

“It's kind of hard when you're talking in my ear.”

“And when the wind blows, or it's raining, or someone's shooting arrows at you. Yes, concentration's hard. That's the point.” She bumps her shoulder on yours. “Sweetheart, you told me you needed help.”

“And I do.”

“Then let me help.” She runs her fingers through your hair slowly. “The world will always throw disappointments, sorrows and pain on our backs. It’s our job to learn how to handle them. I worked very hard for my first reaction to be as Regina and not as the Evil Queen.”

“I know, mom. You said that a million times.” Your answer makes Regina lose her cool a little. And you smile, apologetic. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I asked for help. I need to know how to handle the pain. Please, I’m ready to go on.”

“Close your eyes.” She asks again and you comply. “Are you ready?” You shake your head in agreement.

You see images. Like a lucid dream in your mind. Regina is using magic to alter what you see. And you see destruction, death everywhere. You see Snow’s head detached from her body, Emma bleeding with a sword on her heart, the only thing left from Charming is his hand, still clinging to his sword.

You should be ready by now. In fact, you should be used to it somehow. It’s not the first time you and Regina do this kind of exercise. But it doesn’t matter how many times you see your family bleeding out, totally lifeless in front of you, every single time, without fail, makes your heart beat faster, your lungs stop working, you shake, you start crying and hyperventilating, ready to destroy everything.

“Focus! No fire from the eyes.” You hear Regina’s voice and you come back to yourself a little bit, just to hold back your first reaction. It’s always the eyes.

“But mom is dead.” You cry out, clenching your fist.

“Concentrate. You can do it.”

You can do it.

You kneel before Snow’s head. Breath in while counting to 3. Hold your breath for 3 seconds. Breath out in the same amount of time. You know this isn’t real. Snow is home, and safe. You’re not in the enchanted forest. Nothing here is real.

You unclench your fist. Steadying your breath. You fight the images. Snow’s head goes back to her body. Charming’s hand disappears. Emma opens her eyes.

“You can do it.” You hear again. And you feel the thump in your heart settling back in your ribcage. Beating normal again. Soon enough the entire thing vanishes in front of your eyes. You open your eyes again. Your hands are still shaking a little, but you’re home with your mom, and you’re safe. She smiles fondly at you. “See? I knew you could do it.”

“I did it. I stopped my panic attack.” You say with excitement planted on your face and she hugs you tightly. It doesn’t matter how many months it took you to do so, you still did it.

“How about we celebrate? Guess who lifted the town’s protection spell this morning?”

“Wait, really?” Your eyes widen in excitement.

“Yes! You know what that means?” Regina asks, and you can barely contain yourself, jumping up and down.

“Pizza from the neighborhood city!” You squeak. “Can I go get it? Please mom, let me go get it!”

“Here.” Regina gives you the money. “Bring enough for your grandparents. And Belle. Maybe Hook too. Just anyone who happens to be at Granny’s.”

“So basically the entire city?”

“Basically.” She smiles and you’re almost out the door, when you look back at her and add.

“Did I have any plans for when we could leave town?” You think and think, but nothing comes to mind. “It’s weird, I swear I feel like I’m forgetting something important.”

“Maybe to give mom a kiss?” Regina asks and you smile. Rushing to her and hugging her, before kissing her forehead.

“Yeah, it was probably just a kiss.” You chuckle.

Days. Weeks. Months.

#supergirl #kara danvers #supercorp #supercorpfamily #lena luthor #supercorp daughter #kara x lena #kara x reader #supercorp fanfic #lena x reader #ouat fanfiction #ouat #snow white #emma swan #regina mills #swanqueen

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wkemeup · 3 years

Text

Losing Riley

summary: Before she met Bucky, Y/n’s world was shattered. Sam was the common thread that helped her pick up the pieces again. pairings: riley x reader, hinted future bucky x reader warnings: character death, grief 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

You woke to cold sheets. A hand slid over to the left side of an empty bed and your heart clenched. The startling realization settled in each morning as the distant glow of the sunrise peered through the curtains – Riley was still an ocean away and you were still emphatically alone.

But you were determined to make the most of the day, even if Riley wasn’t there to spend it with you. It was his mother’s birthday whether he was stateside or not and you were insistent not to let the ocean waters sweep you under in his absence. So, you pressed on a smile and dragged your feet to the bathroom to tame your hair and dry your eyes. His family would be expecting you and one of your homemade cakes by the evening.

You dared a glance at yourself in the mirror, clad only in the US Air Force t-shirt Riley had left behind. It was rich in army green color and the logo stood bright against your chest. You wondered how much wear the shirt could handle before it started to fade. It had lost Riley’s scent after you’d worn it for a week straight, the lingering glimpses of his presence dimming night by night. You could only hope it wouldn’t shrink in the wash.

You spent the day perfecting the cake his parents had grown to crave; three-tiered and coated in layers of chocolate frosting. Billy Joel sang on the radio and you mumbled your way through the verses of We Didn’t Start the Fire to distract yourself from imagining Riley seated at the countertop, watching you with love struck smirk on his face and a dab of frosting at the corner of his lips. The book on the counter held a gentle layer of flour on the pages. It kept you company until the timer rang.

The dress you wore was one you’d purchased with the intent to wear for a date night when Riley came home after his first tour. Though it was red in color, it was not striking or bold – instead, it was soft, almost muted, and it carried a sort of gentle effervescence to it. Modest but charming. You’d hoped it would make him smile. You hadn’t counted on how the war stealing his ability to do so.

It was the first time you wore the dress since you bought it. Maybe you’d ask his mother to take a picture of you with the cake to send to him. He might like that. He seemed to be himself more when he was away than when he was home in your arms these days.

You had the cab drop you at the end of the driveway. It was long enough to catch the glow of Christmas lights still draped around the trees outside and hidden under layers of snow, despite the fact that it was well into January. The suburbs were so quiet compared to the city; you’d forgotten how much you enjoyed spending time at his parent’s house. They’d welcomed you to their table, even in the months Riley was overseas. It was a burden you shared together – to be left behind.

You’d only made it halfway up the driveway when you noticed the two men standing at the porch. They were dressed in formal uniforms, white hats held down by their hearts. You hadn’t realized you’d stopped moving until the snow started to soak into your shoes. It piled on the pointed toes of your heels.

Riley’s mother stood in the open-door way, a vacant look upon her face. Her husband was at her side, shaking his head as he struggled to grab onto his wife before she let out a wail that echoed so painfully, birds scattered from nearby trees.

Her knees gave way from under her as she fell to the ground in sobs. The two men in uniform did their best to comfort her, only to be shoved away. They stood back and watched a mother grieve her only son at a respectful distance.

“Y/n?”

Your hands were shaking. The cake tray had slipped from your fingers and fell into the snow. A mess of sweet chocolate amongst pavement and ice. The voice called your name again, concerned, frantic, and you could only vaguely make out a blurred figure racing towards you.

Everything around you tunneled, your knees weakening as you struggled to fight against the ice under your heels and the weight suddenly barreling down on your shoulders. All you could hear was the screams of Riley’s mother as she held onto her husband, unable to move from the comfort of the ground.

“Y/n, come with me,” the voice eased and you looked up to find Sam Wilson standing a few paces ahead of you dressed in his formal Air Force blues, gold wings on his shoulder and a series of colorful pins on his left breast. He held out a hand to you.

“Let’s go inside, okay?” he tried again but you shook your head, eyes darting back to Riley’s mother.

You tried to take in another breath but found it shallow, as if your lungs had collapsed beside your heart in mutual surrender.

“You’re having a panic attack,” Sam told you calmly. “I need you to listen to me, okay? Focus on my voice.”

You nodded quickly, tears burning in your eyes, though you couldn’t tell if it was from the shattered remains in your chest or the light headedness pulling your vision under. Sam bent down and grabbed a handful of snow.

“Here. Feel this,” he ordered evenly, placing the snow in your bare hand. He stepped back, shaking out his gloves. “It’s cold, right?”

Yes, you tried to say though the word didn’t quite leave your lips. It stung, but there was a comfort in it. You watched as it melted in your palm, your skin burning from where it had been.

“Smells like Christmas trees out here, doesn’t it?” Sam added, taking in a deep breath. He smiled. “Reminds me of the tree farms I used to go to with my dad every year growing up.”

You followed his lead, taking in as much of a breath as your body would allow. He was right, it did smell like pines. Riley’s family planted a few along their property line because his mother loved Christmas so much. It smelled like Fraser and Balsam Fir all year round.

You concentrated on the smell of the trees, the chocolate that had scattered into the snow in clumps of frosting and cake; the sound of Sam’s voice, of Riley’s mother’s cries; the feel of the chill on your skin and the snow in your hand. You focused until you could draw in a full breath enough to make sense of the destruction around you.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” you asked, voice trembling on the verge of tears.

Sam’s shoulders fell, a terrible longing pressed over his features. “I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

Despite your efforts, your knees buckled in mirror to Riley’s mother. Sam caught you before you could hit the ground, his arms encasing around you as your body fought the violent tremors shaking through you. You cried against his jacket, as the snow built upon your shoulders and wet your hair. You cried until there was little else your body could give.

***

You barely remembered the funeral.

A folded flag had been placed in the lap of Riley’s mother as she sobbed. A casket had been lowered into the ground. Guns fired in salute and you flinched at each one as they echoed against the stormy grey skies. Sam held your hand through the entire ceremony, squeezing it hard enough to leave a mark when it looked like you were teetering on the edge of an endless void. He stayed on your couch that night and pretended not to hear as you cried yourself to sleep.

There was an emptiness that took hold of you when Riley left for his first tour, but there was still a lingering hope. You’d managed to hold onto the image of a man at war and his woman waiting for him to return. He wrote often and you kept each letter in a shoe box under the bed. It was a script of a movie you’d learned to follow – the scraps of love you could grasp from the shores of the Atlantic.

When he came home, he was hollow. He wasn’t the man you’d kissed goodbye with a cheesy, hopeful grin on his face. He’d lost the spark behind his eye and the glow in his skin. He became withdrawn and angry; lashing out when you reached to him with an anchor in your hand as if he favored the unforgiving currents pulling him under.

The time you spent with him before he left again hurt worse than when he was gone. He longed for the sky like a bird with a broken wing. It was within reach, so close and so impossibly far from his grasp. He pushed you away, convinced you would never understand the resentment he carried towards civilian life and the utter inability to conform to it.

Perhaps he was right. You’d shouted it yourself one night until you were both hoarse and in tears. You would never understand, but it didn’t mean you couldn’t try, that you didn’t love him any less.

You’d seen the way the war had hurt him. It shoved nightmares to his dreams and panic in his veins. It made him hypervigilant and paranoid. It isolated him from his friends and family. It made him feel like a monster in the skin of a man, pretending to be someone he wasn’t; smiling through aching muscles as if he were a portrait hanging in a museum.

He pretended to be fine. He pretended to try. He never was.

It didn’t surprise you the day he told you he was going back.

Still – you begged. Despite the tears, the months of heartache and panic attacks and night terrors, you were desperate for him to stay. You were desperate to rebuild what the war had broken between you. You loved him and it wasn’t enough.

After he left, you tried to pretend as he did – that everything was fine, that you didn’t feel an ache in your chest at the thought of him, that you were a woman waiting on your soldier to return home.

He was more himself when he called. He became the Riley you remembered in the beginning; full of hope and eager to prove himself. He smiled often and laughed as his friends teased him for the blush in his cheeks when you appeared on the screen. It was those moments that encouraged you to hang on, that reminded you why he was worth the pain and heartache.

Those moments gave you hope that this time would be different. When Riley came home, the two of you would be just fine. The soldier and his girl.

Always optimistic. Always sunny. Always finding silver linings.

You should have known better than that.

***

Mrs. Jefferson was surprised the day you showed up at work dressed in shades of grey and black, returning the piles of books you had yet to read.

“You should go home, dear,” she eased, slipping the glasses from the bridge of her nose to rest on the beads against her chest. “It’s too soon for you to be at work.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled. You didn’t put much effort into the lie but you couldn’t stand to be in your apartment another second longer. It was too quiet, too empty. You’d never lived with Riley but his things were scattered around your place. The Air Force shirt sat crumbled at the foot of your bed.

“Honey, you forget that I know what you are going through,” Mrs. Jefferson sighed, placing a trembling hand over yours. You paused. “Be patient with yourself. Have kindness for the man you lost. You’ll see the sun again, my dear. I promise.”

You didn’t know whether it was the tenderness in her words or the way her aged hand curled around yours that broke you. Tears blurred over your eyes and you sank into her embrace as she drew circles against your spine. If the visitors noticed your grief, they did not say anything. For that, you were grateful.

***

It took time before you could think of Riley without crying. Months, maybe, but it was progress. Sam stopped by daily in the beginning, showing up with coffee and donuts from Luciana’s and forcing you to get out of bed just to open the door for him before he woke the neighbors. You’d come to expect him and started to ready yourself before he arrived.

He swung by after work some days with takeout and some weekends he dragged you to his friend Steve’s house where they watched football and you filled your stomach with nachos and buffalo chicken dip.

He taught you to smile again despite yourself because Sam was infectious no matter how deep the void you’d caged yourself in. It was impossible not to return his smile, impossible not to try for a man who so genuinely wanted you to succeed. He was Riley’s partner and he knew Riley on a level not even you had seen. Sam grieved different than you did, but he grieved nonetheless. It was something you shared in. Something you overcame together, too.

The day he brought you to the VA, you’d dragged your feet the whole way.

“Trust me, kid,” Sam urged, yanking your hand along the sidewalk, but you planted your feet. Sam rolled his eyes. “Do it for Riley.”

Your jaw dropped, though Sam started to smirk. “Don’t evoke Riley’s name to guilt me into working for the people who took him from us, Sam!”

“I’m guilting you into volunteering. Let’s make that clear,” Sam retorted. “I’m not paying you shit.”

You laughed despite the frown on your face.

“Second, these guys aren’t the big shots who sit in their cozy offices while our boots on the ground see the real fight,” Sam said, squeezing your hand. He wasn’t teasing anymore. His smile was genuine as his features softened, a sad sort of memory on his mind. “They’re guys like Riley, Y/n. Guys who could use the help he should have had.”

Your lips parted, unable to come up with an excuse to say next. You thought of Riley curled up on the floor with his hands pressed over his ears as fireworks lit up the sky on New Year’s Eve. You thought of the dark circles under his eyes from sleepless dreams and the toll it took on your relationship. You thought of the shame he felt for pushing you away, for being unable to stop himself from hurting you, too.

You shook your head. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that, Sam.”

“Just come with me to the open house,” Sam tried, tugging on your hand and this time, you let him drag you a few steps. “If it’s too much, I won’t push it again...” he bit his lip, “until next year.”

“Fine!” you laughed, falling in stride with him as he fist pumped the air in victory. “I don’t know how Riley put up with you for so long.”

“With much reluctance,” Sam snickered.

It felt nice to be able to talk about Riley without it hurting. It still ached, but it was a pleasant ache – like maybe remembering him didn’t have to be a bad thing, like maybe it could bring you a little joy, too.

Sam brought you into his office first to draw you away from the crowds. It gave you a chance to take off your coat and ease yourself into the surroundings before Sam inevitably threw a handful of strangers on you with terrible stories and sad faces to convince you to stay.

“I just gotta find a file for Steve and we can head out to the main room, alright?”

You nodded, taking the time to look around Sam’s office. It wasn’t anything like you’d pictured it to be. You’d expected it to be in chaos – disorganized, with papers stacked high on the desk and a basketball hoop hanging over the trash bin – but it was rather professional. He had awards framed on the wall, metals encased in glass. File cabinets labeled and not a pen out of place.

But it was the photo sitting on his desk that drew your attention. You picked it up, recognizing Sam at the center in his Air Force uniform and a younger, more doe-eyed Steve Rogers who stood beside him dressed in army greens. But there was a third man hanging off Sam’s left shoulder you didn’t know.

He was handsome. Smile bright enough to rival even that of Sam’s. With short, brown hair and eyes as blue as you’d ever seen, you wondered whether his face might be one you’d see out in the crowd of veterans gathered in the lobby.

“That’s Bucky,” Sam grinned, pointing to the man in the photo. “He’s still out on tour.”

You handed Sam the picture, tucking your hair behind your ear nervously, and he seemed to enjoy how flustered you were.

“He’s scheduled to be home next year though,” Sam added, studying for your reaction. “I’ll see if I can get him to swing by if... you know... you’re volunteering here.”

You glared at Sam until he broke into laughter.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to the regulars,” Sam grinned, grabbing your hand and dragging you out into the crowd in the lobby.

You knew before Steve’s presentation on the services at the VA even began that Sam had tied your heart with string to this building and the people in it. You saw Riley’s face in everyone who shook your hand – from the petite, red headed woman with a questionable background and kind eyes to the son of a billionaire who had joined the Air Force in rebellion and found he rather liked being just ‘one of the guys.’

It was as if you could feel a hand on your back, urging you forward, into the arms of these people and the compassion they could give to you. You wondered if Sam knew that it would be as much a kindness to you as you could be for them, to be able to give your time to this place. Ideas began to spring in your mind of how you could bring your love of books to your work here and how much you’d missed reading yourself.

Maybe this place could heal you, too.

It took a single glance from Sam across the room to know he’d convinced you. He smiled, raising a glass of cheap red wine, and nodded. It was the first time in months you’d felt a glimmer of hope, a reason to be excited, a possibility for good amongst the broken.

You clung onto it with everything you had.

#Idk how to tag this?#riley x reader #bucky barnes x reader

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panda-noosh · 3 years

Text

taste test {kaz brekker x reader}

there are guests today.

little information was given to you, but you don’t mind; you’re not here to entertain anyone. you’re here to do your job and move on. who the king associates with is honestly none of your concern.

you’ll leave the assassins to the royal guards.

you wake on the day to witness the palace in hysterics. chefs bustle around like headless chickens, maids and butlers ironing uniforms that have not had a crinkle in them since the war. the scent of food - a cacophany of it - rises to the surface, making you crinkle your nose at the onslaught of different options. all you want is a slice of toast to prepare you for the day, but the thought of walking into that kitchen has you cuddling up in bed for a few minutes longer.

you’ll have to eat that food pretty soon. just a small bite, just enough to get a taste. a hint.

you close your eyes.

the peace doesn’t last long, because it never does. a knock sounds at your door, startling you from your reverie. you roll over, not even bothering to cover yourself when you call out, “come in!”

a palace guard - rico - peaks his bald head round the door and raises a brow. “still sleeping?”

“clearly not.”

“good. you need to be up and at your post in thirty minutes; we have guests today.”

you pull the quilt over your head. “don’t remind me.” you peak an eye over the top, raising a brow. “who are the guests?”

rico narrows his eyes. “you haven’t been told?”

“well, no. i never really asked.”

“then i’ll leave it as a surprise.” he claps his hands, like you’re some kind of dog. “get ready. i don’t want to come back up here again.”

“then don’t,” you reply, but he’s already disappeared.

you drag yourself from bed to do as he ordered. there’s no point arguing with the palace guards - they seem to think they own the place, even though they live basically under the thumb of every other individual walking the grounds. even you, the lowest of the low, can manipulate them into doing what you want if you just try hard enough. a few sweet words and a confident tone, and they’re like putty in your hands.

but the truth is, you don’t care enough about todays events to put on that confident tone. you pull your clothes on, fiddle with your bow tie, and head downstairs to see what the day has in store for you.

breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

a risky day ahead.

you’re required to be at the kings side long before the guests arrive. you’ve never questioned it. the rules of the palace have never made any sense to you, but you go along with them, because you don’t want to get into any more trouble than you already have. that’s why you find yourself stood by the kings side in silence, hands clasped in front of you, trays of delicious breakfast foods being delivered by hasty, sweaty porters.

the dining room is swathed in beautiful decor. banners hang from the ceiling, red and gold colours matching the grand wallpaper all around. the fancy carpet has been rolled out, tucked beneath the long, mahogany dining table and stretching all the way to the double doors ready to greet the guests.

even the king is dressed well for the occasion, which is another surprise. though the king hardly looks like a peasant, he makes a point to put in as little effort with his appearance as possible, just to show people that he can get anyone to fear him from personality alone. his riches and fancy fabrics have nothing to do with his power.

but today he wears his finest silk coat, the buttons straining against his round stomach. his beard has been freshly trimmed, and you watch his hand rock back and forth amongst the hairs. a few stray ones float from his chin to the table, and you quickly swipe them away. the king doesn’t even notice; he continues staring at the doors, one dark skinned knuckle tight around the arms of his throne-like chair.

finally, after what feels like forever, the double doors up ahead are pushed open. two palace guards dressed in red hold them in place, and a man is ushered in.

a man you recognise immediately.

he’s got a cane now, which is different. there’s those gloves on his hands, the sides of his head still shaved, with that shaggy, dark mess still perched on top, a school boys haircut that looks most out of place on someone with blood on his hands. he’s frowning, because that’s what kaz brekker does - the king shows his power through his booming voice and cruel choices. kaz brekker shows his power through his expressions.

you don’t meet his eyes, though you don’t look away. kaz has his gaze on the king, not even noticing you standing at his side, and for that you are thankful; you don’t think you want to look into those blue eyes again. you promised yourself you wouldn’t, not before the nightmares disappear.

the king slowly stands. he rubs his beard one final time for good measure before saying, “you’re late, kaz.”

“call me mr brekker,” kaz replies, before gesturing to an empty seat at the end of the table - the seat farthest from the king. “shall we sit?”

you swallow; you’re familiar with this attitude from him, but you’ve been in the kings presence too long now to pretend kaz isn’t on thin ice.

the king, however, is clearly in a docile mood, as he nods and sits down. the food in the centre of the table goes unnoticed for a while as the two stare at each other, waiting for the other to crack and begin the conversation. you fiddle with your fingers, uncertain whether kaz has seen you, whether he recognises you, whether he’s just keeping a straight face because he’s kaz, and he’s a professional.

finally, the king clicks his fingers at you. “stack my plate. you know the drill.”

you burst into action, bustling round the table, scooping up different assortments of breakfast foods you know the king enjoys; he’s got his bacon, and his eggs, and the bread, pancakes on the side. you slather beans along the rim of his plate and place a single hash brown in the residue, just as he likes it.

and then you sit down, and pick apart the entire thing.

you can feel kaz’s eyes burning into you as you work, but you pay him no attention. you have to focus, because this is kind of a life or death situation. you sniff the food first, though this very rarely shows you anything you might need to worry about. it’s too fresh, still warm in your fingers when you lift it to your nose. you can smell only the warmth of it all, but you take the precaution anyway, just to show the king you know what you’re doing.

and then you nibble the edges, heart thumping with nerves rather than poison entering your body. that’s what you’re looking for - poison, an assassination attempt. even in his own palace, the king is paranoid. his own staff have turned against him before. you’re not entirely surprised.

you chew, swallow, pause, repeat.

“all clear.”

you hand the plate back, tuck your hands in your lap and look down at the table at kaz. he’s staring at you, an eyebrow raised, and you understand immediately that he recognises you, probably knew you worked here before he even entered the premise.

was he here for you?

you banish the thought and look away. you wait until the king has started digging in before excusing yourself and exiting, your job for the morning complete. at lunch, you will have to repeat the process, and again at dinner, but until then, you have the morning to yourself.

you walk through the gardens, because fresh air is all you need right now. your heart is hammering, and you curse yourself for it - kaz brekker has not been in your life for months. he shouldn’t have a grip on you. he shouldn’t even know you are here, and yet he does, because of course he does. kaz doesn’t step foot anywhere until he knows the ins-and-outs of the entire place. he keeps his ducks all in a neat row, and you were a fool to believe you had escaped it.

it’s not like kaz is a bad man. he’s evil, certainly, with horrible actions under his belt, but you can understand his reasoning. he kills a man, and maybe that’s an overexaggeration, but the man was also seconds away from traumatising a poor woman walking home from work. kaz takes a life, saving the day in the process. it’s how he works, how he’s always worked for as long as you’ve known him.

and you’ve known him for a while.

you haven’t been by his side in months, but someone like kaz brekker is someone you never forget. once you know kaz, you never stop knowing him, which is a curse more than anything else. oh, how you wish you could wipe the slate clean, pretend you never got involved with him and his gang in the first place. but that was your decision - your stupid, careless decision - and you need to face the consequences.

having him here, at your place of work, was a consequence.

you sit down by the stream just outside the palace grounds. a duckling struts past, paying you no attention whatsoever. a stray lilipad floats gently through the water, spurred on by the tiny breeze ketterdam has for you today.

you like to come here sometimes, just to clear your head a little bit. nobody else bothers with the nice scenery and the nature; they think it’s a waste of time. if it wasn’t for the gardener, this place would be a wasteland, left to shrivel and disappear into shadow. you’re thankful it’s been kept pleasant, though - it’s a good place for someone who wants to have no thoughts for a little while.

you lean down and run your fingertips along the water. it’s cold, and a weed gets tangled between your fingers. you lift it from the water with a wince, flicking your wrist to get it off-

a cane clamps down on your fingers, shoving your hand into the grass.

you inhale sharply, straightening up but not turning around.

“so easy to startle,” kaz hums. “you’re losing your touch, y/n.”

you twist your hand and catch the bottom of his cane, using it to pull yourself to your feet. kaz doesn’t stumble, but you never expected him to; kaz doesn’t stumble. he’s much too stubborn for that.

you whirl around, and there he is, that frown on his face, his head tilted like he’s analysing you even before you’ve said two words. a heat festers in your belly. you don’t know if you want to hug him or slam your fist into his nose.

“so this is where you ended up, is it?” he glances at the grand gardens, the glistening lake, the ducklings swimming past. “you’ve surprised me, i gotta say. i never thought you’d be into such grandeur.”

you fold your arms over your chest, cheeks heating up. you will admit, the palace is certainly not the place you thought to find yourself, either; after living in the barrel your entire life, you had grown used to dirt stained clothes, weeks without washing, hunger pains. this was different. this was a different type of hell, a hell in fancy clothes.

“cat got your tongue?” kaz continues, swinging that stupid cane back and forth. “shame. i think we have a lot to talk about.”

“why are you here?”

“ah, asking the right questions now!”

“just tell me, kaz. tell me, and then we can go our separate ways - just like you wanted.”

his expression falters for a moment, so quick that it’s clear he doesn’t want you noticing the power you still have over him, even just a little.

“fine,” he says. “let’s walk.”

you do just that, hands tucked into pockets, head tilted down. it’s easier to talk to him when you’re not subject to his facial expressions, too - handling both of them is too much.

“you want to know why i’m here,” he begins. “i’m here looking for you.”

your stomach drops, even though that was kind of what you were expecting.

he pauses, giving you a chance to fill in the silence with your own thoughts, but you don’t even look up.

he barrels on. “we had a tip-off from someone that you were working here now. no one else believed it, but me? i know you a little better than them. i was surprised, but i could picture it. you’ve always been irrational when you’re desperate.”

you wince. “you don’t know me at all, kaz.”

he smiled at the sky in response, like you had walked into his trap.

“i hope you didn’t come here thinking you can coax me back to the barrel,” you continue. “that’s not going to happen.”

his jaw clenches, head still tilted towards the sun. his skin is a little darker now, a little more tan. he’s probably been out and about, you think, causing havok in the sunshine, ruining people’s holidays because he can.

“i thought you would say that,” he says. “so i’m bringing the problem to you.”

you nearly stumble. “what?” freezing in the middle of the path, you grab his arm and whirl him around, forcing him to look at you. “what have you done, kaz? what problem?”

“she asked for you.”

“kaz-”

“inej is sick.”

your breath falters. those words, so simple, yet so . . . unexpected. inej ghafa - the wraith, your best friend, the girl designed to be indestructible. that’s why kaz picked her. that’s why she worked alongside you. that’s what made you the best damn crew in ketterdam.

“sick.”

kaz nods, shrugging his arm from your grip. “sick. ill. not well. poorly. whatever you want to call it. she’s not doing good, and the only person she’s asking for is you.”

“so where is she?” you whirl around. “is she here?”

“not walking alongside us, no.”

you scowl. “i mean at the palace, kaz. is she at the palace?”

“she will be.” kaz pulls a golden watch from his pocket. “in about three hours. that should give your employer plenty of time to set my room up and make some space in the hospital wing, don’t you think?”

you close your eyes, trying desperately to steady the thumping of your heart. he could be lying, and you know that, but what if he isn’t? what is inej really is on her death bed, and you never even got to say goodbye?

the thought terrifies you to the point your hands begin to tremble. when you open your eyes, kaz is staring at them, and you’re almost certain there is something close to pity sparking there.

you quickly snap your arms behind your back and nod. “fine. okay. i’ll see her. but once i’ve done what i can, you leave. both of you.”

kaz studies your face. the fire in your stomach burns even brighter, forcing you to look away and keep walking.

kaz follows, all soft footsteps. “i’m not here to bring up the past, y/n. i hope you know that.”

“you can understand why i find that hard to believe.”

“well, yes. but i’m serious. what we had, it means nothing now. you’re a different person, and so am i. we can let it go.”

you swallow the lump in your throat, trying to pretend those words are exactly what you wanted to hear. but a knot twists in your heart, almost to the point of pain.

you take a deep breath and glance at him over your shoulder. he’s only a few steps behind, but his presence is so large, so there that you nearly trip.

and then you say, “we never had anything, kaz. remember that.”

----

it’s like you’re trying to hurt each other.

that’s how it’s always been between you and kaz, but at one point, it felt natural. it was a bit of fun. a few snide remarks here and there, followed by kaz confessing he thinks your eyes are a very pretty colour. a bit of sparring, followed by you telling kaz he’s the most important person in your life.

this time, however, the mere sight of him is a torment, one you don’t find fun in the slightest.

the king tasks you with leading kaz through the palace. this was a job you fully expected to be given, but it doesn’t make it any easier. kaz stops to examine every little thing, tracing his fingers along artefacts you would be murdered for touching.

you swat his hand away when he reaches for a bust of the kings father. “stop it. if you knock that over, he’ll have you hanged.”

kaz raises a brow before touching a gloved fingertip to the stone. you groan and march off, trying to ignore the butterflies at the sound of his soft, hidden chuckle echoing behind you.

you show him his room, a beautifully decorated space much grander than any room the king has ever given you. kaz whistles when he walks in, looking at the wine bucket on his chest of drawers, and the freshly made bed with the thick linens, and a view to die for.

“spoiled,” he says.

you roll your eyes. “i’ll leave you to get comfortable.”

“or.” he whirls, catching your arm. his fingers slot in the crook of your elbow, the leather of his gloves sparking unwanted familiarity within you. “you can stay, and we can talk some more.”

“i have things to do, kaz.” you rip your arm from his grip. “the king will be having lunch soon, and i need to be there.”

kaz scoffs, slowly sliding the knot out of his tie and slipping it from beneath his collar, like undressing in front of you is no big deal. “so you can do what? potentially die? you know, y/n, i once thought you were a tough son of a bitch, but the longer i’m here, the more i’m realising just how weak you are.”

ouch.

“we’ve all got to make a living somehow,” you reply. “you murder people, i keep the king safe.”

“the same king you wanted to assassinate a few months ago?” he tilts his head, pursing his lips. “what a drastic change of heart.”

“go to hell, kaz.”

he raises a hand. “wait for me outside; i’ll come to lunch with you and your king.”

you pause. “has he invited you?”

“i don’t need an invite.”

“you’re not permitted to be there-”

“i’ll be there.” he starts unbuttoning his shirt. “i want to watch you in action. you’ve always been very good in action.” he smirks, and you know he’s just teasing you, trying to get a reaction. your cheeks heat up, but you quickly turn on your heel and scurry out before he can notice.

you don’t wait on him outside. instead, you hurry to the dining hall, where the king is already seated. he looks up when you enter, fingers already tangled in his beard. his wife sits beside him, grand and tall and everything a queen should be. she scowls when you enter, but you ignore her, immediately taking your seat by the king and fanning a napkin over your lap.

“sorry,” you say. “kaz brekker kept me.”

“it’s mr brekker,” the queen snaps. “have some respect for our guests.”

“y/n can call me kaz.”

you close your eyes, listening to the thump of his feet and cane against the carpet.

“y/n can call me kaz,” he repeats, lowering himself in the chair at the head of the table. “mr brekker is a little too formal for them.”

“mr brekker,” the queen exclaims, fanning her reddening face. “i wasn’t aware you would be joining us for lunch!”

you nearly roll your eyes at her flustered state - okay, so kaz is attractive. he’s also half her age.

kaz leans back in his seat, tapping his fingertips together. “oh, no, i’m not eating. i’m just here to observe.” at the confused silence, he shrugs. “i have nothing better to do, and i’ve always been fascinated with the hobbies y/n takes on. such a talented soul they are.”

you’ve never heard kaz speak so formal before, and you have half a mind to laugh. instead, you glance over to see his own lips trembling in his attempts to keep a straight face - he finds this just as amusing as you do. messing with the royals, it’s all a game to him. they are the fools.

“do you two know each other?” the king asks, handing you his stacked plate.

“no,” you snap. kaz grins behind his glove, staring at you over his fingers as you hasten to add, “no, we don’t. i just met him today.”

the king nods slowly, not quite sure whether to believe you or not. you don’t give him a chance to doubt any further before picking up your knife and fork and cutting a small chunk from a slice of tofu. you go through the usual routine with everything on his plate, but all the while, kaz stares. you feel his eyes like a fire sinking into the side of your face, putting you off from paying proper attention. you pop the cut-off’s in your mouth and chew, turning to meet his gaze, as if making eye contact with him is some kind of power move. however, he actually looks a bit. . . worried? concerned? you’ve never seen that expression on his face before, and it makes your stomach flip as you swallow the food.

you give a final nod, handing the plate back to the king. you repeat the process with the queen before standing, straightening your trousers and excusing yourself.

kaz’s chair screeches as he stands.

“mr brekker, would you not care for some lunch?” the queen asks.

“no.” he turns and follows you out the dining room, catching your arm when you try and run. “what the hell?”

you spin, snatching your arm away. “can you stop grabbing me?”

“what happens if their food actually has been poisoned?”

“then i get poisoned.”

he raises a brow, skin paling. “and do they have someone on hand for if that happens?”

“on hand to do what?”

“don’t play stupid, y/n. on hand to save your fucking life.”

you scowl; it’s been a long time since you’ve heard kaz curse, and it shames you to feel the same thrill run over you.

“i get sent to the infirmary,” you reply. “but it’s never happened before.”

“never happened-” he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “this is the kind of life you want to live? you left the barrel for this?”

“no life is as bad as the barrel.”

kaz’s lips tighten, eyes fluttering closed for the briefest moment before he opens them again and says, “you left the place where people loved you, cared about you, and you came here. to this shit hole. you’re risking your life for them, and you have the nerve to tell me this life isn’t as bad as the barrel?”

even to you it sounds ridiculous, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“the barrel wasn’t a life,” you say. “the barrel was a beginning for me, but i’ve moved on.”

“you don’t move on from that.”

“maybe not mentally, but i can damn well get away physically.” you lean in, lowering your voice. “i just wish you’d let me.”

his eyes scan your face, drawing attention to just how close you are to him. his breath fans your cheeks. you can make out every line on his lips, every crease in his face. you could lean forward if you wanted to, close that distance.

you step back, once again straightening your trousers. “tell me when inej arrives and i’ll come meet her in the infirmary.”

kaz doesn’t say anything. he watches you leave, and part of you - a retched, traitorous part - is disappointed he doesn’t follow.

----

inej really is sick.

“so it’s true,” you say, sauntering into the infirmary. “the wraith has been beaten.”

you’re trying to jest, but there’s little humour to be felt when she looks like that. her dark skin is pale and sickly, warm drops of sweat clinging to her forehead and rolling down her neck. she’s dressed in only a thin night gown, revealing collar bones and stretched skin where her muscles once were.

she looks up, bloodshot eyes meeting your own, and even in sickness, she manages a smile when she sees you. that’s enough to have you breaking. you rush to her bedside and bundle her in your arms, nearly sobbing with relief at the feel of her pressed against you, her hands in your hair, her mouth inches from your ear.

she whispers, “it’s you.”

you pull away, nodding. “yes. it’s me.”

“what are you doing here?”

you pull a chair over and sit down. “that’s not important.”

“yes, it is.”

“i’ll explain later.” you lean forward, pushing a strand of hair away from her face. “you talk first; what’s going on?”

inej coughs into her elbow; something rattles in your throat, and you try desperately to hide your wince. “i just got sick. i fell in the brig a few days ago, and i don’t think the water was very healthy.”

“of course it wasn’t,” you grumble. “it’s the barrel, you stupid girl. what did you expect?”

“i cleaned myself pretty well afterwards,” she defends.

“clearly not well enough.” you place a hand to her cheek. “has anyone come to see you?”

“some man in a coat,” she replies, nuzzling down in the pillows. “he checked my temperature and my blood pressure and all that stuff. said he’d be back soon.”

“and he didn’t seem . . . concerned?”

inej shrugs. “i didn’t look him in the eye. men like him don’t sit right with me, y/n. i let him do his job, but i’m not looking at him. i’m not giving him ideas.”

you nod. there is a silence, but those are okay between you and inej.

finally, you reach over and take her hand. her palms are clammy, cold, but her grip is strong.

“i’m sorry i wasn’t there to help you.”

her head snaps around, eyes widening. “y/n-”

“i know you always say you understand why i left, but it’s just. . . i don’t know. i feel guilty about it. i feel selfish sometimes, and you’ve had to travel all the way here whilst you’re in this state all because i wasn’t there to-”

“has kaz been making you feel guilty?”

your mouth snaps closed. “i don’t. . . i don’t think so?”

inej sighs, head dropping back into the pillows. “don’t listen to him. i understand why you left; i always have. kaz just. . . i don’t think he ever got over it when you disappeared. it was like a part of him went with you.” she shrugs. “a part of him did go - you.”

silence again, because you have no idea how to respond to that. kaz was hurt when you left, and you know that, but he’s kaz. he’s tough. he’s been through everything a person should never have to go through. the thought of his final straw being you is almost laughable to think about.

“he loved you,” inej continues, even though you don’t want her to. “he really, really loved you.”

“past tense,” you whisper. “not any more.”

inej smiles sadly, and that’s all you need to see to understand you’re right - he’s moved on. he’s here with you now, but that means nothing in the grand scheme of things. he’s here on business. he doesn’t care about you, and he said it himself - whatever the two of you had is gone, non-existent. you thought you had come to terms with that, but seeing the confirmation on inej’s face makes you feel suddenly exhausted.

“well this isn’t about kaz and i,” you say, pulling your shoulders back. “come on. tell me what’s been going on since i left.”

---

you’re trying to sleep when you hear the bang.

trying being the key word. always. every night, you put your best efforts into drifting to sleep, but it never seems to work how you want it to. you toss and turn for hours on end, drifting in and out of your associative state, but not really falling asleep. time just passes, and then it’s day time, and you’re working again.

tonight is no different.

the bang is loud, just next door to your room. your ears immediately prick - the palace guards aren’t moving towards it. you’re already awake, so you may as well see to it yourself.

you swing your legs out of bed, grab your dressing gown and walk into the hallway. glancing back and forth, you see nothing out of the ordinary.

the bang sounds again.

you narrow your eyes, walking further down the hallway. turning a corner, the bang sounds one final time before a pair of shoes flies at the wall and crashes to the floor in a heap.

you rush forward, eyes wide. “what the-”

kaz spins, another pair of expensive shoes already in his hand. “oh. did i wake you?”

dazed, you snatch the shoes into your possession and toss them to the floor. “what the fuck are you doing, kaz? people are trying to sleep!”

“i was also trying to sleep,” kaz replies. “i am one of those people, so why are you yelling at me?”

you rub your eyes in frustration - sometimes talking to him is like pulling teeth.

“oh, come on,” kaz says. “i was just doing a bit of late night cleaning. this room is a fucking shit hole.”

you raise a brow, sighing. “what are you on about? this room was pristine when you came.”

“yeah, well, i thought so too. and then i found this.” he motions for you to enter the room, and though you know it’s a bad idea, you do so. he hooks his foot around something beneath his bed, and pulls out a box overflowing with expensive shoes.

you narrow your eyes. “what’s the problem?”

“rich men shoes,” he says, like that explains everything. after knowing kaz as deeply as you do, it kind of does make sense.

you sigh again, kicking the box back beneath the bed. “go to sleep, kaz.”

“i can’t.”

“try.”

“you know i can’t.”

you pause, overcome with a sudden chill. you wrap the dressing gown tighter around your body, trying to refrain from looking at him - he’s still dressed in the fancy clothes he wore this morning, but the top button is pulled loose, and his hair is a mess. his eyes droop a little, evidence that he really wants to sleep, but genuinely just can’t.

and you know why.

“i’m not asking you to stay with me,” he continues, grabbing a pair of socks from the floor. “i’m just saying - you have no right telling me to sleep when you know what it’s like.”

“are they bad again?”

kaz purses his lips. “they’ve been bad for a while.”

a while. that’s how he always phrases it. when he says it’s been a while, he means it’s been a while since you left the crows, left him.

you swallow, looking to the ceiling like the intricate design will give you clarity. “i can get you tea or something. a fresh blanket. whiskey.”

“trying to get me drunk?”

“kaz, i’m serious.” you meet his eyes. “you look terrible.”

he laughs, a sly sound that reeks more of danger than amusement. “thank you.”

“let me get you something.” you turn, but he catches your elbow. you glance back just as he drops his hand like your flesh has burned him, an uncharacteristic redness adorning his cheeks.

“didn’t mean to touch you,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “but i’m serious; i don’t need anything. it’s useless anyway.”

everything is useless. every remedy he’s ever been given has never worked. the only remedy for insomnia that has worked for kaz brekker is you.

but you can’t do that to him. you can’t do that to yourself.

“okay,” you mumble. “just. . . stop making so much noise, alright?”

“did i really wake you?”

“i couldn’t sleep either.”

you stare at each other. it’s like you’re waiting for the other to break. you hate that you kind of want him to break.

his adams apple bobs. “make yourself some tea, then. i’ll be a bit quieter.”

you nod. “thanks.”

“how’s inej, by the way? did you see her?”

“i did. she seems. . . okay.” you shrug. “the doctors are going to do everything they can to help her get back to normal. then you can go back to the barrel.”

kaz nods, though his movements are slower this time around, shoulders a little more slumped. neither of you say anything else as you walk out, tugging your dressing gown a little tighter around your body.

you don’t take his advice. you don’t need tea, or whiskey, or a fresh blanket; with kaz’s words and his expressions and him, you know there is no way you’re getting to sleep any time soon, no matter what remedy you use.

----

“good morning, royalty.”

the king looks up from his breakfast, the very breakfast you have just tested for poison. it sits weirdly in your stomach this morning; after a sleepless night, your appetite has deserted you, but you have no choice besides eating.

kaz strolls into the room, dressed in a suit. his white shirt sits against his chest, and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal the crow tattoo on his arm. you awkwardly rub your own crow tattoo, suddenly very aware of how permanent it is.

“good morning, mr brekker,” the king says. “again, you surprise me with your presence. we weren’t expecting you for breakfast.”

“i am just full of surprises.” he sits down in his usual seat and meets your eyes. “how are you this morning, y/n?”

“y/n was just about to leave,” the king replies, as you knew he would; he likes hearing your voice as little as possible.

kaz, however, keeps his eyes on you. “i asked y/n. not you.”

you stare straight at him, a silent warning. “i’m good, mr brekker. well-rested.”

“you can call me kaz.” he leans back, grinning. “i’m glad to hear it. maybe you and i can take a walk amongst the duck pond again later on.”

there he goes, putting on that god awful formal accent that he thinks is so funny.

you scowl. “i’m a bit busy today, mr brekker.”

“kaz.”

“he asked you to call him kaz, y/n,” the king snaps.

kaz nods. “i asked you to call me kaz, y/n.”

you bite your lip, pushing back the retort that so desperately wants to rise. he’s just sat there, grinning with no shame. the king is looking straight at him, and he doesn’t even care.

“any duties you’ve been given today can be postponed until later,” the king says. “mr brekker is our guest, and if he wants your company, your company he shall receive.”

kaz’s grin gets wider, and oh, you want so desperately to punch him square in the face. instead, you force a smile, turning to the king to tell him just how honoured you would be to give kaz brekker your company on this fine morning.

and that’s how you find yourself strolling through the gardens with kaz, yet again.

“you’re unbelieable,” you mumble, arms folded over your chest like a school kid having a tantrum.

“i’m good,” he replies. “you know i’m good, y/n. i don’t know why you act surprised.”

“he’s the king, kaz,” you hiss. “can you not tone it down a little?”

“tone what down?”

“the-” you gesture vaguely, though the only word you can conjure is flirting, and there’s no way in hell you’re letting that slip into the conversation. “the shit. tone down the shit!”

“i’m not scared of him. i know you want me to be, but i’m not.”

“oh yes. how could i forget? kaz brekker isn’t scared of anything.”

kaz scoffs. “kaz brekker is scared of plenty of things - men aren’t one of them.”

such a kaz thing to say. the most frustrating bit about it was that he was telling the truth.

“i told inej what your job is here,” he continues after a moment of tense silence.

“oh?”

“she understands. says you’ve always been one to do anything to survive.”

you shrug. she’s right.

“that worries me, you know.”

“nothing worries you, kaz.”

“the thought of you in danger does.”

you shake your head. “don’t start this now. you said it yourself; what we had was nothing.”

“why can’t i worry about you without it having to mean something bigger?”

“because everything you say means something bigger.”

kaz falls silent. he knows it’s true, and so do you. kaz has never been able to speak his full extent, always letting people think less of him so he can take them by surprise when the time is right. you have learned first hand how frustrating that can be, but it was also a part of him you grew to love. it was what made him so intelligent, so cunning. it was what made him kaz.

“are you not ever worried you’re going to get unlucky one day?”

you glance over. he keeps his head ducked down, one hand curled around the head of his cane, the other tucked into his pocket. “i know what i signed up for. getting poisoned was kind of part of the risk.”

“since when did you even know how to identify poisons?”

your lips twitch. “jesper taught me.”

kaz rolls his eyes skyward, running a hand through his hair; the sun glows against his tan skin. “of course he did. honestly, the shit you two got up to when i wasn’t around-”

“we had fun,” you say. “we could only do that when you weren’t hovering over our shoulders.”

kaz glares.

you look to the floor, afraid to smile at him, afraid to open this conversation into something even mildly pleasant; if you can get through this entire visit without thinking of kaz fondly, maybe it will make all of it a bit easier. maybe you’ll be able to trick yourself into thinking you’ve moved on, grown stronger since your time in the barrel.

“how is jesper?” you ask, because you suddenly feel like you can’t help it.

kaz shrugs. “how jesper always is.”

“worse?”

“for a while. he didn’t take you leaving very well, but he straightened himself out.” kaz tugs on his lapels. “he always does.”

“yeah. he does.”

you wonder about jesper sometimes. it hurts to know he took your leave badly, though you should have known; jesper has never been one to handle his feelings well. that was your job on his behalf. you would often sit with him at night, just to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. you once handcuffed him to his bed post to stop him heading out into the gambling hall of the hotel you were staying in.

he was the only one you could ever really properly speak to about what was going on between you and kaz. inej understood kaz, but jesper was kaz’s right-hand man. he was the one kaz would go to about things like that.

“does jesper know how to make your brew?”

there is no moment of confusion, like he was expecting the question. “i’m sure he does. i never ask him to make it, though.”

your nostrils flare. “kaz-”

“listen, the nightmares aren’t going to disappear,” he says, raising a silencing hand that you swat away before he can think it works. “i don’t need some special brew helping me sleep.”

“no, you’ll just stay awake until you drop dead.”

kaz grins, sharp as knives. “that’ll be the way to go, won’t it?”

you shove his shoulder, suddenly furious. he looks over, still grinning, because kaz has always found your frustration amusing. he used to say you looked like a chipmunk who just got their nuts stolen.

“for someone so smart,” you hiss, “you’re pretty stupid.”

“because i won’t indulge in your famous sleep remedy?”

“because you’ll let yourself suffer before asking for help.”

his smile fades. “i only ask certain people for help, y/n. it’s not my fault those people keep leaving.”

your heart drops; there he goes again with the impersonal little jabs, knowing he’s cutting you so, so deep. you don’t even humour him with a response, instead quickening your pace until you begin to feel like he isn’t even there.

but that’s impossible, because he’s kaz brekker. he’s yours. even when he truly isn’t there, it’s like he’s walking right beside you, and you’re beginning to get very annoyed by the attachment. it’s not fair on you, and it’s not fair on kaz, but neither of you seem able to help it.

you continue walking until the cold gets a little too much. then you head back to the palace in silence.

----

final meal of the day. you will make sure it’s not poisoned, and then you will go to bed.

kaz is there, as per usual. the king and queen don’t even act shocked any more, simply welcoming him into the dining hall. oftentimes, he’ll stroll in by your side, his cane clicking against the marble and that smug little smile playing on his face. you always ignore him, even though the king says it’s disrespectful to do so.

tonight, you do just that. you take your seat beside the king, gather up his food and start the process. the beef is smothered in gravy, making the scent test a little difficult, but you give it a go anyway, because it’s protocol by now.

kaz watches from afar, one finger pressed to his lips. he’s lounging back like he’s comfortable, like sitting in a palace is what he does every day. his eyes are narrowed, focused.

you pop the beef into your mouth and chew; nothing.

you move onto the potatoes. nothing.

finally, you dip your fork into the sweetcorn and raise it to your lips.

kaz slaps the fork from your hand. he makes no noise. one minute he is sat at the head of the table, and the next he is by your side, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you from your seat.

the queen shrieks as the fork flies directly at her, sweetcorn and all. a glass of wine tips over when kaz pulls you to your feet, your knee slamming against the underside of the table. palace guards run inside, but none of them know what to do - nobody in the room shouldn’t be there, and so they stand by the door, glancing at each other.

your eyes, however, are trained on kaz.

“what. the. fuck?” you hiss under your breath as the king tends to his startled wife.

kaz meets your eyes dead on. “you really need to get better at your job.” he grabs your arm and starts for the door. the king hollers after him, demanding to know what is going on, but kaz pays him no attention, and you have no idea why you’re not fighting any of this. your heart is hammering in your chest at a million miles per hour, and you have so many questions, but it’s just reflex by now to trust kaz.

he drags you through the halls until reaching his room, where he pushes open the door and leads you inside. it is only then, when it is just the two of you, that you come to your senses, replaying that scene over and over in your head.

you whirl around, yanking your arm from his grip so harshly that you stumble back. “what the hell was that, kaz?”

“how much training did they actually give you before throwing you in to risk your life everyday?”

“why do you care?”

he starts pulling his tie loose, not even looking at you. “just tell me.”

you fold your arms over your chest, trying desperately to keep your attention away from the way his gloved fingers tug and pull at the knot on his tie. “i did a course at the start where i could identify all the different types of poisons.”

he quirks an eyebrow. “that all?”

“it was enough.”

“if it was enough, y/n, you would have noticed the soft spots in the sweetcorn.”

your head snaps up. soft spots?

he hums, despite you saying nothing in response. “wilde yolk makes food go soft in certain places. it also kills people in about ten seconds if consumed in even the tiniest amount.” he looks up, flicking his tie off completely. “did you not learn that in your course?”

you bite your lip and look away. you were so distracted at that dinner table these days, focusing mostly on kaz brekker at the end of the table. you had no idea he was examining your food just as much as you should have been. you had no idea he was keeping an eye out for you.

“so is this experience enough to get you to move back to the barrel?”

your eyes snap up. he’s staring right at you. he doesn’t even look fazed by his question.

and that makes you so, so angry. in seconds, you have gone from grateful to furious; only kaz can elicit that response from you.

you step back, glaring. “so that’s what this is then? you came all the way here to drag me back to the barrel?”

“well, no. i came here to get inej help, but she seems to be healing up pretty well with all the goods your people are giving her.” he shrugs, bottom lip protruding. “so i thought i’d try my hand at this.”

“you are unbelievable.”

kaz raises a brow. “are you getting mad at me?”

“you are unbelievable!” you want to throw something at him. you want to break down and cry. you kind of want to go with him. “it’s like you haven’t listened to a word i’ve said. are you that self-centred, kaz?”

“you know i am.”

you close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. maybe you’re overreacting. maybe you really are better off in the barrel, where you were born and raised, where you learned everything you ever knew. but here, with kaz being the one to drag you back - it reminds you so harshly that you’re his. you are his, and that is all anyone will ever see you as, and that thought. . . you don’t know how to feel about that thought.

“this isn’t the life for you, y/n,” he continues. “you know it isn’t. once the barrel has you, it doesn’t let you go. we’ve all learned that the hard way.”

“is that what you are?” you spit. “the hard way?”

he shrugs. “you should be grateful it’s me and not someone worse.”

“there is no one worse, kaz.”

his lips twitch, the only sign that your words have actually struck a nerve. “you mean that, do you?”

“don’t act like you’re the good guy. you know you’re evil. you’re proud of it! that’s why i had to leave. that’s why i’m in here risking my life every single fucking day! i wanted to get away from you!”

and oh, saints, this isn’t going how you wanted it to go. the words are spilling from your mouth before you can stop them, mind racing too quick for your mouth to catch up. his face continues falling with every word, but you don’t stop.

“saints, kaz, when are you ever going to grow the fuck up? you walk around pretending you have everything under control, that you own the place, but you’re nothing - nothing - without the rest of us. you would be dead twenty times over if it wasn’t for that little crew of yours, the people you have under your god damn thumb.” you step forward, teeth gritted. “kaz dirtyhands brekker can’t even take his own fucking gloves off.”

“is that what you want?” he steps closer, so close your chests are almost touching. his face is red, a line of sweat glittering upon his upper lip that only ever shows itself when he’s furious, out of his mind with anger. “you want the gloves to come off? fine.”

and then he plucks the gloves from his hands and throws them on the floor.

his hands. the hands you have seen only twice in the years you have known him, the hands that have never touched your bare skin. suddenly they are in full view, free reign to do whatever you want with them, but all you can do is step back, one hand covering your mouth as you try and process what you’ve said, what kaz has done, how the situation could have taken such a harsh, grim turn.

but kaz isn’t finished. kaz is never finished.

“is this what you want, y/n?” he demands. “you need me to bear myself completely for you to believe i’m in love with you? or is this not enough?”

“kaz-”

“what else is it going to take, huh? tell me.”

“kaz, i’m-”

“what about this?”

he’s crazy. he’s crazy, and making mistakes, and you know this because he reaches forward and cups your face in his bare hands, flesh against flesh. shock ricochets through you, eyes widening as kaz lets out an anguished groan, his own eyes slipping closed. you feel his fingers trembling upon your skin.

you wrench away from him, gasping.

he immediately spins around, clutching his hands to his chest. he groans low in his throat, pressing his head against the wall. sweat trickles down the back of his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. you catch a single tear run down his cheek that he can’t wipe away because then his fingers will be touching his skin, and he hates that. it kills him. you know it does.

you rush forward, placing a hand safely on his jacket-covered shoulder. his breathing is ragged and shaky.

“kaz,” you pant. “oh god, kaz, i’m so sorry. i’m so, so sorry. why did you do that?” you whirl around frantically. “your gloves. where are your gloves?”

he doesn’t reply. you’re talking to yourself at this point. you spot his gloves on the floor and grab them, immediately handing them back without so much as a brush of your fingertips against his. he’s hurried and distressed when he tugs them back on, clenching his fist over and over again, as if to ensure his hands are safely hidden beneath the leather.

he doesn’t turn around. you stand behind him, one hand pressed to your chest, eyes swimming in tears you didn’t even feel rising to the surface.

“kaz,” you whisper. “i’m. . . i didn’t mean. . .”

“you got what you wanted, didn’t you?” he mumbles, straightening up. “i’m not asking you to return to the barrel with me so you can serve me, or whatever you think this is. i’m asking you to return so i can have you there. so we can be together again.” he glances over his shoulder. “as it should be.”

you stare at him, wanting to respond, wanting to tell him to go to hell, but you can’t lie. never before have you been able to look kaz in the eye and lie, and maybe that’s why you say nothing. he’s right in every sense - you and him are meant to be by each other’s side, no matter what. barrel born and raised, nobody understands you quite like he does.

but admitting that, throwing away every barrier you have worked so hard to put up . . . you can’t do it.

kaz waits a moment longer before laughing half-heartedly, sounding more exhausted than anything else. he lowers his head, black hair falling in his face before he swipes it out of the way, looks at you and says, “get out.”

“kaz-”

“stop saying my name.” he turns, tossing his tie onto the bed. “get. out. inej and i will be gone tomorrow.”

you swallow thickly, pushing away the tears. and then you do as he said, because standing in his presence for much longer is going to send you into a spiral you don’t think you’ll be able to crawl out of again. you’ve been down that road before, and it took everything in you not to be consumed.

----

“why do you look like you’ve been crying?” inej asks. she’s sat up now, a tray of soup perched on her lap. the colouring has come back to her skin, and she stands up whenever she wants to. whatever the palace medics did for her is working wonders, which you suppose is one thing you should be grateful for.

you lean over and dip a slice of bread in her soup.

“are you checking if it’s been poisoned?” inej jokes, and when you don’t respond, she sighs. “you and kaz have a fight?”

you wince, which is answer enough.

“what about this time?”

“he wants me to go back to the barrel with you.”

inej pauses, eyes still cast to her soup. you look at her, stomach curling in sudden realisation.

“wait,” you say. “did you know that was his plan this entire time?”

“no,” she replies, though she looks sheepish. “i genuinely was sick. kaz just. . . came along for the ride when he heard you were here.” she looks up and groans. “you can’t act surprised, y/n. what were you expecting? for him to just walk out and leave you here?”

“that would have been the right thing to do, yes.”

“well, you know kaz better than that. use your brain.” she waves a hand in your direction. “pass me another slice of bread and tell me about this argument.”

you don’t want to. all day you have been thinking about the feel of his hands on your face, his flesh against your own, the anguished groan ripped from his throat. he put himself through that to prove - what? that he loves you? that’s what he said, but it was only a few days prior he was claiming what you and him had was nothing. it was forgotten, and you were happy about that for the briefest moment. if kaz moved on, you could too.

but then he took the gloves off, and it was just. . . messed up again. you were left confused and guilty and pining, and you hated yourself for it. it was as if all that hard work you had put in to forget about kaz had been thrown out the window - trust kaz to come in and ruin everything.

“i can see what you’re thinking, you know,” says inej suddenly.

“can you?”

“take it from me,” she says. “kaz is never going to get over you. he’s never going to let you go. he’s never going to stop trying for you. he’s a stubborn bastard, and a stubborn bastard is even worse when they’re in love - which kaz is. disastrously, madly in love.”

“he said we were nothing.”

“he’s a stubborn and prideful bastard.”

you close your eyes, heart thumping. “i don’t know what to do, inej.”

“well, do you love him back?”

your eyes fly open. “what kind of question is that?”

she shrugs. “an obvious one, but i want to know the answer.”

you know the answer. your brain screams it at you. you have felt the answer in your bones every day since you left the barrel, and yet speaking it aloud feels like a betrayal of yourself from yourself.

so you look away, and as inej always claims, she can see exactly what you’re thinking.

a soft chuckle slips past her lips. “the barrel never leaves a person, y/n. and apparently, neither does kaz brekker.”

“what are you suggesting?”

inej shrugs. “kaz and i are leaving for ketterdam in the morning. there’s definitely room for a third person.”

----

you don’t sleep that night. neither does kaz.

you can hear him pacing back and forth in his room, no doubt replaying the days events over and over in his mind in the same way you are. his hands against your skin, his eyes piercing your own, those words he spoke that left you tingling all over.

even now, laying in bed, you can’t get over what he said. i love you. that was the jidst of it, and though you had heard that confession from him a few times in the past, it was different this time around. it was kaz trying to prove himself, which he never did before. if someone didn’t take kaz at face value, he wouldn’t bother.

and you have to admit, hearing him say those words was like a shot to the chest. they are the very words that have been on the tip of your tongue for months now, spoken only in dreams when you finally allow yourself to sleep. you can say them to no one else - just kaz. always, always just kaz.

and maybe this realisation is the reason you find yourself getting dressed at six in the morning. maybe this realisation is the reason you pack all your things into the ruck sack you came to the palace with. maybe this realisation is the reason you tip-toe to the courtyard, avoiding the eyes of the staff who all look at you like you’re some kind of prisoner escaping your cell.

it’s still dark. the grass is wet beneath your thin shoes, the jacket you have pulled on doing little to protect you from the icy winds coming from the ocean just feet away from the palace’s front door. hovering on the banks is a boat, a boat you recognise as The Mast, one of the many boats kaz has won from different people around ketterdam.

you nearly cry at the sight of it.

you don’t waste time waiting on kaz and inej - you don’t want to have this discussion with either of them until you’re safely on the water, until you can’t change your mind.

you clamber onto the boat, giving a sheepish smile to the stunned crew member - Daryl, you think he’s called - as he stares at you approaching. he offers you a hand when you finally reach the deck, his eyes never leaving your own.

“morning,” you say. “i’m y/n.”

“i know,” daryl replies, before tipping his hat. “it’s wonderful to have you back on board.”

you smile awkwardly, unsure how to respond; how much do the crew actually know about what happened between you and the crows? how many people bore witness to that god awful aftermath?

you decide not to wait around to hear the answer. instead, you tell daryl you’re going down to the cabins, and he doesn’t argue. you disappear beneath the deck, finding the first room with a bed and immediately claiming it as your own; despite the lack of sleep, you are not tired in the slightest. you can’t get kaz out of your head, how he is going to react when the boat eventually docks and he sees you strolling off of it, greeted by that rancid ketterdam air. back in the barrel.

you lay down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. you will fall asleep eventually. you’ll trick yourself into it.

and then the door opens.

your eyes snap open with it; you must have fallen asleep eventually. groggily, you lift your head and look at the intruder - and your heart immediately falls.

“kaz.”

he looks crazed, hair stuck up, eyes wild. behind him stands inej, grinning from ear to ear, though the minute kaz steps into the room, she disappears into the shadows, leaving you and dirtyhands alone.

his eyes never leave yours as he approaches. he marches to your bedside, grabs your hand and pulls you up.

“kaz-”

he shoves you against the wall, gun pressed to your temple. you inhale sharply, though you can’t claim to be surprised or scared. you stare into his eyes, watching his own trace your features, looking for any sign that you are here in bad company.

“kaz,” you whisper, because it’s always his name that fights past your lips. “it’s me. i’m going home.”

his grip slackens. the gun crashes to the floor, and before you can say anything, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him. you are careful to rest your head upon his shoulder, not touching his flesh, but feeling him nonetheless. tears spring to your eyes, dribbling down the bridge of your nose and soaking the shoulder of his fancy suede jacket - one he stole from the kings wardrobe, you notice.

but you don’t pull away, afraid to go without his touch for another second.

“is this what you want?” he asks, voice muffled by your hair. “is this really what you’ve decided?”

“yes.” you pull away, hands sliding down his arms. “you’re right, kaz. the barrel is . . . it’s a shit hole, but it’s where i belong. it’s all i know. and you and me. . . we have to do this thing together.”

he narrows his eyes. “what thing?”

“everything.”

the corners of his mouth twitch. you can imagine kissing those lips, drawing him close and embracing in that way lovers often do. however, you’re content, happy even, with the way things are. you hold his gloved hands, and he says he loves you. you confide in him, and he confides in you, and sometimes you fight like children, but in the end, he will have your back no matter what.

“everything,” he repeats. “yeah.” he slips his gloved hands into the sleeve of your jacket, tracing his fingers along your crow tattoo, the one he matched, the one everyone matched when they decided to let the barrel take them over. you shiver, biting your lower lip. “you still have it.”

“i could hardly get rid of it,” you reply. kaz looks up, and you sigh. “i would never get rid of it, kaz. no matter what.”

he nods, rolling your sleeve back down. he pulls it over your wrist, covering your fingers before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the soft, rain soaked fabric.

he looks up at you again. “yes. no matter what.”

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker fanfic #soc #soc fanfic #kaz brekker fic #kaz brekker fanfiction #soc fanfiction #soc fic #six of crows #six of crows fanfic #six of crows fanfiction #six of crows fic

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vanderlindemorgans · 3 years

Text

Cross My Heart (Chapter 6)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Summary: A traitorous Agent Whiskey returns to the United States on the run. Being cast out by Statesman, he soon finds that you’re the only person he can turn to - the embittered former flame from years long passed

Word count: 7.7k

Chapter-specific Warnings: Descriptions of blood from a gunshot wound, alcohol consumption, talk of drug addiction, more death talk, mentions of entitled kid + parent, everyone being in denial and uh I think that’s about it

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The strangest thing about dreams were how quickly they disappeared: you could be passed out in bed, a million miles away from the waking world before the rays of sun started to shine over the horizon to rouse you from your slumber, and just like that - whatever world you were in would vanish, being replaced by an often disappointing reality in front of you. For Jack, vivid dreams weren’t too often of an occurrence for him, not that he really remembered anyway. Nightmares were even more rare, though at one point in time they’d plagued him for months on end. That was how he’d spent the first few months after his wife’s passing: waking up in a cold sweat, heart racing in panic from the lingering remnants of dream clung to the back of his mind, horrifying scenes of loss and tragedy playing out to torture him in his most vulnerable state. Usually the nightmares involved him being forced to watch Lily’s death with his own eyes and being powerless to stop it, the illusion always shattering just as her body hit the ground. Other times he’d be confronted by her, blood cascading from the bullet wound in her head and onto her skin while she stared at him with harsh eyes. He’d try to reach out for her, only to feel her hands had gone cold. And then the blame would start. The words that were repeated over and over by her until he felt his brain was going to break.You couldn’t protect me. Those ones were always the worst, and thankfully, the most rare.

All of this being said, Jack hadn’t dreamt of Lily in a long time. As the sting of her passing began to fade with time, leading into hate and anger towards the world for taking her away, the dreams slowly stopped. He still mourned for her every day, feeling frozen in time no matter how many years passed, no matter how fine he seemed on the outside, but the worst of it had left him. Or, so he thought.

Jolting out of bed with a fierce start, he could feel the rough material of the duvet in his hands, his hands grasped around it with an iron grip. He felt compelled to scream, though no sound was able to escape his mouth, and as he took note of his surroundings he started to feel less afraid when he realised where he was. He didn’t know what the time was, if he had to guess it was probably after midnight. Hesitantly, he placed the back of his hand to his temple, feeling the stray beads of sweat running underneath. It’d been a long time since something had managed to scare him to that degree, much less a nightmare. He probably should have felt relaxed once he realised that none of what he just went through was real, but he still felt spooked by the entire experience. Jack couldn’t even remember most of what happened - it all blended together in a frightening blur. The only moment he could still make out in his mind from the dream were its final moments: his wife was standing in front of him, in the middle of the convenience store where she died, with a man holding a gun to the back of her head. He remembered screaming out, pleading for her to be spared. It was too late - the sound of a gunshot rang out and her body fell limp to the floor, a pool of blood forming underneath her head. That wasn’t even the worst of it, as when he looked down upon her corpse he realised that it wasn’t Lily’s body lying dead on the ground anymore. It was yours.

“God fuckin’ damn it” he cursed, placing his head in his hands. On top of everything else that had already happened, he now had to deal with the return of old haunting nightmares that somehow were even worse than the ones he had years ago, because now you were involved. He sat up abruptly, grabbing onto a discarded shirt that he’d thrown over the foot of the bed and pulling it over his head, using nothing but the moonlight pouring through the curtains to guide himself out of the room and into the darkened hall. He stole a glance towards where your room was, a droplet of fear etching itself into his mind. Before he entirely knew what he was doing, he was opening the door to your room, being careful not to make any sound lest you were awakened. His fears subsided when he saw you curled up beneath the covers, sound asleep and none the wiser to his presence. Exhaling gently, he untensed his shoulders and looked over at your sleeping form with a small but sweet smile on lips. Of course she would be fine. You’re being paranoid.

Pulling the door behind him softly, he turned his attention to the end of the hall where the stairs were, the vague recollections of the nightmare rattling in the back of his mind. If he didn’t do something soon, he would keep himself up all night mulling over the implications of it all, and he wasn’t keen to spend the early hours of Sunday morning losing sleep because of his fucked head. He supposed it wasn’t that out of nowhere to dream about his wife, as he had been talking about her with you just last night. What scared him more so was that you were there, taking the bullet and ending up exactly as she had: dead. He couldn’t begin to fathom its meaning. Did it have to have meaning? Was it nothing more than a nightmare?

Scooping up a glass, he poured himself a generous amount of whiskey to sip on, returning the bottle back to the corners of your liquor cabinet. He probably should have asked before helping himself but it wasn’t like you were awake to answer to him, and he had a feeling you wouldn’t notice anyway, considering he’d found the aforementioned bottle pushed to the furthest reaches of the cabinet. When he noticed the label on the bottle, he couldn’t keep himself from smirking at the irony of it - of course you’d keep the Jack Daniels whiskey towards the back. Reclining into the couch with the glass in his hands, he took an absentminded sip while his mind further delved into the worrying implications of such a dream.

The only part of it all that made sense was that the dream had been about his deceased wife - with the discussion that happened between the two of you last night about her it was only logical that his subconscious had lingered on some parts of it. After you’d turned in for the night Jack had stayed up for a little while longer, seated out on that veranda with a pensive look and the bottle of bourbon you’d neglected to bring back inside. Your words made rings around his mind, sparking a debate of sorts with himself as he considered your criticisms towards him. The emotional part of him wanted to blindly hate, and to keep on doing exactly what he’d always been doing. But when he realised that blind hate had gotten him into this whole mess in the first place, he’d allowed himself to listen more carefully to your words, and to examine them on a deeper level. Upon knowing your own past with loss and pain at the hands of another, it made him take a step back and actually look at everything that had transpired in Cambodia, all the little things that led him to working against an organisation that he once devoted himself to. Whereas you’d taken steps to try and live in a world without your parents, he’d remained angry and hurt, stuck in a world that had long moved on from the tragedy and still feeling every raw cut of emotion that losing her dealt. Sure, he wasn’t exactly inconsolable over it constantly - he had been able to live for sixteen years without Lily. If he went to a psychiatrist, he knew exactly what they’d say to all that: “You’ve externalised your hate onto someone easier to blame, in this instance addicts, when really the only person you feel should be to blame is yourself for not being there to save her”, or something like that. He couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at the ludicracy of it all. Never in a million years did he think he’d be one for deep introspection. What in the goddamn has this world come to?

Even so, your words wouldn’t leave his mind. Did you have a point? Was it wrong to blame every addict on the planet for the actions of a few? In a rational sense, he could see what you were saying. His actions hadn’t been based on rationality though, it was all emotion. His instincts wanted him to reject the notion of him being ideologically wrong in this, a notion he in turn fought to reject from himself. One thing in particular that Eggsy had said to him during their final confrontation had stuck out to him at that moment: “You’re working for the president?”. He’d denied it at the time, and there was truth to his denial: as he put it himself, he didn’t want any kind of association with that asshole. At the same time, his feelings on the matter did happen to crossover with the president's own agenda, and some part of that in general hadn’t sat right with him.

Would it even matter by this stage if he’d accounted for his errors? He’d already single -handedly destroyed all that he had by then, the only thing that could properly atone him in his own opinion would probably be death, and he’d be damned if he was gonna let himself die any time soon. The realisation that he might have to spend the rest of his days with the guilt of the incident in Cambodia eating away at him wasn’t too kind on his psyche, but he was ready to accept it in lieu of the alternative. And damn it, if there wasn’t something about that judgemental way you’d looked at him that gave him enough of a kick in the teeth to want to do better. You’d said it yourself that you didn’t believe him to be a bad man. Maybe somehow he could redeem himself enough to even be half of what you’d described of him.

Drumming a lone finger along the fine seam of the couch cushion, his thoughts circled back around to the disturbing dream and everything it entailed, including the part that had shaken him the most. Why you? Why were you of all people appearing in his nightmares? And not only that, why did you take the place of his long dead wife at the end? His mind was ticking into overdrive to decipher every little detail. There was only one other time in his life he remembered seeing you in his dream, and that was when you two were dating. He could chalk up your sudden appearance in his subconscious to the conversation the both of you were having the night before - it would explain the return of his nightmares about Lily too, although his mind swayed towards ruminating on a much more confronting possibility.

What if it means I’ve fallen back in love with her?

As soon as the concept crossed his mind, Jack frantically sought to purge it from his mind altogether. What a foolish idea, he reasoned to himself, taking a larger sip of whiskey out of the glass. There wasn’t anymore to this, and he shouldn’t be throwing out such wild theories based on a nightmare of all things. He went and thought back to the small moments you two had shared throughout the weeks together, times where one lingering touch almost seemed to convey something more. He realised just how many times he’d caught himself staring at you the last few weeks, or the times his touch lingered on yours a second longer than it should have, things he hadn’t noticed until he began to pick apart his own behaviour and examine it underneath a microscope. Old habits die hard, I guess. He may have teased you about making him coffee by “accident” a couple of weeks back, but there wasn’t meant to be any insinuation behind it. It was just that - a harmless tease, a simple reflex of his infamous flirtatious charm. None of this necessarily meant there were any reignited feelings, and furthermore, if by some insane stroke of dumb luck that did happen to be the case, then they were only small at best, fleeting in nature. He couldn’t fall for you again. He couldn’t. Not after putting you through so much pain.

No matter how hard he tried to convince himself it was nothing, even he wasn’t buying it tonight. If he was falling for you again, how would you take it? Not well he guessed, as you still felt hurt by his actions. Why wouldn’t you? He was the one that hurt you then came back into your life without warning because he had to go screw up the one good thing he still had. It was painful to be reminded of how little still had left by that time: his status as an agent stripped from him, everyone he ever loved being dead and buried, and not able to return back home as he was still on the run. Him being at your ranch at all was putting you in enough danger, a fact that made him uncomfortable in of itself. Falling for you would make things more complicated than they already were.

She doesn’t have to find out. Keep it to yourself, and she’ll never know.

That’s it. That’s what he’ll do. He won’t ever mention these returning feelings of affection towards you, and in doing that, hopefully they will run their course and die out. Jack would still be courteous towards you, it went without saying since you were implicating yourself in all of this by hiding a fugitive. He could do that, right? Ignore it all, and avoid anything more than general amicable gestures. A part of him hurt to think of that, especially when those thoughts he had when you two were on the veranda together last night pushed themselves to the forefront of his mind. The way your hair had looked splayed out over your shoulders under the dim porch light, the burn in your eyes that gleamed as you’d admonished him for every mistake he ever made that shouldn’t have made him so entranced. He chastised himself for thinking so lewdly of you in that moment, hating how the very image of you in such a light darted straight to his groin. Finishing off the last dredges of whiskey, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand and let out a heavy sigh.

Forget about it. Leave her be. You’ve hurt her enough.

_______________

At long last, there was finally a lull in the day, giving you some off time to relax and decompress a bit. There was still an hour to go before the ranch closed for the night, though nobody else had any riding lessons booked and it was unlikely that anybody was going to show up unannounced at five in the evening. To say the day had been busy would be selling the whole experience short - downright exhausting would have been a more accurate way to put it. There was a function going on for a good chunk of it, a birthday party for the son of some big-shot oil tycoon. You’d been worried your injury would slow down your progress with getting tasks done but to your pleasant surprise you were able to manage just fine, though having your other employees and Jack around had also been a huge help. It’d been four weeks since you’d gotten injured, and according to the doctor during your semi-regular checkups the recovery process was coming along nicely, which had been more than evident to you with the lessening pain. Sadly, you wouldn’t be able to get the cast off for a while, despite your protests. You didn’t see why it all had to take so long: you hadn’t been in any excruciating pain for a good while so it was clearly healing. As well as the cast being a nuisance when bathing and the like, it was also annoyingly itchy, leading you to talking yourself out of shoving a coat hanger down the side of it in an attempt to stop it several times. If only you didn’t have a ranch to run, then you could take an antihistamine pill and be done with it.

Dragging yourself back into the house, you headed straight for the stairs, eager to lie down and doze a little - normally a long day like that would call for a bottle of scotch. This time round, however, you decided to forego the alcohol in favour of a more straightforward way to relax. Once you’d come to the door to the guest bedroom upstairs you felt compelled to stop, your mind wandering to where Jack was at that very moment. Last you’d seen him that day he’d been bringing the horses in. The two of you had stopped to chat for awhile, your usual bitter-edged banter being exchanged, things playing out just as they should when suddenly that same familiar feeling started to make itself known, the same thing you’d felt when he’d handed you the painkillers, or when you two had been out on the veranda a little while back. That spark, so to speak, the frightening feeling of something burning in you, something that shouldn’t be there in the first place. You’d instinctively ended the conversation soon after, making up some excuse about needing to take care of some accounting and hurrying off. Thinking about it now you couldn’t stop yourself from going a tad pink in the cheeks at your behaviour, thoroughly embarrassed for daring to act like you were inflicted with something as trivial as a schoolgirl crush.

Don’t be soft on him. Don’t do this. You’re better than this, those words you repeated to yourself like a mantra started to wear thin during those weeks, especially after the conversation you two had shared where you’d divulged some of the pain closest to your heart. You never thought that you’d tell anybody what you felt after your parents had died, not in a million years, so to have you in a position where you were comfortable enough to reveal such details was nothing short of astounding, particularly when one took into account the exact person you’d told it all to. You could justify these choices with the flimsy excuse of being drunk, but even you knew that in order to run your mouth about something that personal, even while intoxicated, meant you had to feel a certain amount of trust to the other person. Did you trust Jack? Was that what was happening here? To that, you couldn’t fully answer, as you didn’t really know.

Glancing from the doorknob to the stairs and back, you twisted the handle and allowed yourself into the spare bedroom, letting your feet move you towards the closet at the back of the room. Like a woman possessed, you didn’t stop yourself from doing any of this, the feeling of your heartbeat ricocheting through your chest. It had been years since you permitted yourself to look at any of this stuff, let alone giving any of it a second thought. Out of sight, out of mind, you’d thought to yourself when you’d originally boxed it all away, not being able to bear throwing any of it out. Sliding the doors open, you took note of the fact that everything was left in its precise location indicating that true to his word, Jack hadn’t meddled in any of it. A small sigh of relief escaped your lips while you sunk to your knees, poking your head through the rows of old coats that you kept neglecting to donate or sell to the very back of the closet where your eyes locked onto what you’d been originally seeking: a plain velvet blue shoebox shoved underneath an ugly knitted blanket that you plainly despised.

For as much of a hardline no-nonsense woman others perceived you as, a huge part of you was deeply sentimental towards both people and things, or more specifically, things people had given you, hence the choice to simply box up every gift and memento he’d ever given you rather than setting fire to it in some overly dramatic yet cinematic manner. When Jack and you had broken up, you’d gathered up everything that reminded you of him, thrown it in a box and then tossed it into the back of the closet of your apartment to be forgotten forever. When you’d taken over the family ranch from your parents, the box had ended up in the guest room closet instead due to you not wanting an object holding that many sorrowful memories anywhere near where you slept. Taking the box out and setting it down in front of you, you stared at it frostily for a minute, considering throwing it back into the closet and forgetting that you ever wanted to open it. Ultimately you caved, lifting the lid off and opening up the treasure trove of mementos, symbols of a love that used to be that became tarnished with time.

A lot of the items in question were photographs, a couple of polaroid shots of the two of you out at some bar in New York thrown in with the myriad of photos depicting you on various other dates with him. One in particular that caught your eye was a polaroid that had a heart drawn in red permanent marker on the white margins - you were wearing Jack’s Stetson and had one arm thrown around his neck, looking as if you hadn’t a care in the world while he looked up at you with those heart-meltingly gorgeous brown eyes of his, as if nobody else in the world existed except for you. You could still recall the smell of the cigarette smoke from that day, how the loud music reverberated through your ears the entire night you’d spent there with your head rested against his shoulder, ignoring all your other friends in favour of him. You caught yourself grinning at the memory as if you were some kind of lovesick fool. Back then you might’ve been. Not anymore though. Not now.

That’s what you continued to tell yourself while you sorted through the box’s contents, pulling out items ranging from small bits of jewelry to a small cat plushie that he’d won for you at the county fair. Your gaze zeroed in on a small silver chain necklace with a little horseshoe charm dangling on the end, earning yet another foolish smirk from you. Jack had bought that for you as a Christmas present, although you had insisted to him that he didn’t have to go all out on a gift for you. He’d even gotten the underside engraved with your name, which you traced over with the pad of your finger at that very moment.

Looking through all these gifts and the significance they once held to you, your mind started to wander back to the possibility you’d considered during your last proper talk with Jack, questioning once more if he deserved such harsh hostility being thrown towards him. You didn’t want to let yourself be hurt again, so it only seemed logical to make yourself guarded and keep him at an arm's length. With that said, time and time again he’d managed to surprise you - he hadn’t been pestering you as much you thought he would. Sure, he did jokingly insinuate that one time you made him coffee that you were growing fond of him but other than that he’d kept the charm to a minimum, or at least, less than you were used to in the past. It all made sense to you after you’d learned what happened to him that brought him back to you, his magnificent fall from grace so to speak. You meant what you said to him that night - you didn’t think he was a bad person, rather just someone who’s done bad things out of hurt and anger. With everything he told you about his wife’s death, you couldn’t help feeling a sense of powerful empathy towards him, a feeling that scared you a little to tell you the truth. It’d been easy for years to write him off as a liar and a player, but in reality, Jack was far more complicated than that. How ironic: the advice you gave him ended up being a hundred percent relevant to yourself at the same time, you huffed with an absence of amusement.

If you had to be completely honest with yourself, without any kind of lies or facade to keep up, you didn’t know what you felt about Jack anymore. You couldn’t say you hated him, no, hate was far too strong of a word. Actually, you couldn’t really say you even disliked him that much anymore. But you didn’t really like him either. Or did you? Once again, the thoughts of how his touch had made you feel over those last few weeks invaded your mind, things that by all means shouldn’t make you feel some type of way but did. Hell, even how you continued to make his coffee exactly how he liked it every morning, not bothering to question it anymore than necessary for the sake of your own sanity.

Shaking your head, you let out a heavy sigh as you glowered down at the box witheringly. Great, now you’d made yourself confused on your own emotions, all because you felt the need to reminisce on the past. You’re being ridiculous about this. You don’t feel that way about Jack, and if you did, you can’t have him. He’s on the run, he’s a criminal now, and more to the point he broke your heart once. Who’s to say he won’t do it twice? Do yourself a favour for once. Ignore those feelings. Ignore it, and they’ll go away.

You quickly boxed up everything soon after that, pushing it to the back of the closet as if you’d never been there at all. Lifting yourself to your feet, you neglected to look back when you maneuvered yourself out the door and back into the hall, pulling your mind back towards any kind of ranch duties you could muster up out of thin air that you had to attend to, anything that could distract you from the small pink tinge that had crept across your cheeks that refused to leave, or the racing of your heart with every step you took.

__________

After a day that felt like it dragged on forever, you’d been looking forward to turning in for the night. For whatever reason, everything that could have gone wrong that day decided to go wrong - one of the horses had done a runner during one of the riding lessons and you’d had to go out and try to catch the bastard. It took forever to rope the damn horse back into the property. Jack, you and another one of the instructors managed to catch him in the end but it ended up setting your schedule behind for the rest of the day. Later on in the day, some entitled kid had come down and decided he didn’t like the horse he’d been assigned to ride, waltzing right into the stables and picking out one that he deemed more suited for him. The horse, one of the older boys, was understandably annoyed by this random loud kid appearing out of nowhere and being rough with him, leading to said entitled brat getting chomped on the arm. The rest of the day had to be spent dealing with the screaming kid and his mother, who was every bit as entitled as her son was. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? Despite your damndest to put on a smile and placate the woman who was screaming threats of a lawsuit, she still wasn’t letting up so you’d metaphorically thrown your hands up in frustration and told her straight to shut up. She’d left soon after that, huffing and threatening to get your entire business shut down. You weren’t scared in the least of her empty threats: you’d dealt with hundreds of other people just like her in your stint running the ranch and nine times out of ten nothing ever came from their tantrums. It was still supremely exhausting to deal with, draining your energy and putting you in a foul mood for the rest of the day.

You’d been angling to end the day as soon as the first instance of idiocy started, so when it was finally late enough in the night and you’d grown tired of the bottle of merlot that you’d been speeding your way through, you’d taken yourself upstairs, thrown on a random t-shirt and sweatpants, and sunk right into bed ready to forget it all and start over.

However, you weren’t so lucky. From the moment you’d first entered your room that night, something had felt off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it at first, so you’d tried to ignore it, writing it off as feeling slightly on edge from the rough day. The weird feeling wouldn’t go away though - everytime you closed your eyes, you felt like someone else was there, like there was another presence nearby. Five minutes passed before you’d flicked the lamp next to your bed on and looked around the room. You knew Jack had already gone to bed before you, and you couldn’t hear any sort of noise from downstairs that would indicate someone else being there. Nevertheless, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone else was there, maybe not in the house precisely but somewhere on the property, as if there were a pair of foreign eyes staring at you from afar. Your eyes darted towards the window, the curtains open to reveal the glimmering starry sky outside, your breath becoming shallow as you were finally able to place the exact feeling that was making you tense up in fear:

You felt like you were being watched.

Diving out of bed, you scrambled towards the window and scanned the vast expanse of countryside surrounding your property, searching to see if there was anything out there that was unfamiliar to you. Nothing - all you could see were the stretches of field that lay beyond your ranch, with a lone few collection of trees situated off the edge of your property, exactly as it always looked. That alone should have eased your nerves a bit but for whatever reason that feeling of being watched wouldn’t go away. You glanced back at your bed, trying to talk yourself into downplaying it all as you being paranoid. There isn’t anyone out there.You’ve had a rough day, and about three glasses of wine so you’re a little bit tipsy too, you told yourself as you trudged back to bed and pulled the covers over your head, a useless action that did nothing to quell the anxiety festering in you. For the next twenty minutes or so, you did everything you could to push your unease away in favour of sleep to no avail. The entire time you’d been lying there you felt like there were a pair of eyes burning into your back, directly across from where the window was, yet every time you sat yourself up to check there was nobody there.

Fantastic, guess I’m not sleeping tonight then. Clearly, that creepy feeling wasn’t going to leave and you didn’t feel comfortable in that room anymore. Briefly you contemplated going down to sleep on the couch but that idea was dismissed almost as quickly as it came to you - if you felt like someone was watching the house, then moving sleeping locations wasn’t gonna solve anything. A part of you wanted to go grab a firearm and go on a patrol around the property to be safe, though once remembering that you were a little bit tipsy you didn’t feel it would be the best course of action to go hold a gun right then. Throwing a single glance towards your bedroom door, another idea popped into your head, and before you could try and talk yourself out of it you were already out the door and down the hall to where the spare bedroom was.

Opening the door as quietly as you possibly could, you poked your head inside and peered over to where Jack was laying in bed, covers tangled up around him and facing away from you, appearing to be fast asleep. “Jack? Are...are you awake?” you called out hesitantly.

It took a minute for him to respond, by that time you’d come close to convincing yourself that you were being a baby about all of this and that you should go back to bed. “Darlin’? Is there somethin’ wrong?” he replied, his thick southern drawl sounding groggy, matching his dazed expression he wore while he fought to keep his eyes open.

“Sort of...maybe, I don’t know...I can’t sleep” you admitted.

“Having nightmares or somethin’?” he asked, sitting himself up in bed to properly face you. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander down his torso ever so briefly - it wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen a million times before but damn, he did look good. Shaking your head fervently, you attempted to ignore that fleeting thought and focused back on what you’d come there to say, proceeding to reply. “No, no, nothing like that. I just...ok, this might sound a little bit crazy but I can’t help feeling like I’m being watched in there, and it’s freaking me out”.

You could see Jack’s brow furrow through the darkness, a look of concern creeping over his face while he thought on what you’d just said. “Watched? Like how?”.

“I don’t really know how to explain it, if I’m gonna be totally honest. All I know is that everytime I close my eyes I feel like there’s somebody outside. Whenever I go to look out the window though, I don’t see anyone” you explained, and at almost the very second you finished your sentence you could see Jack’s eyes widen, the last remnants of sleep falling away and being replaced by an alert and alarmed expression. Before you could say anything about it, he was already throwing the covers off him and sliding out of bed, hustling over to where you were standing by the door. “Stay right here. I’ll go take a look for myself” he instructed sternly, pushing himself past you and making a beeline straight for your bedroom. Instinctively, and in all honesty against both his wishes and your own better judgement, you followed in behind him, seeing him linger close to the wall just enough so that he was out of direct sight of the window. Slowly, he advanced forward to a position where he could properly take a look out, his eyes steely as they examined the landscape, the tensity of his demeanour feeding into your own feelings of concern.

“Jack, what’s going on?” you asked in a small voice, something that was uncharacteristically meek of you. In all fairness, something like this had never happened before. You’d hoped that Jack would come in, take a quick look, confirm there was nobody on the property and give you a little bit of peace of mind but the way he was acting made the possibility of someone actually being out there all the more real to you.

“Darlin’, I’m sorry, but I’m gonna need you to be quiet for a second” he orders, not tearing his eyes away from the window for a single second. You didn’t know how long you two stood there for - it was probably no more than a minute or two at most, even so it felt like an eternity to you, until at long last you saw some of the tension in Jack’s shoulders dissipate and he finally slunk away from the window. “Give me a second, I just gotta go check something” he mumbled, dashing back out of your room and still looking vaguely distressed at the entire predicament. This time around, you did as he said, not wanting to leave the house on the off chance there really was something to worry about. You heard him run back into his own room briefly before darting off downstairs, hearing the unmistakable click of the front door lock opening. You had no idea what to make of any of this - why was he acting so weird? Was there something you should know? Was there really something to your weird feeling and should you be genuinely scared?

The sound of gravel crunching from the ground below alerted you, leading for you to wander over to the window for what felt like the millionth time that night to see for yourself what was going on. Your eyes first landed on Jack, who was pacing the gravel and looking off into the distance, searching for something. You could see he was holding something in his hand but couldn’t quite get a proper look at it as he was angled away from you. He disappeared from your view and a moment later he was back upstairs with you, appearing to be infinitely more relieved than he was before. Now you could properly see what he’d gone to fetch from his room once he’d left: his gun from his days as an agent, the moonlight streaming in through the window glimmering off the silver barrels and onto the floor.

“Nothin’ out there, thank fucking christ” he sighed, giving you a smile that was meant to be comforting. His gesture did nothing to ease your worries, despite the confirmation that there wasn’t anything out there like you’d originally hoped. Along with still feeling uneasy being in that room, there was also the matter of what you’d witnessed in Jack before, the plain and unconcealable look of suspicion and worry that had been showing on him.

“Are you alright? You...seemed worried. The way you were looking out that window, it was...like you were searching for something in particular...”.

“It’s nothing, sweetheart. Don’t worry your pretty little head off about it” he dismissed, obviously wanting to put this whole incident behind the two of you. You were having none of it, so you pressed further, taking a single step closer to where he was standing in the door. “You sure about that? ‘Cause you kinda got your gun out” you pointed out, your eyes flickering down to the weapon resting in his hands knowingly. “Did you think it was Statesman or something?”.

Jack looked surprised that you’d dared to be that direct in your line of questioning. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected any less from you, following your eyes down to where he was holding his gun. “Well, if I’m gonna be honest, yeah. For a moment there, I was worried they’d found me somehow. But there isn’t anybody out there - besides, if they were doin’ surveillance on the house they woulda had me led away in cuffs already. You’re safe as pie, sugar” he confessed.

Exactly as you thought. You’d wondered if Statesman would ever make an appearance, suddenly becoming hot on Jack’s tail. So far nothing had happened, thankfully, and seeing as your strange feeling tonight turned out to be nothing, you permitted yourself to relax a little, despite the still present feeling of discomfort from being in that room. “Alright...thank you for checking. Sorry I woke you up for something stupid”.

“Don’t apologise, sweetheart. I haven’t been sleeping great this last week anyway so I wasn’t even fully asleep when you came in. You make sure to get plenty of rest, ok?” he nodded towards you, turning to leave the room, the comfort of his presence slipping away from you and leaving you to feel the same odd and uncomfortable unrest that plagued you all night.

Glancing back over towards your bed, you dreaded the thought of trying to go back to sleep in that thing tonight. It sounded so childish and silly for you to say, or rather think, but you really didn’t want to be in that room tonight. If you stay in here you aren’t gonna get a wink of sleep.

What you did next was something you never thought you’d do in a million years. In your defense, it’d been a long day, you’d had some alcohol earlier, and you just had to deal with the intense unnerve of being watched only to discover that your feeling was nothing more than a spate of paranoia. With all that taken into account, it was only logical that you asked what you did next. “Jack, wait” you called out before you could stop yourself, freezing once you saw him stop in the hallway and turn back towards you with those sweet eyes of his. “Look, I know this is an odd request but...can I sleep in your room? Only for tonight. I don’t know, I still feel a little on edge and it’s dumb but I’d rather be around someone else right now” you mumbled, simultaneously hating yourself for asking in the first place and feeling utterly embarrassed at your own audacity.

Some part of you wanted him to laugh in your face. Laugh at you and make some stupid little quip about you being a “big girl” who could handle herself. It would be easier to hate him still that way. Of course, he didn’t do that at all. What he did instead was give you the sweetest damn smile you’d ever seen from him, different from those charming smirks you were used to and harkened closer to those rare moments from when you two were together that he would lay down the bravado and be vulnerable. “Sugar, you don’t need to feel bad for askin’ at all. I understand completely where you’re comin’ from” he reassured, holding his hand out and beckoning for you to come forward. And come forward you did, following him out into the hall and into his own room, the anxiety from before fading into nothing and being replaced by relief.

“Thank you. I know we’re not...like that anymore but…” you stumbled dumbly as you glided over towards the bed, fatigue overcoming your brain and making you more impatient to be in bed and asleep as fast as possible. It had to be extremely late by then and you wanted to get a decent amount of sleep before having to get up and go about with business as usual the next day.

Jack, meanwhile, was on the other side of the room throwing his gun back into a chest of drawers. “Say no more, honeybee. If you want, I can sleep on the floor if it makes you more comfortable” he posited, to which you promptly snapped your head back up and stared at him as if he were crazy. “You don’t have to do that, Jack, I’m not about to be kicking you out of your bed”.

“Technically it’s your bed, not mine”.

Rolling your eyes at him, you flopped down on the pillow and sighed. “Doesn’t matter, just...stay here. I’d rather have someone close right now, ok?”. If you weren’t already tired beyond all reason, your brain might have been fretting over the oh so horrific implications of staying in the same bed as him, though if you were really being honest you couldn’t care less right then. It’s not like sleeping in the same bed meant anything, plenty of people did that all the time. So what if you wanted someone near after feeling scared? Wouldn’t someone else do the same thing in your position?

“If that’s what you want, sweetheart. I’ll keep to the other side of the bed if you’d like” Jack assured you, sliding into the other side, doing exactly as he said and keeping a safe enough distance from you. It might’ve been silly for you to care so much, but you had to admit it was nice having someone else be there, and at the least it calmed your anxiety enough for you to feel fine sleeping. Stealing one last brief glance over at him, you wished him goodnight and let yourself relax truly for the first time in hours, letting the world fall away and fade into nothing as you closed your eyes and passed out in mere minutes of being there.

___________

When you awoke the next morning, it was to the strands of sunlight streaming through the parted breaks in the curtain, shining right over your face and rousing you from your slumber. Through bleary eyes, you became aware of the room around you, memories of the night before flooding back to you instantaneously. You noticed you felt warmer, becoming aware of the heavy feeling on your body, which caused your eyes to snap open fully. Looking back over your shoulder, you saw Jack, still sleeping and curled into your back, his arm lazily stung around you. You knew you two hadn’t fallen asleep like that, reasoning that he must have reached out to you during the night, leading to the position you were in now. You could feel the light tickle of his breath against the nape of your neck, something so small managing to light an unexpected spark in your heart. You should have pushed him off. You should have woken him up. You should have done a million other things in that moment instead of the one thing you did.

When instead of flinging him off you and darting out of bed like a skittish cat you curled yourself further into his light embrace, the mortifying realisation hitting you right then with a full force - Jack Daniels, the man who’d broken your heart, was caressing you in his sleep.

And you didn’t mind it, not one single bit.

Taglist (message me if you wanna be added)

Permanent: @greeneyedblondie44

Cross My Heart: @giselatropicana @absurdthirst

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels #jack daniels x reader #Kingsman #kingsman fanfiction #Kingsman: the golden circle #cross my heart #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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nestasgalpal · 3 years

Text

Your precious High Lord [Nessian fic]

Masterlist | AO3

Sinopsis: So this is a fix-it fic where I give my version of the scene where Nesta calls Rhysand an asshole and Cassian defends him and tells Nesta that everyone hates her 🤡🤡 The idea is to just fix the scene, so everything else (aka Cassian telling her that and Nesta leaving the room etc) stil happens. I just want Nesta to verbalize why she doesn’t like Rhysand, since nobody seems to understand her reasons.

Tagging: @gwynriel @rhaenystargaryn @clolikescloquetas @amelievrstr @t8astr8ng @wanderlustlastsforever @saltydreamcollector @lordlorcan @esrahiba @queenestarcheron @ko0mbayamylord @poisonous-bloom @jemstan300

I might fix the Amren confrontation scene too, so let me know if you want to be removed or added to the tag list ^^

Azriel was having lunch with them, giving Cassian the details for the mission he was going into. Nesta maintained her silence as she slid into her chair, picked up her fork, and dug into the fillet of beef and roasted asparagus.

Cassian cleared his throat and said to Azriel, “How long will you be gone?”

“I’m not sure.” The shadowsinger’s eyes bore into her before he added, “Vassa was right to suspect something deadly amiss. Things are dangerous enough over there that it would be wiser for me to keep my base here at the House and winnow back and forth.”

Curiosity bit deep, but Nesta said nothing. Vassa—she hadn’t seen the enchanted human queen since the war had ended. Since the young woman had tried to speak to her about how wonderful Nesta’s father had been, how he had been a true father to her, helped her and won her this temporary freedom, and on and on until Nesta’s bones were screaming to get away, her blood boiling to think that her father had found his courage for someone other than her and her sisters. That he’d been the father she had needed—but for someone else. He had let their mother die in his refusal to send his merchant fleet hunting for a cure for her, had fallen into poverty and let them starve, but had decided to fight for this stranger? This nobody queen peddling a sad tale of betrayal and loss?

That thing deep in Nesta stirred, but she ignored it, pushed it down as best she could without the distraction of music or sex or wine. She took a sip of her water, letting it cool her throat, her belly, and supposed that would have to be enough.

“What’d Rhys say about it?” Cassian asked around a mouthful of food.

“Who do you think insisted I not risk a base over there?”

“Protective bastard.” A note of affection rang in Cassian’s words, though.

Silence fell again. Azriel nodded at her. “What happened to you?”

She knew what he meant: the black eye that was finally fading. Her hands and chin had healed, along with the bruising on her body, but the black eye had turned greenish. By tomorrow morning, it’d be gone entirely. “Nothing,” she said without looking at Cassian.

“She fell down the stairs,” Cassian said, not looking at her, either.

Azriel’s silence was pointed before he asked, “Did someone … push you?”

“Asshole,” Cassian growled.

Nesta lifted her eyes from her plate enough to note the amusement in Azriel’s gaze, even though no smile graced his sensuous mouth. Cassian went on, “I told her earlier today: if she’d bother to train, she’d at least have bragging rights for the bruises.”

Azriel took a calm sip of his water. “Why aren’t you training, Nesta?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

Cassian muttered, “Don’t waste your breath, Az.”

She glared at him. “I’m not training in that miserable village.”

Cassian glared right back. “You’ve been given an order . You know the consequences. If you don’t get off that fucking rock by the end of this week, what happens next is out of my hands.”

“So you’ll tattle to your precious High Lord?” she crooned. “Big, tough warrior needs oh-so-powerful Rhysand to fight his battles?”

“Don’t you fucking talk about Rhys with that tone” Cassian snarled.

“Or what?” Nesta snapped. “Rhys is an asshole. He is an arrogant, preening asshole.”

Azriel sat back in his seat, eyes simmering with anger, but said nothing.

“That’s bullshit,” Cassian spat, the Siphons on the backs of his hands burning like ruby flames. “You know that is bullshit, Nesta."

“I hate him,” she seethed.

“Good. He hates you, too,” Cassian shot back. “Everyone fucking hates you. Is that what you want? Because congratulations, it’s happened.”

Azriel let out a long, long breath.

Cassian’s words pelted her, one after another. Hit her somewhere low and soft, and hit hard. Her fingers curled into claws, scraping along the table. Rage emerged, boiling in her veins. She tried to contain herself, but after months of drinking herself into oblivion, using alcohol to chain her feelings, her emotions, her nightmares, she was having trouble containing all the thoughts that were coming up her throat now that only water filled her cup. Nesta sensed her own anger rise to match Cassian’s.

“I’m done with you and your problems.” he finished.

The words rumbled between them. Nesta blinked. Azriel tensed, as if surprised.

Cassian aimed for the door, his pounding steps fading down the hall.

Nesta had never in her life tried to use her issues as an excuse. There was not one flaw in her character she didn’t know about. She was terrible to be around, and she was aware of it, but she had never expected people to try to understand where it all came from. On the contrary, she used it against every person that crossed her path, so they couldn’t get to see her aching heart. She wore her issues as an armour, so people never wanted to come closer and see why she was the way she was. Nesta had used her anger against almost every person she knew, but not once had she tried to use the cause of that rage, that infinite void in her chest, as an excuse.

But she was so sick of them, their patronizing, them projecting their own issues into her, that the seal that contained her darkest thoughts broke, and the words came out. Because if after everything she had given to them she still hadn’t made it up to Feyre, then there was absolutely nothing else for her to do. She had nothing left to give.

She wanted them to know what their victory cost her. If Cassian didn’t want to see on his own, she would make him.

“I gave my life for you. For all of you” Cassian halted in the archway of the door. Azriel’s eyes were fixed on her, even if her own stare had followed Cassian. “Even before the war, I tried to make it up to my sister for the four years she hunted for us.” Cassian’s body was almost lost in the shadows coming out of the hallway, but still close enough to the door that she could see his back, his wings, the tension in his muscles under his shirt.

“Your High Lord likes to pretend I’m nothing but a burden, but I’m only what you’ve made of me” When none of the illyrians interrupted her, Nesta felt seen for a moment.

Then, she realized the temperature in the room had dropped, her nails had left marks on the table, and Azriel’s shadows were ready to strike if needed.

Cassian was also still, ready to move.

They were not listening to her, they were waiting for her to attack. Like a wild animal. Like Rhysand in his studio, using his power on her to make her sit.

They expected nothing better from her than that. They expected her to unleash her wrath on them, and that’s what she was going to do. She didn’t care.

“To have any kind of contact with fae is a crime in the Mortal Lands. Did you know that?“

She wanted himto know she was talking about a time prior to their last day in the battlefield, because her sacrifice had not been only physical. No, she was talking about the things she did before, favours to help her sister’s cause. Their cause.

“I did everything you lot asked me to do. I sent the letters putting my neck on the line, and risking Elain’s future. I held the meeting at my house and let you come and go as you pleased.”

“Her future with Greysen would have made her miserable” Azriel’s icy tone surprised her. She merely blinked in his direction. His graceful face was covered in shadows of anger, too.

“That was the future she wanted. The one she chose”.

Azriel fought back “He came from a family of fae hunters”. Nesta wasn’t sure why he had gotten caught up on that detail, but she insisted. Now that she was a fae, she wanted to stay away from people like Greysen, but back then, his family and her money combined offered a safety she had desperately wanted.

“Which we both thought was a good thing. We thought Feyre had been killed by fae. We gave her a funeral” Cassian shuddered, his wings reacting to her words, tucking in a little more.

Nesta felt the cold of the room on her bones.

“I still let you into my house. Have you even considered how scared I was to let you in? Do you have any idea of the stories I grew up with about faeries and their tricks, their bloodthirst? I’ve met people who were taken by your kind… my kind, now, I guess. And I still helped you.” She didn’t tell them Rhysand was the one murdering her friend Clare and her family.

“Those stories are about faes like the ones in Hybern, of wild creatures near the Wall. Not Prythian’s folk” Cassian answered. His tone was dark and low, angry, insulted. But he was not screaming now.

“And how was I supposed to know?” She shouted. How was she supposed to know? His words almost made her doubt, thought. In the middle of her rage, his words almost made her doubt herself, like she might be overreacting, like she had gone crazy, maybe, paranoid. But she didn’t fall for it. She hadn’t been careful enough with them, their promises, their requests. “The only explanation I received when my sister came back after months with a new male in her arm -a male she had warned me about before her departure- was that the mortal realm was about to be destroyed by war, and she needed my help. So I helped her.”

It was not only anger or rage, but pure wrath what tinted her words. She could take the blame for all the things she did wrong -she would. She wanted to. But she was tired of them using her mistakes as an excuse to never acknowledge that fact that she had tried. Nesta had given them everything they had asked from her.

Azriel’s shadows were dangerously still. Nesta wasn’t sure if she had ever seen them like that. Cassian hadn’t moved either.

They were listening now.

”I know Feyre risked her life for us. So for her, I risked mine too. And Elain’s. The difference is that I actually died and became this,” she pointed at her own body, everyday stronger, gaining back the absurd beauty that belonged only to creatures from that side of the Wall. She hated it ”while Feyre found happiness. My sister chose to come back to this awful land full of monsters, I was dragged out of my bed and taken.”

“Nesta-” The shadowsinger didn’t move, but his tone had a cautious note to it. She knew her eyes were now quicksilver, flames dancing in them. She had seen herself in the mirror when that happened. She would be cautious too.

Nesta didn’t let Azriel finish. She wanted Cassian to hear the rest. Cassian, who had promised her a future and then vanished. Cassian, who would still defend his High Lord even when he physically threatened her. Nesta wanted him to hear her words until the end.

She wanted him to be as hurt as she was.

Something tucked in her stomach, warning her that both of them would regret it later if she went on, but her blood was boiling, so she did it anyway.

“Your High Lord of friend or brother or whatever he is to you, promised we would be guarded.”

Nesta let the words resonate. She didn’t need to remind any of them what had happened next. They knew. They had suffered from Hybern too that night.

She wanted them to remember. It wasn’t fair that they got to live their happy ever after, but she had to be consumed by it and left alone because she didn’t warm up the room with a smile like Elain did. It wasn’t fair that after everything she went through so they could live this perfect life, they still got to lock her up in a tower and make her the villain.

Nesta didn’t need to look into Cassian’s eyes to know he was remembering the same moment she went over and over in her nightmares every night. The moment she was dragged into the Cauldron. His body in the ground, covered in blood. His shredded wings. Her screams echoing in the hall.

“So the next time I call him an asshole -and I promise it will happen again- don’t you dare using that tone with me.”

There was a long silence. Silver fire remained in her eyes, but Cassian didn’t turn to meet her gaze. He only said “I won’t”, and stalked out.

Alone with Azriel, Nesta bared her teeth at him.

Azriel watched her with that cool quiet, keeping utterly still. Like he saw everything in her head. Her bruised heart.

She couldn’t bear it. So she stood, only two bites taken from her food, and left the room as well.

She returned to the library. The lights blazed as brightly as they had during the day, and a few lingering priestesses wandered the levels. She found her cart, filled again with books needing to be shelved.

No one spoke to her, and she spoke to no one as she began to work, with only the roaring silence in her head for company.

#fixing acosf

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

Text

Day 19: Prinxiety/Loceit (pt 3)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3 is here, with a little added something thrown in! Hope you enjoy!

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 19 - Everyone is born with a compass on their wrist, the needle of the compass points towards your soulmate.

Trigger/content warnings!! Dissociation, PTSD, talk of conversion therapy and aftereffects/internalized homophobia, food mentions, nausea, anxiety/panic attack, unintentionally skipping meals, emetophobia/vomiting, pulling hair (does that count as self harm?).

Word count: 5k

He barely remembered the hospital. It was all just a blur of doctors and police officers and more sleep than he’d gotten in weeks. After the first night of twitching in the dark confines of his hospital room and waking up screaming from nightmares the few brief seconds his consciousness faded, he was given sleeping pills, and the rest of the visit was quickly forgotten. The clearest part of the two week stay was near the end, when he was deemed physically well enough to give a statement to his social worker and a policeman, describing his ‘therapy’ and his life at the foster home, which quickly dissolved into a panic attack. They had enough though, and he was left with a sick satisfaction that they weren’t getting away with what they’d done to him.

They’d lied to him. They had told him the system agreed with what they were doing, allowing it, condoning it. At first, he’d refused to believe them, because that made no sense. But they took his only form of contact, didn’t allow him to leave the house except for therapy, and his eventual addition of medication far too strong for him made him paranoid. Maybe he didn’t believe them as much as he was just trying to survive. He still didn’t know how they’d managed to keep up the charade when they were being checked on bi-weekly; he hadn’t even known when said visits were happening.

“They’ll be spending some time in prison for child abuse. Not nearly enough, but still,” A social worker said quietly as he drove him back to his old group home. Virgil stared numbly out the window. “The kids were taken from them for the time being. They were deemed unfit parents. Foster care until they can find either some relatives or the parents are allowed them back.”

He didn’t react, although his heart nearly stopped in his chest. The parents hadn’t been great, but the kids had been happy enough. And now they were forced into a shoddy system… because of him. Virgil blinked rapidly to stop the tears that threatened to flow.

“You alright, Virge?”

He finally turned from the blurry mass of green trees out the car window, turning blankly to the man driving. The worker glanced from the road to meet his eyes, sighing.

No, he wasn’t alright. But he’d never say otherwise. Volunteering information about himself was how he’d gotten himself into this situation in the first place. He wasn’t about to do it again.

----------

That had been almost a month ago, and he was still to break out of his selective mutism. It wasn’t as if he was choosing not to speak; it wasn’t stubbornness. He felt as if his brain and his mouth were disconnected, like his thoughts were less coherent and more just abstract emotion, and he couldn’t turn them into words. Any question that couldn’t be answered by a simple nod or head shake was met with a blank stare, a far off gaze, that was unnerving to anyone. They’d tried to put him back into therapy, but the moment it was mentioned, Virgil spiralled into the worst panic attack he could ever remember having.

He’d gotten his old room back, with two new kids as his roommates. He quickly built up the same reputation as before: this room is mine unless you’re sleeping. No kid wanted to be near him when he was awake, staring at nothing, his only movements being his occasional blinking. Frankly, the younger ones were scared of him.

And he didn’t care.

Some days he fell so deep into dissociating that he didn’t even react when he was called for dinner. The world around him dissolved, blurry and unfocused and just quiet, retreating into his own mind where he could breathe. Reality was too much. It was just… too much. One of his doctors had said it might be a side effect as they eased him off his criminally high dose of antipsychotics they’d hidden in his drinks, but that was an afterthought. He was warm, he was full (when he was aware enough to eat), and so he faded into his head. He’d cope with his trauma another day.

“You haven’t eaten all day, honey,” A soft voice said and he blinked, looking up from his bed sheets at the worker. She was one of his favorites; gentle, quiet, respecting his boundaries. In her hands was a plate with dinner on it.

He gave an almost imperceptible nod, barely more than a single bob, and she sat across from him on the bed, placing the plate in front of him. With heavy hands, he lifted a cold green bean to his mouth. It was gross, but the plate was empty in minutes. Apparently it had been a whole day.

“Virgil, I want to talk to you,” She said. Now full, his brain would let him stay present for a little while until dissociation took over again. He pushed himself back against the wall and brought his knees to his chest, watching her movements.

“It’s not anything bad, I promise. I’ve been talking with some other workers, some connections I have across the state.”

He didn’t like where this was going.

“One of them suggested a couple that’s fostered for over a decade. They have a fantastic record, so I got into contact with them-”

“No.” The first thing he’d said in weeks, his voice scratchy from disuse. For once, the mess in his brain came together to form the single word, an immediate rejection. He pushed himself farther away from her, shaking his head violently. “No, no, no.”

“Virgil, breathe,” She reached out a hand and Virgil flinched so hard his head hit the wall. The hand retreated. “You don’t have to go with them if you’re uncomfortable, hun. Please just trust me, though, they’d never do anything that they did.”

He glared at her, trying to read her expression in the dark room. Silence stretched between them as Virgil’s thoughts drifted back to their state of quietude, leaving him unable to form words, beginning to drift away from reality. His eyelids flickered as focusing became harder, his mind’s eye suddenly alight with the blinding white lights of the therapy room.

“Will you meet them at least, Virgil? Just for a few minutes? And if you still say no after, I’ll never bring them up again.”

He found himself nodding without properly meaning it. He just wanted her to leave… he just wanted to be alone. So he could drift away, without having to fear anyone hurting him anymore.

She left, taking the empty plate with her.

----------

Just because he knew today he was meeting his potential (not gonna happen) foster parents, it didn’t mean he was allowed to be present for the rest of the day. His favorite worker had come back again, motivating him to get ready and dressed, since he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to find the energy to even just put on a sweater, much less get himself completely ready.

Looking in the mirror hurt. His hair was starting to grow back, just barely long enough to run his fingers through, never mind getting anywhere long enough to cover his eyes like it used to. The bags under his eyes were darker than he could remember them ever being and his hands shook as he brushed his teeth. Biting down on the bristles, he grabbed a towel and threw it over the mirror, feeling a slight tinge of relief when he was no longer forced to look at himself. The social worker watched from the doorway, silently.

He was tempted to go to sleep when he was done, completely exhausted from the little bit of work. But she brought him breakfast and his stomach growled in agreement, so he ate enough of the oatmeal to satiate his hunger, and not a bite more. A nervous nausea was already swirling in his gut and he didn’t need to add to it.

“Would you like to be left alone?” She asked, taking the empty bowl.

Virgil nodded, already feeling the heaviness and emptiness that came with dissociation starting to creep through his limbs.

“I’ll come let you know when they’re here, okay?” He had no recollection of her leaving the room, but the next time he drifted back to the present, she was gone.

He took a nap around noon, too tired and overwhelmed to stay awake for any longer. Plus, with new rushes of anxiety flooding his system every couple seconds, he was ready to not be conscious for a hot minute. He tried to convince himself that it would be okay, he’d struggle through an awkward meeting where the foster parents would eventually give up on him and leave, and he could spend his remaining year and a month in the system. Hopefully in that year he could figure enough out to survive when he was alone.

A joyous child screeching downstairs woke him up three hours later, jerking him awake with a pounding heart.

It wasn’t an hour later when there was a soft knock at his door and he threw himself into the corner, pulling his blanket up to his chest. No, no, no, he wasn’t ready- The door opened painfully slowly, spilling the light from the hallway into his pitch black room.

“Virgil? I’m here with one of the foster parents, can I come in?”

She poked her head into the room and squinted to meet his eyes in the darkness, eventually finding his hunched form on his bed. Wordlessly, she opened the door all the way and walked up to him, flicking on the bedside lamp. A pleasantly soft light filled the room, illuminating the man standing at the door. Virgil began to shake.

He wasn’t overly tall, probably just a head or so taller than Virgil, dressed in a plain yellow button up and black jeans. At first, he didn’t seem too intimidating, but neither had the other family at first glance. When he walked into the room, just so he was less of a silhouette, Virgil eyes were drawn to the large burn scar covering the left side of his face, just a shade darker than the right, but the skin mottled and textured.

“Virgil, this is Janus Oakmen. His husband was unable to join him today, but-”

Husband? Virgil’s breath hitched. His husband, his husband, he’s gay, gay gay gay- His anxiety skyrocketed, and he couldn’t help the electric-like impulses that ran up his spine and out his fingers. He clenched his fist to hide the remaining twitches.

She seemed to stumble over her words, trying to hide her shock. To her luck, the man interrupted, smiling softly down at Virgil.

“I’d like to speak to Virgil alone, if he’s alright with that.”

“I’ll be waiting just outside the door,” She said hurriedly, rushing out and closing the door behind her. And they were alone.

Janus looked at him for barely a second before taking a seat on the bottom bunk on the other side of the small room, folding his hands on his lap.

“Technically, I asked if you were okay with it, but…” He gestured weakly to the door. “Oh, well. I was told you don’t talk, Virgil.”

He stared in response, wrapping his fists up in the blanket. The man gave a breathy chuckle, but there was no animosity behind it.

“That’s okay. Just wanted to double check. Is it okay with you if I just talk, then?”

No adult had ever asked Virgil for permission for anything twice in under a minute. His social workers kind of just did what they had to, and he’d never been in a home where that kind of thing was the norm. It was more ‘the kids ask for everything, and the parents get what they want, no questions asked’. Needless to say, he was taken aback.

He nodded weakly, realizing the man was waiting for a response.

“Fabulous. Ignoring all the boring details you wouldn’t care about, my name is Janus. Like, from mythology, not a PTA mom. I’m thirty-five, and my husband Logan and I have been fostering since we were twenty-two, so we know what we’re doing. We love it.”

Virgil slowly let his legs unfurl, stretching them out in front of him under the blanket.

“We actually weren’t intending to foster this year, since Logan is looking for a new job. His current one just made it necessary for him to travel more than he would like to, so we wanted to press pause until he was happy at a new one. And then we got a call from good ole Bev out there.” He waved at the door again, cracking a smile. “She told us a little bit of your story, and Logan and I instantly said yes. If you’ll have us, that is.”

The vague idea of “why?” crossed Virgil’s mind, and it must have translated to his face, because Janus continued.

“When I was fifteen, I came out to my parents as gay. I didn’t think it was a big deal, but they weren’t such big fans, and they put me in conversion therapy.”

His heart stopped. Another round of shocks through his arms.

“We can talk about that more another day, if you want. I know that’s a tough topic for you. Needless to say, it didn’t work. Because it doesn’t work,” He shrugged, an annoyed tone finding its way into his words, “I understand what you’re going through, to an extent. If anyone can help you, it’s us. I’ve been there. And I promise, we’re fiercely protective. We’d never let anything bad happen to you.”

He stopped, leaning forward on his hands. Virgil realized he probably couldn’t see him that well except for his outline, due to him being pressed into the darkest corner of the room. Despite every cell in his body screaming that it was a trick, he scooted forward into the light of the lamp, still shaking.

“There you are. Hello, Virgil.”

Virgil raised a trembling hand in a half hearted greeting.

“I know this is a big, terrifying thing to ask of you. And I’ll understand if you say no. But if you feel safe, we’d love to have you for however long you’re comfortable with. Would you like to think it over?”

He nodded immediately. It wasn’t the hard ‘no’ he had expected himself to feel, and that was more unsettling than it should have been.

“Okay. You do that. Take however long you need,” Janus said as he stood up, straightening his shirt, “It’s been great to meet you, Virgil.”

And he was gone. The social worker came back a short while later, but Virgil was completely gone by the time she did. He didn’t respond to her dinner calls, didn’t eat when the meal was placed in front of him, safely retreated into the silent part of his mind where he was safe from panic attacks and hard choices.

---

He said yes. Of course he did. He was far too intrigued by the man he’d met to refuse. He was scared shitless, that was a given; the first week after meeting Janus, he’d refused to leave his bed, refused to eat or shower or leave his huddle against the wall until the caretaker was basically pleading with him. Even then, it was a struggle to not throw up from sheer terror.

But his social worker must have seen the way he was giving in, yearning for a grasp of hope in equal parts as his fear, because she set about to convince him. Promised more thorough checks once a week, daily phone calls to keep in touch, and an immediate pick up the moment he was unsure. Bit by bit his resolve was broken, until he finally agreed to give it a try, rushing from her presence moments later to hurl his dinner into the toilet. Hopefully his nerves would relax over time.

The day came when he was to leave the group home, and he spent none of it in the present. He was so dissociated, so deeply embedded within his own mind, that he wasn’t even able to pack his belongings. His social worker was kind enough to do it for him (though the task itself took less than half an hour- he didn’t own that much) and he didn’t even notice she was in the room, talking, until his black garbage bag was placed on the bed in front of him.

“ -unresponsive like this all day. We’re not sure what to do.”

“No doubt a response to his overwhelming fear of being placed in a new home after the disaster of his previous one. May I speak to him alone?”

“Of course.”

“Want me to leave too, Lo?”

“No, Janus, you can stay. It may be nice to have your expertise in the subject lest it become pertinent.”

There was some shuffling at the very corners of his consciousness, the light from the hallways lighting up the divots of his rumpled clothing bag, and one of the people were gone. His bedside lamp was flicked on.

“Thank you, Janus.”

A weight on the bed was the first thing to really snap Virgil back to the presence, for the first time noticing the two men before him. The one standing, he recognized as Janus. The other sitting in front of him, though, he didn’t know. Virgil blinked rapidly, slowly pushing himself further back into his bed frame, despite how it dug into his shoulders.

“Hello, Virgil. My name is Logan. I take it you’ve met my husband?”

Janus shot him a soft smirk, copying Virgil’s little wave from when they’d first interracted. He barely restrained a rush of twitches, playing it off as a shuffle to rearrange his blanket.

“Do you think you could move forward just enough to place your feet on the ground? You don’t have to stand, just to begin the process of grounding?”

Virgil didn’t trust this guy for anything. He didn’t know his intentions, knew nothing about him, and his repressed mental state wasn’t making his cognitive reasoning any better. If Logan could help him ground, maybe it would be easier to figure out if they were trustworthy. Odd, that for this to work, he had to trust them enough to ground around them.

He scooted forward, letting his feet flutter off the bed and rest on the floor.

“Well done, Virgil. Press them to the floor firmly. Janus, do you have- ah, wonderful.”

Virgil looked up, nearly throwing himself back as Janus reached out a hand to him. There was something clutched in his fingers, but all the youngest could suddenly think was electrode electrode it’s going to hurt they’re going to hurt you don’t let it touch you don’tletittouchyou DON’T!

“It’s just gum, Virge, it’s okay.”

Oh. His hand paused as he reached out for the offering, a new thought coming to mind. Should he trust food from strangers? What if they’d drugged it, like his old foster home? He bit his lip, slowly retreating back into himself.

The man seemed to see his hesitation, popping the piece into his mouth and offering one right from the package.

“I didn’t mess with it, I swear.”

He took the gum, recoiling at the harsh taste almost instantly.

“Yeah, it doesn’t taste great. But I chewed like a pack of this a day when dissociation was a bitch. Snaps you back to the present like-”

“Language, Janus.”

“I’m sure he’s heard worse.”

“That doesn’t mean we should encourage it.”

Virgil couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. He hadn’t seen just casual bickering in a long time.

“We brought one more bribe-”

“It is not a bribe-”

He outright snorted at Logan’s aghast tone, slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle the noise. Janus looked utterly pleased with himself, slowly handing over a bundle he’d had wrapped under his arm.

“Again, to help with grounding. And it’s a bit of a drive to our place, so maybe you can get some sleep in the car.”

It was a deep purple blanket, almost impossibly soft to the touch. Virgil couldn’t help run his fingers over the plush material, fighting the urge to just smash his face into it. Keeping an eye on the two, Virgil unfolded it and wrapped it tightly around himself, settling to just let his cheek rub against where it was draped over his shoulder.

It took another twenty minutes for him to feel able to walk without stumbling, but if he left the group home in a fuzzy blanket and starting to feel safer than he had in months, that was his to admit. And he wouldn’t… not yet.

-----------

Virgil stared down at the piece of paper clutched tightly in his hand, re-reading his shitty handwriting for the millionth time. He knew it was proper grammar, and nothing was spelled wrong, and it was clear and concise, but a part of him was still nervous about the idea of giving it to Janus. He was still hesitant to speak, and his new foster family was more than accommodating, giving him a small white board to write on, and even teaching him the most basic sign language for simple questions (courtesy of Logan). One day, he hoped he’d get his confidence back enough to speak, but right now, he felt no rush.

Being surrounded with these new people, even for the three short weeks he’d been there, had already been enough to minimize his dissociating spells. Logan didn’t have to leave for another work trip for another week, and Janus worked from home anyways, so he was getting way more love and affection than he was ever used to. He hadn’t quite given in to Janus’ offered hugs, or any casual touch at all really, but he was getting used to one of the two just sitting with him for hours, covering him with weighted and fuzzy blankets, and gently distracting him with puzzles or that god-awful gum or just repeating where he was, and that he was safe. Was this what being loved was supposed to feel like?

So he trudged down the steps, hearing the shower running as he walked past the master bedroom, and slowly approached Janus at the dining room table. The man turned to greet him, giving him that soft smirk.

“Morning, kid. Happy birthday.”

Virgil smiled shyly, remembering the sign for thank you after a moment, and dropped the note onto the table next to Janus’ mug. He took a seat across from him, hiding his shaking hands in his lap, and watched with bated breath as he took the slip of paper and read it.

“‘How long did it take you to feel okay with Logan after CT?’ As in, feel okay dating a man?”

Virgil nodded and then, just for practice, signed yes.

“The short answer? Probably two years, and I was still hesitant going into the relationship. It took us a longer time to get to the comfort level we’re at now. You need to go at your pace, Virgil. You shouldn’t force anything.”

And then, as he tended to do when no one was there to fill the silence, he began to rant. This was also something Virgil was surprised he had come to enjoy, pulling up his feet so he could sit cross legged on the chair and setting his chin overtop his folded arms on the table.

“I think it’s ridiculous that our basic human rights are still up for debate,” Janus sighed, taking a long sip of his tea, “Soulmarks are more than enough proof that we have no control over who we love- not that we should need that kind of proof to be validated. But people are afraid of what they don’t know, so they portray us as monsters who need to be fixed.” He’d begun rubbing absentmindedly at his wrist and Virgil’s eyes tracked the movement, noticing for the first time the small compass that was just a couple shades darker than the man’s skin. It almost blended in, and he probably never would have noticed it, if the small needle in the center weren’t slowly rotating towards the stairs.

Logan entered the dining room from that direction, greeting his husband with a small kiss on the head and his foster child with a relaxed smile. He must have noticed Virgil’s occasional glance at the other’s wrist, wordlessly flipping over his own arm. His matching compass was pulling towards Janus’, an ever present symbol that they were meant to be together. Then, he patted his husband’s shoulder, going to get the coffee his husband always made for him.

“You’re not broken, Virgil,” Janus murmured. Virgil’s head shot up, surprised at his bluntness, “You’re not. And if anyone tells you differently, they’ll have to deal with me,” He said firmly as he took a long sip.

“No threatening, Janus!”

Virgil snorted into his fist, grinning as Janus winked at him and said, “Sorry, Logan,” into his mug.

“Incorrigible.” Logan sighed as he exited the kitchen with his coffee, dropping into the seat between the two. “And happy birthday, Virgil. Would you like to choose what we have for breakfast, or would you like us to decide?”

That was something they’d learned about him quickly; he had awful choice paralysis. Choosing between two choices was already anxiety inducing, but a variety of things, like having to narrow it down to one food item? Lethal. Virgil quickly pointed to Logan, who chuckled.

“French toast, then?”

Virgil nodded.

“I’ll get started on that in a moment. Janus, do you have his gift?”

“It’s in the living room, let me go get it.”

And that got his heart racing. ‘Gifts’ weren’t good things. They were leverage, blackmail, with a promise of a ‘returned favor’ in the near future. Virgil didn’t like things held against him like that. What if they gave him a present, and then demanded he pay them back for it the moment things weren’t peachy? Who was he kidding, he was in the honeymoon phase of this new foster family. It would take a month, like it did with the others, and then they’d find something about him that they hated and they’d force him to change it and he wouldn’t be able to refuse because they gave him food and shelter and above all, a gift on his birthday, and he would owe them a debt and he was stuck and-

“Virgil? What are five orange things you can see?”

His head popped up- when had he grabbed his hair like that?- and he noticed how heavily he was breathing. His foster parents were looking at him in concern, not pity, but legitimate concern for his well being (wack), Janus holding his hands behind his back. It was Logan that had spoken.

“Five orange things you can see, Virgil. You can just point.”

Don’t disappoint them more, his mind screamed, so he pointed at the far wall, near the entryway.

“The bridge on the calendar picture, very good. What else?”

Point through the pass through window into the kitchen.

“The sponge, well done. Three more.”

In front of Janus’ empty seat.

“The letters on the mug-”

Quick point to the book shelf in the living room.

“-and the book on my shelf. Last one?”

It took Virgil a longer moment before he found a cup of pens on the small coffee table behind the sofa, gesturing to the orange capped pen amongst the others.

“Wonderful. Are you feeling a bit better now?”

He didn’t respond, choosing to track Janus’ movements as he sat back into his chair, adjusting his hands so they were on his lap, most likely holding the gift he was hiding. Logan leaned against the couch as his husband spoke.

“Kid, I need you to understand something, alright? You don’t owe us anything. We want to give you a gift because it’s your birthday, and we want to celebrate you. This isn’t some favor that you have to return.”

How Janus understood Virgil’s distress, the younger could only guess. But his words of reassurance were enough to get Virgil to accept the wrapped package as he presented it with minimal shaking, for once demanding his brain relax. Neither of the men mentioned how delicately he unwrapped it, carefully tugging at the tape as to not rip the paper. Why risk it?

His mouth gaped when he saw the present for the first time, holding the box in a white knuckled grip.

“We were told yours was taken from you and never returned, and figured that you needed a new one,” Logan said.

It was the first new thing Virgil had ever gotten. His clothes were from thrift stores or hand downs, his school supplies consisted of a found pencil and a ripped binder from the group home’s storage, forget ever having his own computer or video games or…

“This is a phone!”

“That it is.” Janus was smiling, taking a sip of his now lukewarm tea.

“I can’t- You can’t just- I don’t-”

“We can, and we did. You’re seventeen, you kind of need a phone just for everyday life. And unless you give us a reason not to trust you with it, we have no worries.”

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t-

Janus slid the tissue box across the table, but Virgil elected to ignore it, refusing to take his eyes off the box in his hands.

“Thank you,” he barely choked out, “Thank you so much.”

“You’re very welcome, Virgil,” Logan responded for the both of them, returning back to the kitchen nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just given Virgil more than he’d ever gotten in his entire life combined. “I’m going to start on breakfast.”

“I can help you set it up. Then you can download some music… maybe contact the soulmate of yours again.” Janus switched chairs so he was next to Virgil, careful not to touch him, and Virgil couldn’t help grinning blindingly up at him.

It would only be after breakfast that Virgil would realize that he’d spoken. It would be a longer journey until he’d be able to talk again effortlessly, but he was a step closer.

Part 4 HERE!

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