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afewmarvelousthoughts · 5 years

Text

Truth Pt. 14

Master List @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Request:

What’s up sug! sorry you’re struggling right now but I’ve come to help you If you could bring this to light for me I’d absolutely love for YOU TO DO JT So basically Bucky X Enhanced reader who are fuckin enemies. Hate each other to every last fiber of their beings bc Bucky is rude and she calls him out on it. AnywHs, they get drunk, truth or dare (go crZy baby) and LOTS LF dirty talk if u wanna do smut but if u don’t then buck taking care of her while she’s drunk cause she admitted her feelings

Pairing: Bucky X Reader (Enhanced)

Summary: Since The Avengers gave you a home the only blight has been Bucky Barnes, a ghost from your past that you can’t seem to shake. It makes you hate him. The feeling, it seems, is mutual. But… a simple game reveals that maybe things aren’t quite so simple. (Post Winter Soldier AU)

Warnings: Angst, feels, blood, pain, and... fluff

A/N: I’M NOT CRYING YOU’RE CRYING!

FUUUUCK. Thank y’all so much for your support and love of this series. It’s been a runaway train from the beginning and I’ve enjoyed even the utterly painful parts. I thought I was gonna wait and post this on Wednesday like I usually do but honestly... after the last chapter I think everyone waited long enough.

I hope you all enjoy this. Thank you thank you thank you!!!

Tags are open!

@midnightdream83 @mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415@peachthatdrinkslemonade @wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @handplucked@buckysstar @sam-jae @marauderconvos –harder @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @marvelousmeggi @jewelofwinter @fairislesheets @animegirlgeeky @lydklein1 @katecolleen @siriuslycloudy2 @zannemes

The concussive force from the superheated air knocks everyone back. Free of Stark’s grip, Bucky hits his knees, gaping at the glowing pillar of white light reaching from the ground into the sky. It would be beautiful if he knew you weren’t trapped in the middle of it.

It only lasts for a couple of seconds before it’s gone. The sky cracks with thunder as it cools, clouds swirling in response to the unnatural disturbance. The ground shakes heavily for several minutes, buildings creak, a few close to the now leveled main building collapse.

Then… silence as rain begins to fall from the angry sky.

“J… Jarvis… talk to me…”

“The energy emitted… it was equivalent to a massive nuclear detonation… somehow Miss Y/N managed to contain it… had she not the city would have been decimated… The force caused an earthquake, around a five on the Richter scale. There will be damage but nothing major.”

Bucky hardly registers what any of that means. He bolts to his feet and begins running. Only one thing matters to him at this moment. He has to find you, no matter what shape you may be in he has to bring you home, he will not leave you here… he can’t. If Stark or anyone tried to stop him he’d kill them. That simple.

He’s about to jump into the crater that was once the main building when a hand grabs his shoulder. Spinning on his heels he’s ready to lash out at who ever had the gall to stop him. Steve’s mournful gaze freezes Bucky’s rage in an instant.

“We’ll find her Buck. I swear.” Bucky stares at him for a second before managing a nod and the two men slide down.

Desperately his eyes scan for anything that will give him a clue. But it’s just endless, charred, steaming rubble.

He hears Tony overhead, “Come on Jarvis, tell me you got something.” If Jarvis responds it’s not on everyone’s coms. Sam is also above them scanning, while Hill and Clint help Natasha down into the crater. No one seems certain of what they’re looking for, only that they have to look. Have to try.

After about ten minutes that feel like five hours Sam pipes up, “I think we got something!” He’s near the center, landing softly, no one sure how solid the ground beneath them is.

Bucky rushes over as Jarvis chimes in on all their coms, “Weak life signs. She seems to be in an air pocket.”

“Help me with this guys,” Tony goes to a large slab of wall. Carefully Bucky, Steve, and Tony lift the slab and lay it gently down, not wanting to cause the debris to shift too heavily. There’s still an unnerving groaning sound from somewhere beneath their feet.

They move more debris, working at a miserably slow pace. Finally, they lift a piece of strangely warped concrete and…

He sees you, the debris around you curved and almost melted forming a sort of cocoon. You’re on your back, large patches of your tac uniform have been burned away, your exposed flesh black and red and blistered, your right arm is pinned under your back at a sickening angle, clearly badly broken. Blood trickles from your mouth, nose, and ears. But you’re alive.

Unthinking Bucky drops down hands reaching, aching to touch you. “If you touch her I’ll put a bullet in you Barnes,” Sam barks settling next to you. Bucky glares, “Moving her you could kill her and I’m not going to fucking let that happen. We clear?”

He’s right. Bucky nods. Thankful for Sam.

“Jarvis we need the Nightingale.”

Within five minutes you’re on some kind of Stark tech stretcher. Sam carefully arranges your busted arm, while straps gently and automatically hold you in place.

“Let’s get her home,” Clint says from behind Bucky, patting his back in an attempt at comfort.

Everyone is quiet on the ride back. Sam monitors your vitals, your worryingly faint heartbeat drops over and over and Bucky feels himself die just a little each time. Thankfully you’re still hanging on when they land at the tower.

Medical is prepped and ready. Instantly they surround you, Dr. Cabot barking orders in her stern tone. Bucky follows but Steve grabs him, “Let them help her.”

“Get the fuck off me Steve I can’t-”

“You can’t go in the O.R. Buck,” his grip tightens, “you can’t. But they’re gonna do everything they can. She’s tough as nails. She’s gonna pull through this.” Tony walks past them guiding Natasha and Bucky shoots him a murderous glance. “Come on.”

Bucky refuses to leave medical while you’re in surgery. Everyone but Tony waits with him. Even Bruce joins them looking stressed. It’s just as good. He’s of the mind to literally rip Stark’s spine out.

Six excruciating hours later Dr. Cabot comes out. “We got her stable.” Bucky shoots up. “Some… some of the injuries were unique… the heat…” She shakes her head, “We did our best. Now we wait and hope.”

He feels like he’s gonna be sick. “Can… c… can I…”

“Soon,” The doctor gives Bucky a tender smile. “Get cleaned up and by the time you’re done we’ll have her ready for you to see.”

Bucky nods but can’t seem to bring himself to move. Clint and Steve coax him to the elevator. All the guys come along to the locker room they use for post mission clean up. No one willing to leave him alone.

Cleaned and changed they all head back up. Natasha is sitting with Hill, their hands clasped, in the little lounge area when they get there. Both looking morose.

“You can go see her,” Natasha’s voice is far away. “Wanted you to be first.”

Bucky runs the short distance to the private rooms the medical bay has. In the door, he freezes. You’re black and blue, bruises already blossoming. Bandages cover your arms from the burns, plus a few on your face.

“She’s breathing on her own,” Dr. Cabot comes up from behind, startling him. He jumps, but doesn’t lash out. “Sorry.” All he can manage is a nod in response before stepping in.

“That’s a good sign,” her tone is trying to reassure him but it’s not working. “She’s gonna need a new shoulder but that can wait… Just… there were internal burns. We aren’t sure how they’ll heal… and the head trauma… that’s always tricky.” She sighs, “Time will tell. Being enhanced… changes things, hopefully in this case for the better. No one should have made it through that… She’s strong.”

He nods as if anything she said sunk in and walks over to the bed collapsing on the chair next to it.

“Talk to her,” he looks up and she’s smiling. “Let her know you’re here. I’ll check in later.”

As soon as the door clicks behind her hot tears begin to stream silently down his face as he stares at you. He’s terrified to touch you, so scared that he’ll somehow make this worse. And talk… his tongue feels like lead in his mouth. Even his brain is swirling with different languages, unable to lock on to his mother tongue.

This is his fault. That’s the only solid thought he has right now. He shouldn’t have let you go in that room. Shouldn’t have let you anywhere near this mission… You hating him forever for being a controlling asshole would be better than this… at least you’d be alive.

Then he realizes there is one thing. One thing he has to find a way to say. Russian, Mandarin, French, Spanish, they all try to come out before he coaches his tongue to the proper English syllables. Leaning close to your ear he whispers, voice thick with regret and grief, “I love you, Y/N. I’m so sorry…”

Five days later and your bruises have faded some, the burns healing, but you haven’t opened your eyes… Bruce assured him that you clearly have brain activity, that’s supposed to mean you’re still with them… still fighting. It’s not much comfort.

Bucky has hardly left this room, he’s spoken even less… well to anyone but you, and even then only when you’re alone. Steve and Natasha have kept the most vigil with him, he thinks they’ve worked out some sort of six on six off schedule. The others come in at least once a day, sad smiles and soft words. That is everyone but Stark who’s kept his distance.

Steve finally convinces Bucky that he needs to step away for more than five minutes. Well, convinces isn’t the word… he practically begs. Bucky agrees on the grounds that they won’t leave the tower and Jarvis is to notify him immediately of even the smallest changes to your condition.

They only go up to the roof for about a half hour. The air and sunlight actually do feel good, they clear his head just enough.

As the two men ride back down Bucky turns to his friend, “Thank you.” Steve looks shocked for a moment before relief floods his face. They’re the first words he’s said to him in days.

Without a word, Steve pulls Bucky into a bone crushing hug. In all their years of friendship, Bucky rarely let himself be weak around Steve. He needed to be strong for the scrappy little shit because no one else was gonna… but now, in this elevator after both their worlds have fallen, risen, and now Bucky feels as if it’s fallen again he leans into Steve’s strength for just a minute. “You got it, Buck.”

As they approach your room music spills from the open door. Bucky feels the blood in his veins turn cold. Stark.

“I know you have to hate this one Sparks, so feel free to tell me what a lame ass I am… berate me… anything…” Tony’s voice is rough. He’s leaned back in a chair balancing on two legs by your bed, hands cradling the back of his head. “The 90’s were a tough time for music but there were some gems.”

“Bucky, don’t-” Steve warns. Stark shoots up as Bucky barrels into the room.

He grabs Stark by his tee and slams him against the wall. Surprisingly though all the hateful things he’s thought to scream at Stark over the last few days won’t fly from his lips now. Instead, he holds him there, cold eyes boring into him.

“For what it’s worth I wanna kick my ass too…” The sincerity in Stark’s voice hits Bucky like a blow and he releases him though he doesn’t move away.

Stark’s eyes wander behind Bucky to you, “It was the one thing-” His voice cracks and he clears his throat trying to gain composure before continuing. “It was the only thing she ever asked of me. I asked her to trust us, to join us. I asked her to play hero… fuck.” He runs a hand over his face, catching the tears before they can fall. “She never asked anything of me… until you.” Bucky turns away, not wanting to hear it but unable to leave.

“She asked me to promise that if shit went sideways I would keep your dumbass safe because she knew you’d try to follow her into any deathtrap that came up. The only thing she asked.” His voice is shaking with emotion, “And you can hate me until the day I eventually eat it but I’d do it again in a heartbeat for her.”

Silence rings between the three men, only broken by the sounds of the music. “Even if you hate it play the music. There’s some stuff I know she’ll like. And even if she doesn’t… maybe she’ll get annoyed enough to wake up and have at me.”

As Tony pushes past him Bucky’s arm shoots out, holding him in place. He doesn’t look at him, scared that if he does he won’t be able to say the words. “I don’t hate you, Tony.” Finally, he turns, Tony’s face is bereft, “Keep the music coming, she likes your shitty playlists.”

A sad smile curls Tony’s lips. “They’re only shitty because you’re too old to know what’s good, Manchurian.”

Day 12 rolls up and Bucky begins to feel himself shutdown in a way he hasn’t since he’s been here. It’s a detachment he was familiar with as the Soldier, as though he’s observing the world through plate glass.

He’s going through the motions they all expect. Eating, drinking, talking when he needs to, even managing a half hearted smile here and there. All of it is muscle memory though, autopilot to get through the times when other people are watching.

Honestly, it’s easier to feel that way. Easier when they’re there and he has to play a part. When they’re gone… he feels it. It’s like there’s a crushing weight on his chest. He thinks he’d take the chair a thousand times over this grief. Rather mind numbing pain than this slow suffocation.

But still, he stays by your side. He plays Tony’s playlists, some of his music, some of yours. Sometimes he sings to you, softly, old songs he remembers from his life before. Maybe he tells you about something he remembers or old dreams he had of who he’d be. Over and over he whispers those those three little words he should have been saying long before now.

By day 17 he’s just numb. Your bruises have faded, the burns almost healed leaving pink scars in places that may linger for a few years. The doctors insist that your brain activity is promising but you haven’t even fluttered your eyes, not even a squeeze to his hand, nothing… despite the times, alone in the wee hours of the morning, that he’s begged for you to.

On day 21 he thinks this is worse than death. Just watching you lay there day after day night after night. Performing for the others. Hoping and hoping and hoping for something that may never happen.

Tonight he doesn’t sing, doesn’t play music, doesn’t tell stories. He lays his head down on the bed, silence holding you both tight. Tears stream from his eyes and he counts your breaths until oblivion takes him.

No one ever tells you what it’s like to almost die.

There’s always the wondrous stories about people who die and come back. The white light, loved ones telling you it’s not time and all that shit. People just don’t seem to talk about the almost. They don’t talk about the void of pain, the fear of dying that lingers after your body ceases to listen to you. There’s no beautiful light or love when you’re screaming but no one can hear you. Nothing poetic in pushing through the endless darkness of unconsciousness.

You’ve been here before though. Many times. The almost is like an old friend that rises to greet you when you feel the roof give way beneath your feet. It’s happy to drag you under as the debris settles around your body, still pulsing and glowing with pure burning energy.

Unlike those other times though you don’t beg for death and you don’t pull through to spite the reaper either. This time you fight because there’s something worth living for. Someone, or someones rather, who you aren’t willing to leave behind. Not yet. So you push back against that insidious pull of death, scream and beg your body to obey you to move just a little, just something so they know.

It seems like an age before you feel the pain sear through your right shoulder. For a moment you don’t remember why your shoulder should be hurting or why the hell you’re sleeping on your back. Then it all barrels into you. The pain is less of a nuisance then, you savor it because it means you won, you’re still alive.

The room is silent but you can hear a familiar steady breathing to your left, feel a familiar weight across your torso. Bucky sleeping, his left arm over you, right hand tightly gripping your left. You have to open your eyes, have to see him… You don’t know how long it takes you to force your eyes to open but it feels like hours.

Slowly they creak open, heavy and strangely sore. Even though the light is dim it feels like looking into the sun for a second. Eventually, they adjust and you drag your gaze to the left.

Your heart rises in your parched throat. His eyes look puffy from tears, lips chapped. His beard seems so much longer… how long were you… it didn’t matter.

First, you try to open your mouth, but nothing happens. Your tongue feels heavy, thick, unsure of how to function anymore. It takes a few frustrating minutes but finally you get it under control.

You squeeze his right hand as tight as you can manage. He shifts a bit but doesn’t seem to register until you squeeze once more. Instantly he shoots up, eyes wide.

“Y/N?!”

Your voice is nothing but a rasp, barely even a whisper, but you have to say it… just in case you never get to again. “I love you.”

Those spectacular eyes of his well with tears instantly, his chest heaves, like he hasn’t taken a breath in days. “I love you too, Y/N. So much baby doll. I love you.” That’s all he manages, words stumbling over themselves, before he breaks.

Bucky's lips crash into yours silencing his sob and you tangle the fingers of your left hand in his hair. His forehead rests against yours, his gaze making your heart skip a beat.

“I thought I lost you, baby.”

“You’ll never lose me, Bucky. I’m all yours.”

The next few days are a strange, disorienting blur. You feel like you forgot how to be awake.

Despite almost a month of unconsciousness you constantly feel yourself drifting off. Dr. Cabot tells you that your body is still healing. It was a massive trauma and even super soldiers have a breaking point. Still… it’s annoying. You want to be awake, to study the faces of your friends, dry their tears, hold on to every single moment.

Unconscious or awake though Bucky is there. His reassuring warmth a constant by your side. But… you can see what this has done to him. He’s ragged, barely sleeping, his eyes haunted. The relief that floods his face every time you wake up nearly undoes you.

Four days later Dr. Cabot comes in, a smile on her face. “Good news. I’m clearing you to go home.” That one little work sends warmth flooding through you. Home. Home with Bucky. You turn to him, your face hurting from the smile that just burst across it.

“Don’t get too excited though, you’re not done seeing me. I’m still going to be checking in and as soon as Tony has your shoulder replacement ready we’re scheduling your surgery.” As much as you hate the thought of being under, you’re sick of having a useless arm, you nod. “But since you live here I think being back in your own space will be good. For the both of you.” She gives Bucky a stern look.

“Thanks, Doc.” You eek out despite the emotion welling in your chest.

A couple of hours later and you’re in the elevator, thankful you talked your way out of a wheelchair. It felt good to be on your own two feet, even if you were leaning on Bucky for support.

When the doors slide open a welcome banner hung above the door greets you.

“Are they going to jump out and yell surprise when we walk in?”

Bucky looks down at you, clearly just as caught off guard as you were. “No idea.”

Cautiously he opens the door but to both of your relief no one jumps out, in fact, no one is here at all. What is here are sprays of flowers and a ton of food. A lump rises in your throat as you pick up the hand written card left on the bar:

We all thought you two would like some time alone. Enjoy the snacks, pizza will come later. We each picked a movie we think you’ll like, they’re queued on your TV. Jarvis has your ‘Welcome Home’ playlist ready to go for whenever you want to annoy Ice Man.

Glad you’re back with us, Sparks.

-The Team

I picked out the flowers, because we can’t trust these boys to get that right.

-Nat

Bucky wraps you in his arms, pulling your back flat against him, “We’re home, doll. Really home.”

The weight of those words almost make you weep from pure joy. Hydra had tried time and time again to take everything from you both, to prevent you from finding home and happiness. Hell, even your childhood home was nothing but a lie… But here… With these people, with him, together you had all found something special. More than home, you found family.

Turning in his arms you grasp the back of his neck with your good hand. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

His lips are soft against yours, this kiss unhurried. After all, why rush something so sweet. It truly hits you then that you want nothing but this for the rest of your days, no matter how many or how few there may be. Nothing but him.

Pulling back from the kiss you stare into his face. You want to remember every line, every freckle, every single detail of how he looks in this moment.

“What is it?” Concern flashes across his features for an instant.

“Truth or dare?”

“What?” He laughs.

“Come on. Truth or dare?”

“Um, dare.”

“I dare you to marry me, James Buchanan Barnes.”

The laugh that tears through his chest is pure joy. Every ounce of exhaustion slips from his features as he lifts you up and sets you on the counter top. He doesn’t say anything, just takes your face in his rough hands and kisses you until you can hardly breathe.

“Well? Do you accept my challenge?” You grin up at this man you love.

“I do.”

“That’s supposed to come later I think.” You tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

“I will happily accept that dare, Y/N.” Another laugh falls from his lips before he kisses you once more. “My turn,” he says breaking the kiss. “Truth or dare?”

“I feel obligated to chose dare, it got us into this whole mess originally after all.”

He nods in acknowledgment. “I dare you to take my name.” All you can do is smile at him. You already planned on it, your original last name left a bad taste in your mouth after everything. Your silence seems to unsettle him though, “I know it’s old fashioned but-”

“I’d love to.” He looks shocked. “Y/N Barnes. Has a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah,” he covers your face in kisses, “it does.”

Epilogue to come.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky feels

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milothebastardman · 7 years

Note

Yes,Hi! Prompt for radmond! Lord Boxman finding out about it and being actually accepting it? (And may/or may not threaten Rad) u dont if u dont want to!

(i have too much fun with this oml thank you)

Lord Boxman grumbled and griped to nobody, waiting impatiently for his newest creation to get to his office. He’d sent Raymond out on a solo mission, one that should’ve taken a marvelous machine like himself a half hour tops. Instead, the robot had been gone for almost two hours, and even though it went against the average villain’s evil protocol, Lord Boxman found himself feeling quite worried for his creation. After all, Raymond was basically the baby of his dysfunctional little family, so he was allowed to feel emotions besides anger, frustration, and pride towards him!

He perked up when the door to his office slid open, the soft sound of smooth metal gliding on metal oddly comforting to his ears. In true villain fashion, Lord Boxman made himself wait a few moments before he slowly spun his chair around. He even managed to get it to stop before it spun too far to the left this time, so the motion was actually intimidating for once! He had been preparing his best glare for this moment, and oh if looks could kill… Well, realistically if they could kill, he would just be stuck having to repair a busted robot, now wouldn’t he?

He didn’t speak, instead allowing the silence to stretch to the point that it became uncomfortable for the both of them. Raymond’s face was schooled into a cool, calm mask of indifference, but Lord Boxman knew him better than that. He let out a long sigh, suddenly feeling incredibly tired. His son had failed the mission, otherwise, he would’ve been bragging and patting himself on the back the moment he walked through the door. The overworked dad settled deeper into his chair and simply motioned for Raymond to speak.

“Coach Box Dad, I swear I can explain why I’m late!”, he began, an edge of panic working its way into his normally haughty voice. Lord Boxman merely raised an eyebrow, silently prompting him to continue. Raymond began pacing nervously, words spilling forth from his mouth like water from a spring. “I just… I couldn’t, Coach Box Dad! I couldn’t come home and… And make you even more disappointed in me than you already are!”, he said, his voice rising to a shout before it cracked. Lord Boxman was confused, to say the least. However, before he was able to interject, Raymond continued hastily, “And don’t say you aren’t! Because… Because I just know you are! I’ve failed you again, Coach Box Dad… And it isn’t just because I lost some fight with the Bodega Babies either…”

“Raymond, you need to pull yourself together.”, Lord Boxman demanded gruffly, somehow managing to keep his volume under control. He stood from his chair, walking over to his son quickly. Raymond’s eyes were trained on his shoes, and Lord Boxman was surprised to find out that the artificial lacrimal ducts he’d installed at the last minute were fully functional. He wasn’t sure of what to do now, Shannon and Darrel had never seemed to require much more than a pat on the head to keep them emotionally content. Raymond was so much more intricate, his mechanical heart seemed to swell and ache just as much as his own flesh and blood heart did.

“I cannot fight them any longer, Father…”, Raymond admitted softly. Oh, there went his poor flesh and blood heart! Father was a name he’d never been called, even Darrel stuck with Dad. Lord Boxman reacted automatically, without giving his next action any thought. He reached forward and pulled his youngest son into the best hug he could manage. It was probably horribly awkward, considering he had given maybe three hugs in his lifetime, and considering the height difference between the two of them. Despite that, Raymond acted as if this was the epitome of affection, the most important hug he would ever receive in his lifetime. And hell, maybe it was.

“Raymond, I will be /damned/ if I ever hear you talking about yourself that way again.”, Lord Boxman murmured, giving his robot baby one pat on the back before he pulled away from the hug. His face was an odd mixture of concerned and stern, that trademark dad face when they wanted to make a point and fix whatever was broken. “You are easily the most incredible machine I have ever created. You are far from disappointing, my boy. Quite the contrary, really. Your flair in battle has always impressed me, and your knack for puns! Why, what kind of father would I be if I wasn’t proud of your puns?”, he added, feeling a not so foreign surge of warmth in his chest at the slight smile that tugged at his son’s lips.

“I’m… I’m sorry Father… Clearly, it is insulting to the both of us should I decide to insult myself.”, Raymond joked, getting a bit of his normal energy back. He stood taller, a ghost of his confidence returning. Lord Boxman let out a short bark of laughter, nodding in agreement.

“Now tell me, my dear boy… What exactly has you so riled today? Might I assume it was whatever made you late, or would that be too presumptuous?”, he asked, taking a seat once more. The nervous look on Raymond’s face told him he’d really need to sit down for a bit anyway, and he took a deep breath to mentally prepare for whatever was to come.

“… I have… a boyfriend.”, Raymond finally stated dramatically. Lord Boxman had to pinch himself very roughly in order to hold back his hysterical laughter. Was this what his youngest had been so worried about? What sort of father would he be if the simple news that his son had found someone to be happy with were to upset him? Why, he was a villain, not a monster! “And… It’s Radicles! Oh my god I’m dating my nemesis and it’s all his fault because he was the one who just HAD to tango with me at prom and-”, Raymond began, his flustered rambling fading away as the shock set in for Lord Boxman.

When on earth did Raymond go to a prom? And since when was he into egotistical, over the top, stubborn- … Well, that one was self-explanatory actually. The stupefied dad eventually tuned back in, barely catching the end of Raymond’s rant about the blue alien who apparently was the worst hero since he stole his heart. Lord Boxman sagged against his chair heavily, feeling a vicious migraine begin to pound like someone was taking several tiny jackhammers and going at his poor, poor skull.

“Raymond, please tell me you’re happy with this… Hero.”, he said, hesitating before he spat the word out. A villain with a hero was practically unheard of in this day and age! Sure, things were a lot better now than they were, say, 50 years ago, but there was still a negative association with those kinds of relationships. Plenty of heroes assumed that the villain would try to corrupt their partner, and drag them down to their own level. Villains had similar convictions, merely in reverse. Many were disgusted at the idea of some hero trying to “purify” one of their own, and yank them up to their own level.

Lord Boxman was pulled from his thoughts by a long, content sigh. Raymond had a slightly dopey look on his face, a gentle flush covering his face. He didn’t need to say anything because Lord Boxman just knew. This was who his son was, and this was who made his son happy. He’d either have to accept that and allow Radicles into his family or reject him and possibly risk losing his youngest son. The choice was simple, at least it was simple to him. He pulled out the next batch of evil plans he had readied that involved the Bodega Babies, as Shannon and Darrel liked to call them. With a dramatic flourish, the plans were tossed into a lit fireplace.

The two watched them burn, a tension that they had never fully been aware of melting away as the fire crackled and popped. The tension was instead replaced with a comfortable silence, and after a few moments, Raymond took his leave. The door whooshed open and shut seconds later. Now left alone with his thoughts, Lord Boxman decided to work on one last “evil” plan. Well, at least the last evil one to involve any of the Bodega Babies. He sat down at his desk and pulled out a few blueprints, a sly grin spreading across his face slowly as he became absorbed in his work…

~This timeskip of seven hours is brought to you by Radicles in a grass skirt and a coconut bra~

Lord Boxman examined his nails with a noted lack of interest, waiting patiently for his plan to come to fruition. The disguise he wore wasn’t the most enjoyable to don, but it was the most practical. Just because his son was dating a hero didn’t mean his father still wasn’t widely feared and hated. He was a realist, not an optimist. The disguise did its job at least, even if it was itchy as all get out. None of the Bodega Babies had recognized him yet, although the small one did seem to be trailing after him… He dared to glance over his shoulder, glad to see that the kid had finally gone somewhere else.

This feeling was only temporary, however, since Lord Boxman took exactly half a step before he ran into the very subject he was looking for. He looked up at the blue alien, surprised by how calm he felt. A voice that was nothing like his own inquired about a product he knew they didn’t have out front, and he found himself being led into the back room so he could retrieve it. The second the door shut, however, he had Radicles pinned against the closest wall. Despite his short, squat stature, he was still stronger than the hero. After all, Radicles was merely level two, while he was level -10. It was simple math, really.

“Dude, what the heck is your damage?”, Radicles griped, trying to squirm out of his hold. His eyes widened when the disguise shifted, revealing Lord Boxman in all his evil glory. “You’re… Wearing a disguise to sneak into Mr. Gar’s store now? Dude, this is a new low, even for you.”, he taunted, smirking at the shorter man. Lord Boxman didn’t even grant that petty jab a response with proper words. He simply laughed lowly, the sound menacing as it echoed and bounced off the walls of the large room. “Alright, stop being such a creep and get on with… Whatever it is that you’re doing here!”, Radicles snapped, trying to cover up his growing fear with annoyance.

“Oh my dear, simple Radicles… You’ve no idea what’s going on?”, Lord Boxman asked, batting his eyelashes innocently. He dropped Radicles to the ground, ignoring his little sound of surprise as he began pacing. “I have recently come across some very interesting information… Information regarding you and my dearest, youngest son, Raymond…”, he continued, trailing off as he glanced down at Radicles. Now the fear couldn’t be hidden and was displayed openly across the alien’s face. “Ah, you know what I speak of, don’t you? Well, let me make one thing clear, my boy…”, Lord Boxman said. He leaned down, his smile horrifyingly wide and sickeningly sweet.

“If you ever hurt my son… Then you will see just how much I’ve been holding back, young Radicles. You fear Mr. Gar and the immense power he holds compared to you, yet you seem to forget my own level. While Mr. Gar is level 11 and I am only level -10, keep this fact in mind. His power is limited by his heroic oath, and his ultimate promise to use the power he has for good. Mine… Well, my villainous oath encourages using my power to injure, to maim, to scar both physically and psychologically…”, Lord Boxman explained, glaring down at Radicles a moment before he pulled him back up to his feet.

“Now, do me a favor, and never mention this to Raymond. He’d be quite embarrassed if he knew I made a special trip just to rough up his boyfriend.”, he said, taking a moment to dust Radicles off before he switched his disguise back on. He left promptly after that, leaving Radicles alone in his stupor. Eventually, a little grin crept across his face. He would definitely tell Raymond about this, and he would definitely enjoy how thoroughly embarrassed Lord Boxman would be when Raymond launched into theatrics over this. He could practically hear him now, crying about how his father cared so much about him to threaten bodily harm to his boyfriend.

“Wonder if this means I gotta get him something for his birthday now…”, Radicles mumbled, making his way back to the front of the store. What the heck was he supposed to buy for an evil dad anyway? … There was probably a website dedicated to villain dad mugs or something… Did Lord Boxman like coffee? Radicles went about his day fairly normally, although his phone search history now had weird stuff like “#1 worst dad shirt” and “gayest villain (besides my husband)”.

(yeah my brain thought of evil dad accessories and then evil gay dad accessories so whoops enjoy pls)

#raymond #radicles #rad #lord boxman #oh look #dad boxman #ok ko #ok ko lets be heroes #fanfiction #thenonehater

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