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ofinkandpaper · 1 year

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A Changed World

Yandere!Villian!MHA x Reader

Hello! Finally, after nearly an entire year, I have finally finished chapter two with the gracious help and beta reading of @cupidcreates ❤️ So many things have been going on in my personal life and I really appreciate y'all's patience with this. Also, to clarify why I tag certain characters though they don't appear in a this chapter: they are referenced and are an important character to the story as a whole, so it makes it easier for me to keep track of what tags I should put on each chapter when they're all the same.

Note: The characters are aged up. As the story progresses, I will tag each chapter with respective trigger and content warnings, which may include mentions of murder, assault, cannibalism, stalking, torture, arson, terrorism, and other felonies, Yandere themes, Sexual assault, Mental illness, abuse. I do not own MHA nor do these personalities represent the writers, characters or VAs of the show. This is strictly fiction and for entertainment purposes only.

**Trigger Warnings: Implied Stalking/Being Watched

Word Count: 3,566

Taglist: @lolawassad @letskidaddle @youngbeansprout @bakuhoes-dumbass @cupidcreates

"Okay, so here's what I'm thinking." You glanced up from your computer for a moment, pausing in writing the few reports Tamaki had asked you for to give Kendo the small amount of attention you knew would be needed for her to continue talking.

Her casual drone, when comfortable, made for nice background noise and gave you a sense of peace.

"You could always move in with me! Sure, you may have to deal with Monoma every once in a while, but he's mellowed out a bit since we graduated so he isn't as much of a nuisance as he used to be." The thought made you scoff, but gave you a tiny bit of hope for the blonde man. Even with as much hate as he spewed at your fellow classmates, you had a small soft spot for him. As far as you could recall, you were one of the few that he had actually confided in when it came to his quirk insecurity - whether a copying quirk was a good fit for hero work or not, and not having much support about it in his childhood. Sometimes it made you wonder, a little dejectedly, if he had been making a jab at your own quirk. Sure it wasn't anything fancy like Hawks' was, but you liked it well enough.

"You of all people know I don't actually mind being around him, Itsuka." You huffed a laugh and went back to typing, "Besides, I can tell you right now I'm not a good roommate. Partially due to my quirk and partially due to how much I enjoy being alone sometimes."

"Oh please, if I could handle you in the UA dorms, I can handle you in a regular living situation." You could almost feel the force of her eye roll as you hear her flop back onto your bed. You glance at the clock to check the time before continuing to type, making a silent promise to finish this one report and send what you have done while promising Tamaki you would finish the rest tomorrow.

You wanted at least a few hours with your friend while she was here, you know?

"Honestly, I think you only managed that because of Monoma and Tetsutetsu." You smirk and glance her way again. Again, she scoffed and waved a hand dismissively as she turned her attention to her phone. Once more, back to the paperwork grind, you pushed through the last few sentences before sending them off to their respective destinations.

"Oh. There was one other thing I wanted to ask about." You swivel to face Kendo, frowning as she sat up and gave you the most serious look you've seen on her the entire day.

"What's up?"

"Are you really okay living here? With all the gang activity?"

The sudden weight of her questions caused a slight tension to rise over your body and your expression to fall a touch. You turned away from her as you thought of an answer, staring blankly at your keyboard. You could hear her shifting - uncomfortably, you assumed - as she tried to wait patiently for your response.

It was hard to think of an answer that didn't sound like there was some lie to it. Sure, you were used to the gangs, and appreciated that they didn't make your life as much of hell as they probably could… but that didn't mean you were entirely comfortable with them getting away with strong arming innocent civilians just because they knew the local heroes weren't supported enough to be able to stand up confidently and fully against them.

In all honesty, you had half a mind sometimes to leave Tamaki's agency and join the local one to add some backbone to the force.

"It's alright… it's not exactly what I would really want, but it's what I can afford at the moment.” You pause and give a shrug, “And the gangs haven’t been too bad recently. Just wish the hero agency in this area had a bit more support so they could actually do something about it all.”

Kendo was quiet as she took in your words, and with your attention away from her, her expression neutralized. It would have been easy for you to see the thoughts that swirled behind her eyes; thinking of how she could help and who she could talk to about either easing the situation in your neighborhood or getting you to move elsewhere. Having known you since your schooling days, she knew you were a stubborn one - she could almost put you on par with Midorya and Bakugo, if she were being completely honest.

Maybe a talk with Nejire was in order.

She forced a smile on her lips as she stood and went over, humming as she placed a hand on your shoulder. You looked up at her, finding a soft smile coming easy to you in response to her own.

“Well, while you figure out what you want to really do - don’t lie to me, I can tell you’re thinking about it - remember you have a plethora of people who have your back if you ever wanna move out.”

You sigh and nod, softly mentioning Tamaki’s offer to help you move closer to his agency. There was a sudden, but subtle, stiffness in her hand, though before you could really question it, she relaxed and moved away towards the bedroom door.

“Why haven’t you taken him up on it yet? Oh, and did you want any tea?” She pauses at the door, waiting for your answer. You hum and nod, standing to follow her to the kitchen. This small moment made you glad she still felt comfortable enough with you to know she could make use of your home-space as if it were her own.

“I don’t know… if I’m being honest, I just really don’t want to feel like I’m taking advantage of his kindness. Like, getting me an entire house? That’s a lot - way too much! I could never just casually go ‘oh sure, thanks boss!’ to something like that.” You hoisted yourself up onto the counter, swinging your legs a little as you watch Kendo shuffling around getting the kettle and mugs set up. She raised a brow and glanced your way for a moment as she turned the oven on to start boiling the water.

“A house? I thought his offer was for an apartment.” You make an elongated noise, accompanied by the shrug of your shoulders and one of your hands swaying side to side in a ‘maybe’ gesture.

“House, apartment… he’s offered a few different options, including moving in with him,” Again you shrug, “But, again, it's nothing that I can easily accept from him. Not only do I not wanna seem like a burden that needs to be protected, but I also don’t want to step on his toes and feel like I’m taking advantage of his kindness.”

She seemed to fall quiet in her thoughts as she watched the kettle, waiting for the whistle to signal that the water was ready. You let yourself relax a little further and rest your head against the edge of the cabinets while surveying the rest of the kitchen casually. Would it really be so bad if you decided to take one of them up on their offer to move in? Well, Tamaki did offer first - but Kendo was, as you felt, a closer friend. Glancing up at the ceiling, you contemplated if there had been anyone else that you could recall offering you a place to stay that wasn’t infested with more gang activity than a single hero could handle; you pull a blank as the kettle begins to whistle. Kendo picks it up and softly asks you to hold the tea bag strings in place as she pours. You were glad to do it; it gave your mind something else to focus on, and your hands something to do.

“I don’t think he would ever consider it as being taken advantage of. He is the one that offered in the first place.” She smiled and set the kettle on a cool stove burner before picking up and handing you one of the mugs. You gave her a soft thanks, accompanied by a roll of your eyes.

“That is true, but he is still my boss. If it isn’t the thought of taking advantage of his kindness, then I could only imagine what the more immature members of the agency would think if they caught wind.” That got a responsive giggle as the red haired girl shook her head almost wildly; you were pretty sure that if she hadn’t had that cup of tea in her hands, pressed against her chest, she would be waving her hands all over the place.

“I don’t even want to think about that! I’ve seen some of the members of your agency - I’m honestly surprised Suneater hasn’t said anything to them about their behaviour yet.” For some reason, her calling Tamaki by his hero name gave you pause to ponder slightly - had you been the only one to call him by his name this entire time? And why did it feel weird to hear him being referred to as anything beyond his name? You shake the thoughts before you could dive too far down that specific rabbit hole.

“I’m not sure, but I do recall him talking to a few at one point. Must’ve been really bad considering how they ended up acting like absolutely perfect angels after their private conversation with him.” You sipped your tea and let your mind wander again for a moment. What had those few done that caused Tamaki to actually reprimand them like he had, and not any of the other kinds of offenders? Kendo shrugged and took a sip of her own tea. However, before she could speak, her phone began to ring from the bedroom. Excusing herself, she set down her mug and darted off to answer it - you hoped you hadn’t kept her for too long. She hadn’t even mentioned if she was on call for hero work today or not before coming over to hang out.

You continued to nurse your tea, carefully leaping down from the counter so as not to knock her mug over in the process or spill any of yours. You meander into the living room and ponder if you wanted to either watch TV or grab a book to read. Or, as the thought came, you could go grab your own phone and either mindlessly scroll through social media or read fanfiction of your favorite shows and movies. You had a bit of a guilty pleasure when it came to reader inserts - though you weren’t sure why you called it guilty when it was a perfectly acceptable form of written media for your consumption!

You turned towards the bedroom as Kendo came back out, a pout on her lips as she went to her mug to take a few more quick sips before dumping the rest. Your brows furrowed in silent question when she finally turned towards you.

“Got called in to help with a few rougher captures.” She sighed and shook her head, “Guess the newbies weren’t as well trained in the area as we thought they were.”

“That’s understandable, was anyone hurt?”

“No casualties yet, but if you want I can keep you up to date on the progress?” You nod and she smiled, returning it before striding over to grab her bag. Instead of her usual hug and verbal goodbyes, she gave you a quiet wave as she slipped out the door. You sigh and glance around the room again before sitting down and flicking the TV on to see if there was anything good on at the moment, or if you were going to have to switch over to one of your streaming services.

✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩

The moment the door shut behind her, Kendo sighed and pulled her phone out to redial Nejire-Chan.

Hello~?

“Just left their apartment, everything seems to be fine.” She spoke softly as she moved away from the door, keeping her head down as an unexpectedly deep frown found a home on her lips. She heard Nejire hum from the other end for a moment or two before she spoke again.

I’m glad to hear it! Gotta make sure Suneater’s little star stays safe… though, you seem to be troubled by something? The question almost caused Kendo to laugh, even over the phone no one could keep even a single thought from the woman’s notice.

“Did you know he had offered them to move in with him?” There was a pause on the other end before a playful groan.

Seriously? Talk about a bold move - never would’ve expected something like that from him! There was a giggle But, at the same time, too forward of a question when he doesn’t even know if they like him back or not.

“Well, from the sounds of it, they were really giving it some thought after I offered to let them move in with me.” There was another giggle and the clicking of the lavender headed hero’s tongue.

Now, don’t go around making promises you can’t keep. You have orders to keep an eye on them, not make moves! This got a full laugh instead of the usual giggles as Kendo’s cheeks burned from a flustered embarrassment. She hadn’t thought about it like that when she first offered, but there was a flutter in her chest at the thought of the domestic kind of life she could have with one of her best friends. Did she have a crush on them? She wasn’t sure, and didn’t even know where to begin trying to figure that out. Instead, she cleared her throat and decided to pull the topic in a different direction.

“Have you heard word from Monoma yet about..?”

Not yet, but I’m sure it won’t take long for LeMillion and Deku to show back up on the radar. I’m still curious as to what they were needed for over in America. Kendo could practically hear the pout through the phone call, which brought the smile back to her lips and pulled her mind from her previous thoughts.

She looked around her before walking up to the bus stop and sitting down, wrapping her arms around her bag to keep it close to her chest while she swung her legs. She got an odd fulfilled sensation whenever her feet would scrape against the concrete beneath her.

“I’m sure they’ll tell us all about it when they come home - if it wasn’t too confidential at least.” Nejire-Chan hummed in agreement. As she heard the other hero take a breath to begin speaking again, there was a soft voice on the other end catching her attention. Nejire pardoned herself for a moment and lowered the phone just enough to muffle the conversation, though Kendo could still hear it relatively well. Just as she’d been told before, it was about those villains she had to help get put into the system.

At least she hadn’t needed to tell them a lie when she had to leave, now that she thought about it.

Hey, I need to talk to you later. Let me know when you make it in! As she was hanging up, Nejire’s voice could be heard instructing the sidekick on what they should do in regards to whatever the question was they had asked.

Pulling the phone fully from her ear, she glanced around the bus stop and down both ways of the street for any sign of the bus before looking back down at her phone to scroll through her camera roll on a whim, also because she figured it was better than pulling a book up and getting sucked into the story while she was supposed to be at least somewhat focused on watching for when the bus came.

It felt like so long since any of them were in UA, and she was glad she was able to get so many memories saved into her phone during their time… it also felt a little weird that, now that she was thinking about it, that she managed to still have the same phone that she had all through school. Just that responsible with it, she supposed.

Scrolling through, there were plenty of pictures of Class B - a decent chunk of which were just evidence of times when Tetsutetsu and Monoma would steal her phone for impromptu photo sessions with the rest of the class. The memories made her eyes roll with a fond smile on her lips; she hadn’t heard much from Tetsu in a while, but that was to be expected when he was constantly on the job with Kirishima. Meanwhile, it was nearly impossible for her to get away from…

She blinked in surprise, opening one photo she had no recollection of finding before now. It was a selfie of Monoma and Tetsu on either side of… them. All three of them were smiling wide, as though laughing about something, and Monoma actually, genuinely, looked happier than she had ever really seen him before. Her smile came back, fonder than before, and her cheeks flushed a soft pink. For all the trouble he caused them, she really couldn’t imagine not having him as a friend. Any of them, really. She cleared her throat and put her phone down to keep herself from going emotionally overboard from the nostalgia, and just in time for the bus to arrive as well.

✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩

The rush of the air outside the airplane cabin was calming, though his leg continued to jitter as he watched the clouds pass by. He was eager to get home and sleep in his own bed, patrol his own streets… see his friends. Needless to say, he was homesick, but he was on the track back home so it wasn’t too bad anymore. It had been months since they were last in Japan, and as much as he loved being over in America to learn and do some network connecting, he was more than ready to be back. Not to mention he was ready to have authentic Japanese food again from his favorite restaurants . Maybe he could drop by his mom’s place and get something homemade…

“You’re looking a lot better there, Deku!” The green haired man blinked and looked up at his traveling companion, his smile brighter than the sun - as per usual. Deku returned the smile, though a softer version, and nodded.

“I’m excited to be back home. I wonder how everyone’s doing.” He turned back to the window as Mirio sat across from him and looked out his own window. One of the perks of being a top five pro hero: getting to take a private plane instead of flying commercial - not that there was anything wrong with it! He just… wasn’t comfortable with tight spaces with very little options for maneuverability.

“I’m sure they’re doing just fine, though I’m also sure you knew that.” Mirio chuckled and turned his attention to Deku, “Especially with how you’ve been constantly exchanging emails with almost everyone during our time abroad.” Deku laughed and rubbed the back of his head. It was hard not to constantly be checking for new messages during their away time. Was that clingy of him? He didn’t really think so, and he was pretty sure someone would’ve told him to chill out with the instant replies. Even Bakugo hadn’t told him off about how quick he was to respond, which was a little bit of a surprise.

“Fair. How has Suneater and Nejire-Chan been, by the way? I know you’ve been keeping up with them.” Deku turned from the window and looked at Mirio, who he was surprised to see had a conspiratorial smile and was raising his eyebrows up and down.

“Nejire told me Tamaki has a crush on one of his sidekicks!” The blonde was moving to pull out his phone to flip through his messages while Deku tried to pick up his jaw from the floor.

“That’s great! Who is it?” Mirio held his phone out to him. On the screen was a picture of Tamaki and a hero dressed in a black and white suit with white owl wings.

“She hasn’t given me their name yet, wanting me to introduce myself to them in person first so I don’t spook them or let on that they were talked about behind their back. Not that talking about a friend’s crush is all that unusual.” Mirio chuckled and shrugged as Deku handed back the phone. He smiled and nodded.

“It would probably be odd if you called them out by name without them having met you before.”

The two continued to talk, from the mystery hero to how the agencies were doing and the crime rates that they’ve been hearing about. Not to mention going over profits from their side hustle and how things were going on that front… though, it was a little hard to focus on the rest of it when the hero Tamiki was pictured with kept slipping into his thoughts.

He would probably have to go with Mirio to greet them when they landed…

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white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen · 3 years

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Pulse Point

A/N: Requested by anonymous. Warning for canon-typical violence; minor character death, nightmares, and post-traumatic stress. Also: borrowed Dr. Sweets from the show Bones.

Summary: A near-death experience leaves you with recurrent nightmares. Neal offers some comfort.

Word Count: 5,154

The steady beeping of hospital equipment was driving you insane. It had been hours now of nothing except the monotonous noise of your own heartbeat. If it didn’t shut up soon, you would claw your ears off. With a stiff body and an ache that penetrated down to your bones, you forced your body upright and pinched open the pulse monitor on your right hand.

You let out a relieved sigh as the equipment went silent and dropped yourself back onto the well-padded pillows behind you. The pulse monitor clattered to the floor on its long white cord and you settled down for a nap. The ache in your bones made you feel heavy, like lead. There was nothing quite like a well-deserved nap.

In mere seconds after you had closed your eyes, the equipment started acting up again, this time blaring one long, constant shriek. The surprise made your heart skip a beat, but your eyelids were too heavy to look and see what had happened. Then your heart kept skipping, and your throat tightened. You couldn’t breathe. Your chest burned. It wasn’t a heartbeat; it was a flatline.

You were dying.

The leaden feeling in your body doubled. Your muscles didn’t respond to trying to move and you couldn’t force your lungs to take in a breath. Footsteps pounded around you, incoherent shouts going in one ear and out the other. You were desperate for your paralyzed eyes to open. Was this what you’d have for the rest of your life? Nothing but darkness and unintelligible, mind-numbing noise, punctuated by electrical humming and the pain of a vice clamping itself again to your finger?

The flatline paused for a second. Your ears rang and you thought, for a moment, that you were safe, your heart was beating again. Instead, your stomach twisted and you realized you were losing feeling in your toes. No blood. No life. When the screech of your flatline came back again, it was louder, more piercing. The shrillness reminded you of screaming.

As soon as you remembered it, it was there – the same screaming as before, somewhere in your room, echoing from every corner. In the next pause of the flatline, it turned into a hoarse shriek and a plea. “No! Please!”

You couldn’t hear anything underneath it, no more overlapping voices, and your panic increased. Where were the doctors? Did they think you were gone? Help me!

Your eyes opened with a sudden snap, the droning of your alarm clock replacing the flatlining of the monitor.

As you stared at your ceiling, you panted for breath. Rationally, you knew, you had probably never stopped breathing, but in the panic of your nightmare, it felt like you’d been smothered. Terror powered your desperate gasps and convinced you that your feet and hands were numb, even as you could feel that one foot was poking out from the end of your blanket. After a long moment, you dared to move your arm, ready to scream if you weren’t dreaming after all and still couldn’t move. You turned your alarm off easily.

Soft rain pattered against the glass windows, creating shiny-looking streaks as droplets collected and streamed down the side of the building. It was much more soothing than the silence that usually reigned in Dr. Sweets’ office when he was waiting for you to talk. Maybe he should invest in one of those noise machines with rain as an option. You thought about making the suggestion, but knowing him, he would probably call you out on the procrastination, or deflection, or whatever else he wanted to call it.

You broke the silence. “I’m certain I can wait you out for the next…” You checked the clock. “Twenty-seven minutes.”

Dr. Sweets raised his eyebrows, still leaning his head on a closed fist, propped on the arm of his chair. “I’m equally certain I can recommend you remain on desk duty for the next…” He pretended to check his watch. “Twenty-seven weeks.”

You scowled.

Psychological clearance was a bureau mandate after something traumatic occurred during the course of the job. You’d been lucky enough not to need it up to this point, but after… that, you hadn’t been given a choice. Dr. Sweets was a highly qualified psychotherapist, and you were sure that he did amazing things to help a lot of people, but so far you felt neither amazed nor helped.

“Agent L/N, you went through something incredibly harrowing that you were very close to not walking away from.” The psychologist finally took his head off his fist and put his arm down in his lap. At least he’d taken the bait and you weren’t the one starting the discussion. “You were a half-inch or couple minutes from bleeding out.” He pinched his fingers to demonstrate as if you didn’t have a scar on your body that distance from your femoral artery. You’d never be able to forget what half an inch looked like.

“But I did walk away, and the person who did that to me is in prison for the rest of his life.” You crossed your legs, trying to look more comfortable than you felt. You weren’t sure how effective you were going to be at convincing a therapist that you didn’t need therapy, but it was worth the try.

He looked utterly unconvinced. Actually, the jerk looked like he knew exactly what you were trying for and thought it was cute that you thought you could trick him. “Justice, or even retribution, which it feels like you’re leaning towards, doesn’t erase a wrongdoing or its associated harm.”

“I didn’t erase it, I healed from it. I took medical leave, now I’m back.”

“Physically, you healed. It takes a lot longer to heal mentally from those kinds of wounds.”

“Does it?” You challenged.

“I think your nightmares speak for themselves,” Dr. Sweets said pointedly.

You glared at him, at a loss for a quick comeback. You knew you didn’t look like a million bucks, but you hadn’t thought it was that obvious you were losing sleep. If he knew, then the coworkers who spent a lot of time with you must know, too. Especially Neal – nothing got past him. Oh, that was embarrassing.

The nightmares had been recurring for weeks now. They had started once you had a return date to the office, but after actually resuming your work, they had increased in frequency and intensity. They weren’t identical, but they did all share some similarities: some fatal injury had you dying, alone, in the dark, like you almost had in real life. You never got to the point of actually dying in your dreams, you didn’t think, but you were just fine with that. They were bad enough as they were. Yes, they were a sign of trauma and anxiety. But if your mind didn’t heal itself from weeks safe at home, then you knew returning to normal as fast as possible was probably your best bet at getting over what had happened.

“I’m not your enemy here,” the therapist said to you more gently. You couldn’t say he was heartless, even if you didn’t enjoy the half-hour sessions where he tried to talk about your feelings whether you wanted to or not. “My goal is the same as yours. I want you back at work, safely, able to sleep through a night so you don’t jeopardize yourself or the people around you.”

You let out a deep sigh. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me about the affect this has had on you.” Dr. Sweets encouraged, not for the first time. “You’ve accepted what happened. I can see that. But the next step is processing what it means for you, as an agent, as a person… maybe both.”

You felt helpless. What was that supposed to mean? You couldn’t very well tell him you were terrified your job was going to actually get you killed or cost more lives on your watch. When your employer paid your therapist’s bills, you couldn’t fully trust doctor-patient confidentiality. Maybe it was just paranoia, but you couldn’t bring yourself to risk it.

“I can’t sleep,” you admitted. Your tone sounded mournful. In a way, you were mourning for a time when you could sleep through the night and enjoy your days at work. It wasn’t like white-collar crime was your passion, but you did like puzzles, and you did like being around the people you worked with, especially a certain blue-eyed felon. “I keep having nightmares that I’m… injured, and I’m alone.”

“Your wire was jammed and your team didn’t hear you signal for backup.” Dr. Sweets talked slowly, patient and pragmatic as he validated your nightly anxieties. “You expected help, but they didn’t know to come.”

“They did come,” you said with a shrug. “It just… almost wasn’t in time. I know it wasn’t their fault.”

Your words about time felt glued into your ears. Yours had come really close to running out. And for what? Insurance fraud? No amount of money justified murder, and you likewise couldn’t put a price tag on a life. So why were you so eager to leap back into the same job that almost cost you yours?

It was something you had been mulling over since it happened. Your job was dangerous. You had always known that. You’d been shot at, been near explosives… your partner had been abducted by a murderer not that long ago, and your best friend had had guns in his face so often that, honestly, you’d lost count a while ago. Somehow it just hadn’t clicked, you supposed, that you could legitimately die. You were protected by the bureau and your body armor, until that wasn’t enough. Other agents had learned that lesson in a much harder way; being confronted with that was hard to simply get over.

Apparently, your use of the word “fault” led Dr. Sweets to talk to you about guilt and anger around the incident. You didn’t blame your partner or feel angry, except at the man who shot you, but you let him continue around your noncommittal, half-assed answers. You knew he at least suspected you were putting him on again, but you also knew you hadn’t given him much to work with. Then again, he didn’t call you on your bullshit replies, either, so you weren’t quite sure what he thought.

While Dr. Sweets had yet to approve you for field duty, there was still plenty to do at your desk. You pretended not to notice the itch in your legs to go somewhere while you kept yourself busy, preparing documents, performing research, helping delegate and manage case files, and topping off your team’s coffee whenever they got low. You had become even more of a desk jockey than Neal; at least he got to go out with Peter when given the green light. You missed outings with your partner, or really with any other agent.

Comparing yourself to a caged tiger was likely on the dramatic side, so you put it out of your mind and refused to feel sorry for yourself. You understood the protocols and the routines and they were for your benefit as much as the bureau’s. Besides, your team wasn’t treating you like you were fragile or demoted. They leaned on you to help just as much as they ever did, the assignment of duties just went a little differently.

You doodled a cat on your notepad during a meeting. Everyone had great ideas and you tossed in some ways you could contribute when you’d been quiet for a while. Peter’s proposed field op was going to go smoothly. Odds were high that any hiccups could be taken care of by Diana’s swift running of interference. Neal was raring to go and Jones was a little too excited to play the part of an intimidating brute, in your opinion, and Peter was appropriately apprehensive (someone ought to be, after what had happened to you).

“Let’s sleep on it,” Peter decided after looking out the window and seeing how low the sun had sunk. “If we’re all still in agreement in the morning, we’ll set the ball in motion.”

Jones graciously commented, “Good idea. We can all think on it.” He was probably the most cautious of all of you.

“Y/N?” Neal asked. You immediately looked up from your (admittedly lopsided) cat drawing. The forger was still in his chair, even while the others were pulling on their coats and blazers. “You’ve been quiet. Do you have any concerns?”

You shook your head, but not too quickly that it raised suspicion. You could get away with doodling – Peter often turned a blind eye to it; after several years, he’d developed a soft spot for you – but only if you were still paying attention and participating, so you didn’t want to give him a reason to suspect you weren’t.

Peter, Diana, and Jones all said their goodbyes. The two younger agents left the room, but Peter lingered at the doorway.

“Neal, do you want a ride?” He offered.

Neal looked from you to Peter, and then shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ll find my way. You don’t want to be late for roast,” he added when Peter looked unconvinced. After glancing at you, your partner decided that he really didn’t want to be late for roast and left without another look over his shoulder.

Now that you were alone, Neal softened his expression. “Seriously, Y/N, what’s going on?”

“I told you, I’m not worried. We’ve thought of just about everything we can predict.” You said with a straight face, pretending not to know that Neal wasn’t just talking about this specific case anymore.

He wasn’t having it. “Don’t lie to a conman, Y/N,” he chided you with a small, fond smile. “Come on. It’s not just today, you’ve been quiet ever since you came back. It’s not like you.” You raised an eyebrow and pursed your lips, uninterested in talking. Neal reached partway across the table for you but stopped there. It was an invitation but not a command. “I’m worried about you.”

The thing about your history with Neal was that it was a close one. You went from strangers when Peter got him out of Sing Sing to best friends within the span of two years. You trusted him more than you trusted just about anyone, and there hadn’t been a time when one of you needed the other and was turned away. He didn’t come to you when he was upset – seeking out reassurance and comfort was not Neal’s strength, because it involved professing vulnerability – but he never turned you away when you came to offer it, either. Now it seemed to be his turn to do the offering, as he had realized over the last few weeks that you weren’t going to ask.

You reached for his hand and silently sighed in relief at how solid and warm it was to the touch, so unlike the few dreams where you screamed and cried for someone to help and found yourself grasping at tricks that weren’t there. Neal turned his hand to hold yours and gave it a squeeze.

“It’s been so hard, Neal,” you told him reluctantly. “I have no idea how you do it. How you just walk away from all the close calls.”

Neal frowned a little. “I don’t just walk away,” he objected. “I have bad nights. I have bad days. Sometimes I have a whole bad week, or a few bad months.” You knew the latter was a reference to losing Kate, and you sympathetically gripped his hand tighter. “But, you know… there’s always something I can find to focus on instead, and after a while, the things go in the past. I let go.”

That advice was entirely unhelpful. “I’ve been trying to let go,” you said sourly. It wasn’t directed at him, exactly, but moreso at your brain, which was failing in its task of moving past what happened. “It’s not working. I can’t sleep. Sometimes I don’t think I can breathe.”

“It’s not easy,” Neal agreed, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. It was an intimately affectionate gesture that comforted and eased the nerves beginning to bubble in your stomach. “Company helps. The reminder that I have backup, even when it doesn’t come right away. I’ve got Peter, Moz. You.” He met your eyes with a small smile and raised your hand to his lips, gently kissing your knuckles.

“Company?” You echoed uncertainly. If you were unconscious, how was company going to make a difference to what you dreamed about? Then you remembered what you had said to Dr. Sweets about your nightmares always ending with being alone. If you knew, on some level, that you weren’t alone, maybe you would feel safer. “Like, overnight?”

His expression didn’t change to give away whether you were right or wrong. Instead, he just asked, evenly, “Is that what you need?” The way he looked at you then, without judgment in his eyes, but with determination in the set of his jaw, you just knew that whatever you said you needed, Neal would move a mountain to give it to you.

“I’m not sure, but… maybe?” You hesitantly guessed. If it worked, it would be worth the awkwardness. Even just one night of solid sleep would do wonders for how you felt, and it wasn’t like it would be the first time you had stayed with Neal overnight. Long marathons on slow weekends, and the less pleasant nights after Kate’s death, meant he kept an extra toothbrush and a set of your pajamas in his penthouse.

“Okay,” he said right away with nothing but quiet matter-of-factness. It was so comforting to be proven right that you could rely on him to help you with what you needed. His tone just said, you need this, so we’re doing it, full-stop. You just hoped you were right, both so you could finally go eight hours without fearing for your life and so you weren’t inconveniencing him for no reason. “Let’s get dinner on the way. We don’t have to talk about it,” he quickly said, seeing your face. “Whatever you need.”

Everyone should have a friend like Neal, but everyone should find their own, because this one was all yours. If it weren’t for the table in the way, you would’ve launched yourself at him in a tight hug. As it was, you settled for a squeeze of his hand and a grin as wide as you could muster. “Dinner sounds great.”

The stickiness of your pants along your thigh made your hands shake, unable to bring yourself to look at your palms. You knew what you would see all over them. The fire lancing up your thigh told you what you already knew. So did the weakness in your body and the fog in your mind. It was done. The hourglass on the desk was trickling through the last of its sand. Moretti was nowhere to be seen. You couldn’t even die in the presence of a murderer.

There was screaming coming from another room. It was the desperate wail of another agent begging for their life. “No! Please!”

“No,” you mumbled, using all of your energy to turn your head to the doorway. He couldn’t… not now that you were down… you couldn’t even raise your voice to cry for help. You were completely helpless. You couldn’t save him.

Your chest burned with the effort of your heart, ironically helping you to bleed out faster. Your breaths came labored, and then they couldn’t come at all as your vision faded. The dark carpet blurred from a mass of pilled fibers into a solid navy sea. The pain in your leg was excruciating, it was all you could feel; the idea of feeling peace ever again slipping away.

Screaming. Banging. Footsteps. More screaming. Pounding. Shouting. It was all indistinguishable, a mess of men’s voices and loud gunshots. Then, you heard it. Just your name, barely audible above the rest, in a voice that made you strain to see past the blackness.

“Y/N!”

You’d give the rest of your precious seconds away just to see him one last time, just to know he was beside you and you weren’t alone.

“Y/N!”

Footsteps came closer and the pressure on your chest intensified. The blood loss made you dizzy and your body shook.

“Y/N!”

You jolted awake, eyes snapping open in time to see Neal leaning out of the way just in time to avoid your hand flying at his face. You processed slowly that his hands were on your shoulders – had he shaken you? – and it was still dark. You could barely see his face, but his figure was lit from behind by the lamp next to his bed. You could tell from his messy hair that he had been sleeping not long ago, and you felt awful for waking him up.

After cursing, you sat up and gripped the warm blanket on your lap tightly. “I’m sorry,” you said remorsefully, feeling like a fool. Not only hadn’t you been able to sleep through the night, but now you’d ruined his rest, too. You cussed again. “I really hoped being close… just not being at my apartment, alone…”

It had felt like a safe bet off to a good start. You had gotten dinner together near Gramercy Park, then watched a lighthearted movie before turning in for bed. Neal offered to let you take his mattress, but you didn’t want to put him out and you had slept over enough that he didn’t feel like a bad host for letting you insist on the sofa. You’d been out by ten, but now you could guess it had been less than four hours. Your heart was still racing, your leg still tense with an imagined pain.

“It’s okay,” Neal said, sounding unsettled. He kept his hands on your shoulders like he was keeping you grounded on the earth. “Don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”

Neal’s eyes must have already adjusted to the low light, because his aim was spot-on when he lifted a hand from your shoulder to cup your neck instead. His profile ducked and you felt his lips land on your forehead, checking your temperature, signalling forgiveness, and administering reassurance all at once. He rubbed his thumb across your jaw as he stood up straight, releasing you, and walked away around the couch.

You put your legs down in front of you and rubbed your face, exhausted mentally and physically. Helplessness made you want to cry. Time wasn’t healing. Sleeping pills just made it harder to wake up, letting the nightmares ravage your psyche for longer. Not even the proximity of someone you trusted and adored was enough to let go of the past.

The light in the kitchen came on, bright enough to illuminate the studio but far enough away not to be blinding. Neal came back to the couch holding a bottle of water and offered it to you before sitting down. He looked so adorable, still sleepy and with a bit of pink in the side of his face from sleeping with his arm under his pillow. You scolded yourself for even thinking about how cute he was when you were the one who had woken him up.

You sipped at the water. It was so nice and smooth on your throat. You felt fine, now that you were awake, but the vividness of your nightmares always left you feeling parched and you always expected swallowing to hurt as if you had strep. Neal leaned into the back of the couch and put his arm up along the cushions. You capped the water, bent your knees to pull your feet back up onto the furniture, and let yourself lean into his side. Neal dropped his arm softly on your shoulders, holding you in a tender sideways hug.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized again after a couple of minutes. You felt much better, much faster than you usually did, thanks to him, and if you were being fully honest, you were not ready for him to get up and go back to bed, but it wasn’t fair to ask him to stay up cuddling you at god-knows-what-time just because you were a wreck.

“I told you, it’s okay,” Neal said, his voice firm. If you apologized again, you figured he would start scolding you for it, so you let it go.

“I just – I should’ve expected this,” you said with frustration, feeling like you were confessing to knowingly bothering him. “I haven’t been able to sleep well in ages. I keep having these nightmares, I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Neal was quiet for a few seconds, making sure you had said all you were inclined to. Then, knowingly, he asked, “This is about the Moretti case, isn’t it?”

“I can’t let it go,” you said with a whimper. “It won’t leave me alone. Every night, it’s a little bit different, but at its core it’s always the same.”

Neal’s voice cutting through the fog of your nightmare had been a saving grace, giving you peace even in your unconscious, but now that you were awake, you realized with clarity that his voice saying your name wasn’t the only voice you could make out. In fact, you always heard the same thing, every night, no matter what else changed.

“What’s the same, Y/N?” Neal asked you, trying to help. He stroked your upper arm with his open hand. You were already shaking your head. Neal could comfort you all he liked, but he couldn’t bring back the dead. In grief and shame, you turned your head and bent your neck to bury your face in his shoulder. Neal tilted his head so his cheek was resting gently on your hair. “Tell me, darling,” he coaxed in a whisper.

You felt like someone’s hands were wrapped around your throat, strangling your reply. “Agent Flynn,” you answered dryly, barely more than mouthing his name. “In every nightmare, I hear… I hear his last words. Begging Moretti not to take the shot.”

Neal was quiet for a long time, but never pushed you away. He held you closer when you started to shake, crying against him as quietly as you could manage. The artist rubbed your arm and periodically kissed your head, but he knew that there was nothing he could say to erase the horror of what you had heard or take away the guilt that you had survived because Moretti was distracted by taking out the other agent.

Moretti was part of a family gang, often in conflict with the Barellis, who, interestingly, paid a little deference to the white-collar division ever since you and Peter had recovered a stolen Book of Hours. The Morettis had no such connection or gratitude, so their response to the FBI sticking their nose into an embezzling scam was violent and bloody. Moretti shot you in the leg and intended to finish you off, but one of his own men had reported you came with someone. He left you to bleed out, and only a few rooms over, you had heard Flynn’s pleas – and the subsequent gunshot. Your team, wising up to the dead signal, arrived for a takedown before Moretti could make his way back to you, but it was too late for your teammate.

Neal shifted after what felt like forever, only to pull you closer to his chest and wrap both arms around you. You trembled in his embrace, but that just made him hold you closer, like you were delicate and breakable. When he next talked, his low voice was quivering, just like your body.

“I thought we lost you,” he said, cupping the back of your head in a gentle hand. He massaged his fingers into your scalp, even as he kept you cuddled in his lap. “I thought I lost you, Y/N. Two gunshots. I thought…” He struggled to find his words and you hiccuped, trying to stop crying. “I was the one who found you, and I was so scared I was too late.”

You sniffled and uncrossed your arms to melt against his chest and hug him tightly around his waist instead. “I didn’t know you…”

“We found him first, but you weren’t there and I needed to find you.” Neal now sounded equal parts frightened and furious. “If he had taken you away, I would’ve…” He shook his head and pressed his forehead to yours, as desperate to be close to you as you felt to be close to him. “I would’ve shattered. I can’t lose you, Y/N. I just can’t lose you, too.”

“I’m so glad I didn’t die,” you blurted, almost in a sob. You felt so safe with him, but now you knew for a fact that your own safety wasn’t what had been tormenting you. It was a nearly debilitating case of survivor’s guilt. “I just wish I hadn’t been the only one who survived.”

“No one wants that,” Neal promised you, untangling his hand from your hair and stroking it down instead. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could fix this and take it away, but all I can do is be here and hold you and tell you it’s going to be alright. It wasn’t your fault.”

You sniffed. Neal’s words were more of a comfort than you had thought they would be. They changed nothing about the situation, but… you weren’t alone. You hadn’t been alone since you met him. You just agonized that Flynn had been. “Neal, I can’t lose you, either. I love you, you’re… you’re who I’m going to heal for.” You had to find a way.

Neal seized your lips with his in a searing kiss. It wasn’t as sexy or patient as you may have imagined, but you gripped his shirt and gave as good as you got, and wow, the man gave verygood. It was a desperate kiss, needing to bring you together and reaffirm your life. To you, it was the seal of a promise that you wouldn’t let the past crush your spirit. When you could sleep through the night and had a handle on your post-traumatic stress… if he would just be patient, you would be his the way you wanted him to be yours.

He released you to breathe, eyes opening wide as if he only just realized what he had done. Before he could pull away, you pressed your forehead to his again, urging him to stay close. Your breaths mingled between you and you were sure you could feel his heart beating through his chest.

“I love you, too,” he said once he had caught his breath.

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albapuella · 3 years

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Thinking and Feeling Altogether Too Much

AO3 Link

Fandom: Hiveswap, Homestuck Characters: Xefros Tritoh, Joey Claire Tags: Act 2 spoilers, introspection, some pale stuff if you squint Summary: Xefros has a lot to think about. Set near the end of Act 2. Spoilers. Note: I didn’t have the first paragraph posted here, so apologies for that!

Xefros doesn’t know how long he and Joey have been sitting against the outside wall of the Engine car. The metal is cold beneath them, the air rushing by is cool, and he’s realizing hours too late that he probably should have grabbed a sweatshirt for himself, too. It’s difficult to feel too cold, though, with Joey sitting beside him. In a literal way, she’s much warmer than he is, radiating heat. He noticed before, when they were riding Dammek’s Lusus, but he had other things to be worried about then. Though he has other things to think about now as well, he takes some comfort beyond the physical having her there by his side. The warmth reminds him she’s still here, still alive. This alien from a world that shares similarities with his, but not many. This alien who has become very important to him in very little time. And, as incredible as it still seems, he’s apparently very important to her, too. She seems so convinced of his value, fought so hard to keep him alive, and cared so much when he was hurt, that it’s hard not to believe her a little even when she says things Xefros knows are wrong.

He’s not cool. He’s not smart. He’s not brave. He’s not special. He’s not anything.

He is a killer, though. He’s killed someone tonight, and he still doesn’t know how he feels. It shouldn’t be that big a deal. He murdered a troll--so what? Trolls are killed all the time in all sorts of gruesome ways: by drones, by the various and highly dangerous plants and animals of Alternia, by the sun and rain, by zombies, by other trolls for all sorts of reasons ranging from self-defense to needing paint. Death is a fact of life. Murder is a fact of life. It’s not a big deal.

In fact, it’s kind of funny to be as old as he is, and this is the first time he’s killed someone. Kind of funny. The kind of funny that makes him feel like he could vomit if he’d actually eaten anything in the last how ever many hours it’s been at this point. But maybe this is normal to feel. After all, the first one is the hardest. That’s what Dammek said. This is his first one, so he’s having a hard time. That’s all.

Xefros remembers the look on Joey’s grub-like face. The terror and shock making way for horror and fear. While she was grateful in the end that he saved her life, he’s never going to be able to forget that, for just a moment, she was afraid of him because… because he killed another troll.

But he also feels… good about himself for protecting Joey? Defending someone weaker than himself is its own reward; he thinks he’s right about that much. He knows, if he had it over to do again, he would do the same thing. Joey’s life is worth more to him than the turmoil he feels right now. He wasn’t thinking about Fiamet’s claim that Alternia and Earth would be destroyed if Joey didn’t go back to Earth; he wasn’t thinking at all beyond the need to do whatever he needed to to save her.

And he did, and he can’t feel too badly about that… even if he still kind of does feel bad? That doesn’t even make sense, and he knows if he tried explaining any of it to another troll, they wouldn’t get it either. He feels stupid, but that’s at least something normal. Even though he knows Joey wouldn’t want him to think about himself like that, he clings to the thought. He’s stupid. He doesn’t understand any of this, and he doesn’t want to.

He wants to go home. He wants his Lusus. He wants to see Dammek, because he doesn’t know what to think about him anymore! Yeah, Joey decided before she ever left Dammek’s hive that she didn’t like him, but Xefros can’t even argue with what she says now. Not after what he’s heard and what he’s seen and what he can’t just talk himself out of noticing.

’Tetrarch D doesn’t do quadrants.’

Well, maybe Xefros isn’t going to do quadrants either!

Except he still cares about Dammek. He’s cared too long to just… stop. So much of himself is wrapped up in Dammek and his schemes. If none of that was… if Dammek never really cared… then what was it all for? He doesn’t want to believe that Dammek was just using him, that Dammek saw him as… what? a cleaning drone he could get paps from? But what is he supposed to think? His best friend who did bad things behind his back and called him derogatory names and hung the threat of blackmail over his head and forced him to do rituals that hurt him…

Xefros doesn’t want to think about Dammek anymore.

A warm pressure against his side startles him from his thoughts. It’s Joey, leaning against him. Xefros smiles down at her even as her fake horn jabs him in the shoulder. Her dark eyes are closed, and he feels warm in the less literal sense, too. He doesn’t know much about humans, since Joey is the only one he’s ever met, but he wonders if all of them are as trusting as Joey is. Although it will be safer for her if this whole adventure has made her realize that she actually can’t trust every troll she sees, he thinks he’ll miss seeing her offer her kindness so freely.

It was… Xefros doesn’t have the words to describe it. Joey, going around, treating trolls like… like they were the same as her. Like they would just return her kindness and trust because she gave it to them first. Kind of incredible how often she was right. And then she was wrong. Very wrong.

He did warn her about clowns. Warned her that clowns only help until it becomes more funny to hurt you instead. Warned her that clowns liked to hurt and murder people, especially lowbloods like him. She said she’d keep her guard up, but he really should have known she wouldn’t. Joey is just too trusting and nice. Maybe clowns are different on Earth. A lot of things are different on Earth even when they’re similar: taxidemeritation, mushrooms, nuns. So, why not clowns, too? Maybe on Earth clowns are really nice or something. Maybe everyone on Earth is nice.

Though, maybe not. Joey sounds so angry when she talks about her home sometimes. Especially about her… FatherDad? Xefros hasn’t asked because he didn’t want to upset her where she would draw too much attention to herself, but there’s definitely something about that person which makes her upset. He’s not smart like Joey is, but he thinks it’d be nice if he could help her the way she’s been trying to help him. Even if it hurts his bloodpusher and his head to think about.

It’s been a long night, and he’s tired of thinking. He’s just going to sit here until Joey is ready to go back through the clown car and try not to worry about what’s going to happen when they do. Maybe the clowns will still be in a good enough mood to just let them pass? Xefros doubts he and Joey will be that lucky, but… but maybe they will be? Marvus did force that other clown with the axe to let him go in time to save Joey… and he’d accepted Joey’s really flimsy proof of her ‘kills’...

No, he’s not thinking about this. He’s not thinking about anything. Instead, he focuses on the warm and weight against his side and turns his head to stare up at the twin moons hanging high in the sky. He’s never been this far away from his hive. Like Joey, he’s a long away from home. Unlike Joey, at least he knows how the world works. Or he thought he did. If this trip has made him realize anything, it’s made him realize just how much he didn’t know. And not in a because he’s stupid way, though he still feels that, too. Things both were and weren’t like he expected out here, and it makes him feel small. Smaller than he’s used to feeling.

“Xefros?”

Xefros blinks. “Hey, Joey.”

She sits up but doesn’t move away. “Do you think… do you really think they’ll let us back through without… doing anything to us?”

He hates how uncertain she looks. He hasn’t known her long, but Joey is supposed to look confident and self-assured or embarrassed and confused. Occasionally angry and frustrated. Not uncertain and afraid. “Yeah,” he says as confidently as he can manage, which is not very. Highbloods are unpredictable except for the fact that they like to hurt and murder people. That much is very predictable.

“They… they already had their fun with us. I don’t think we should stop and talk to everyone,” he continues quickly, because he knows how much Joey likes to do that with every troll she meets (except for that bronze blood with the huge rack--it’s fairly confusing because, while delusional, he hadn’t seemed like a bad guy to Xefros), “but if we just go right through, we should be fine.”

Joey’s mouth forms an impressive snarl despite her lack of fangs. “Believe me, I have nothing to say to any of them.” She pushes herself up and holds out her hand to Xefros. “Let’s go then. I’m freezing.”

Xefros doesn’t think he’s held hands with anyone as often (or as long) as he has with Joey at this point. He doesn’t hate it. She says she’s freezing, but her hand is warm in his as he uses it more than he thought he would need to as he gets to his feet. His body is complaining about its various hurts now that he’s moving again, and he turns his face away so he can wince without worrying her.

It doesn’t work. “Are you okay, Xefros? I mean, of course you’re not okay, but like, do you need help?”

“No. I’m fine.”

Joey smiles slightly. “That’s what you told me when you were being crushed under rocks and when you were being juggled by a murderous clown.” Her words are teasing but kind and concerned. “You’ll tell me if you’re really hurt? I don’t want you to just say you’re fine if you’re not.”

Although it was a question, Xefros hears the command in it. “I’ll tell you,” he promises even as he wonders what ‘really hurt’ means to Joey. He almost asks but decides not to--he’s not sure now is the time to have that conversation. It’s kind of funny when Joey acts shocked to learn how things are on Alternia, but it also hurts a little to see her look so disappointed afterward?

She’s not disappointed in him personally, and he knows that, but it’s hard not to feel like she is sometimes. Like he should have tried to come from a better planet. It’s dumb and makes him feel dumb, and maybe it’s selfish, but he’d really just rather not right now!

Another soft smile distracts him from his spiral. “Okay.” Then she straightens her shoulders, and her eyes narrow. She looks determined and brave, even if her hold on his hand tightens like she’s drawing strength from him. Which is ridiculous--she’s the brave one here, not him no matter what she says. “Let’s go.”

Xefros follows her into the clown car, still holding her hand in his, feeling like he could follow Joey anywhere, ready to throw down his life if that’s what he has to do to protect her. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt like that before tonight, and he holds onto the feeling as Joey leads them through the dark, stuffy car. He wants to cover his ears against the loud music, but that would mean letting go of Joey, and he isn’t going to do that.

The clowns are busy, as far as Xefros can tell from quick glances through squinting eyes, worshiping at their strange altar. The screams of the young clown whose… matesprit? moirail? Xefros killed have made way for sobs, and that’s almost worse. He can barely breathe, but he’s not sure if it’s from building panic or from whatever drugs the clowns have been doing besides soda.

When they reach the dubious safety of the elevator and are lifted out of the worst of the cloying air, Xefros lets go of Joey’s hand, feeling suddenly awkward without the threat of imminent death. Joey said they’re friends, and she still doesn’t get quadrants, but they’ve been a lot closer than normal friends, so this is all really confusing. Maybe friends are something that are different on Earth, too. Joey doesn’t seem to mind, giving him another small smile.

When they’re back out into the open, Xefros breathes a little easier. Joey looks out the rope railing, and he wonders what she thinks when she looks up at the twin moons. Is she homesick? Does she think they’re pretty? It’d be nice if at least one thing on Alternia wasn’t a horrific disappointment to her.

Then she turns back to him, her smile is sad but genuine, and despite her various physical deformities--or what would be deformities if she were a troll; he doesn’t know if she has human deformities, too, because it never seemed like the time to ask--, he wouldn’t change a thing about her.

It’s Joey Claire: the best human friend a troll could ask for.

#Hiveswap #Homestuck #Xefros #Joey #Hiveswap Act 2 Spoilers #fan fic #mine

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family-business-one-shots · 7 years

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The King of Hell Walks into a Church

Relationship: Crowley X Niece!Reader, Winchesters X Sister

Words: 1,217

Summary: Due to the Winchesters’ incompetence, Crowley is stuck babysitting their little sister at Christmas Eve mass.

Warnings: None, really. Unless Crowley’s never ending sarcasm needs its own warning.

Tagging: @mysaintsasinner @winchesters-favorite-girl @deathtonormalcy56

A/N: This was written for the wonderful @cici0507‘s Heaven vs. Hell: Christmas Edition. I had Christmas Mass with a Hell character. First Crowley fic, too! AND this is the second one shot within like 10 days! What an accomplishment, right? I think I’m getting better at this whole writer thing.

Heaving a great sigh, Crowley shook his head. He was the King of Hell, dammit! Demons groveled at his feet, sniveling and begging for forgiveness. How in the name of his kingdom had he been roped into babysitting?

Oh, right, it was because those two idiot Winchesters and the angel were too incompetent to accomplish their ridiculous hunt on time and take their little brat of a sister to the gathering of Bible thumping freaks.

At first, he’d refused. Or, at least, he’d tried to. But the moose had been annoyingly insistent, promising that it would only be a few hours at the most. Plus -- even though he’d vehemently deny it were anyone to ask -- the demon had a very, very small soft spot for the youngest Winchester.

And that was how the King of Hell found himself holding the door of a church open for a ten year old urchin on Christmas Eve.

Dear god, it sounded like a bad joke.

“Uncle Crowley?”

Shaken out of his thoughts by your voice, Crowley glanced down to see you looking at him, the picture of naivety. In your sparkly blue dress and that headband with the bow, any other fool would think you a sweet, innocent child, but Crowley was no fool. He knew all about the weapons training and the sparring, the way your eyes would light up whenever you hit a bullseye during target practice. The amount of influence those oafs had on you worried him.

“Yes, love?” he responded as he ushered you through the crowds of people, trying to find a decent seat in the back of the building.

“How come you’re taking me to mass and not Sammy and Dean?” you asked.

Crowley groaned inwardly. If the next hour ended up being a game of Twenty Questions, he would kill those Winchesters. “Because Moose and Squirrel, being the morons that they are, are preoccupied with a case many miles away, making it impossible for them to fulfill their duties as your guardians.”

He didn’t wait for your response, just pulled you over to the only empty seats he could find. Stuck between the insufferable child and a woman who appeared to have a very ugly scowl permanently etched on her face, Crowley began plotting the Winchesters’ murders in his head to keep from going mad.

After a few minutes of blessed silence, a thought occurred to him. Though he knew he would regret it later, he turned to face you, watching as you kicked your feet under the chair. “Hang on. What do you do when your brothers are out of town, Panda? Where do you stay? Who watches over you?”

“Well, most of the time it’s me and Uncle Cas, and we just stay at home in the bunker,” you said, picking at the hem of your dress. “I like staying with Uncle Cas, he reads me stories and helps me with my homework, even though he never actually went to school.” At that, the lady to Crowley’s right made a repulsed face. “But sometimes Sammy and Dean need Uncle Cas’s help with a job, so I go to mean old Mrs. Jones’s house after school.”

Just then, the organ started playing, signaling the beginning of the ceremony. Forced to drop the subject -- for now -- Crowley stewed in his thoughts. So the brothers weren’t as dim as they appeared. At least they made arrangements for the girl when they went away.

By the time they’d finished reading out of that dusty, old, historically inaccurate book, Crowley was nearly asleep in his chair, much to the displeasure of the sour woman next to him. Somehow, the little devil had payed attention to the whole thing.

“Panda,” Crowley hissed during a lull in the action in the front. You gazed up at him expectantly. “Earlier, you said that you stay with ‘mean old Mrs. Jones’ when the angel can’t watch you. Why do you call her mean?”

“Because she is mean,” you insisted. “When she picks me up from school, she never lets me sit up front, and as soon as we get to her house, I have to work on my homework right away. Uncle Cas always lets me have a snack before I start my work. And Mrs. Jones doesn’t even help me with it, either!”

At last, the woman next to Crowley seemed to reach her breaking point. She leaned over and shushed you, quite rudely actually, before sitting back with a smug smile.

“Excuse you,” Crowley said, looking over his shoulder at her. With a blink, his eyes turned a frighteningly blood red. “I do believe the child was in the middle of a conversation.” The woman clapped a hand over her mouth to hold in a scream, terror written in every part of her body. As the King of Hell let the red melt away, he tried oh so hard to stop his smirk from showing, but alas, the little bugger just wouldn't stay away. Then, sufficiently satisfied with himself, he turned back around to face you. “Keep going, love.”

Fighting the urge to giggle, you continued on your rant. “Every day, after I finish my homework, Uncle Cas makes popcorn and we watch a buncha movies together on Sammy’s bed. But Mrs. Jones makes me sit on her lumpy couch and watch her boring game shows.”

“Hmm.” For the remainder of the time they spent in the church Crowley was silent, deep in thought. The child detested the situation, that much was obvious; to such a degree that he was surprised those idiots hadn’t picked up on it. But then again, they were the Winchesters.

Something had to be done.

And he intended to be the one to do it.

Crowley, as the resident King of Hell, was no stranger to torture. He’d poked and prodded and sliced into various demons so viciously that they had cried for their mommies. But sitting there in that church, listening to the Jesus nuts drone on and on about God and love for a whole hour? That was a form of torture he wouldn't wish on even his worst enemies.

When it was finally over, he placed his hand on your shoulder and pushed through the crowd. As the two of you passed through the doors, he let out a sigh of relief.

“I hope you understand, Panda,” he told you. “The things I do for you and your brothers.” You glanced at him, confused. “I'll be having a word with Moose and Squirrel regarding your problem with one Mrs. Jones. With any luck, I may be able to rectify the situation and negotiate a better arrangement for you.”

“You mean you could make it so I don't have to stay with Mrs. Jones anymore?”

Crowley looked down at you, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “Even better, love. I can make it so you'll stay with me when the angel is missing in action.”

“Really?” you gasped in delight.

“Really.”

“Yay! Thank you, Uncle Crowley!” With a grin, you hugged him tightly, not noticing the way his whole body went rigid. After a few seconds, though, he patted you on the back -- his way of returning the hug. Now, there truly was a smile on his face.

#supernatural #crowley x reader #supernatural one shot #crowley one shot #crowley #supernatural fan fic #supernatural fan fiction #crowley fan fic #crowley fan fiction #dean x reader #sam x reader #winchesters x reader #winchesters x sister!reader #crowley x niece!reader #family business one shot

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cassiopeiassky · 7 years

Text

When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) Part 30

Here we go - a few more answers and a lot more angst. I’d like to give a special shout out to @buckykingofmemes for letting me use this post for the story about Peggy (modified slightly to match my writing tone).

Plot: When you inadvertently become a witness to a murder and are suddenly a target for death, it takes a specially skilled soldier and his team to keep you and your family safe.

This will eventually be a is a reader x Bucky fic. The reader, by the way, is a civilian. No super powers, no fighting skills, and by no means perfect.

Word count: 3488 (sorry…these parts are getting wordier…)

Warnings:

For the entire work: Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst. This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut. If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: welcome to angstville everyone, use of injectable drugs, . If I need to add anything else, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. If you don’t want me to publish the ask, I won’t, or you can feel free to do it as a Nonnie. I will not take offense to any trigger warning requests. Your well-being is important to me and I do NOT want to trigger anyone.

***I do not own any of the lyrics/music in this story, so please don’t sue me for using them***

Tags moved to the end.

WEMtbB Masterlist

Previously on WEMtbB:

You notice that Bucky looks behind you to see what Tony’s looking at, and you even though you can’t see it, you can see the expression on Bucky’s face. Fear. Complete, unadulterated fear.

“What?” Nat’s concerned voice breaks in, asking the question ricocheting through your mind. “What are you seeing that I’m not? All I see is her holding is a bottle of Advil.”

Oh God.

“That’s it,” Tony says after a long moment, sounding as if the air has been punched out of him. “But how does she still have it if we received it?”

Tony suddenly jumps into action, almost running into you and Bucky in his haste.

Krakken.

Bucky ushers you to a chair, careful to keep you facing away from the image of the murdered woman until FRIDAY finally closes it at his terse command. There’s still a hand at your shoulder; Clint is following to offer whatever assistance he can.

Tony returns just as quickly as he left, unscrewing the lid from the bottle of Advil you’d received the night before last with shaking hands. He takes out a tablet and sloppily cuts it open with a screwdriver before putting the broken pieces into a small machine. “FRIDAY! Do an analysis on this, now! I need a detailed list of everything you find that isn’t a standard ingredient for a drug in tablet form.”

“It’s going to be okay, I promise, we’ll find a way to make it okay,” Bucky murmurs over and over as he holds you close. You aren’t sure if he’s saying it for your benefit or his own. You suppose it doesn’t matter.

Are you really just waiting to die at this point?

“Sir, it’s the same unidentifiable substance you already have me looking into.” The inevitability of FRIDAY’s statement feels like a physical blow.

“FUCK FUCK FUCK!” Tony slams his fists onto the work surface before running his hands through his hair.

“They got to her, they fucking got to her,” Clint mutters from behind you; he sounds like he’s in denial.

“Sam?” you hear Nat quietly speaking into her phone, “We need all available hands here.”

“We need to figure out what this is. TONY! We don’t have time to panic.” Bruce sounds relatively calm, all things considered.

“Dear, the twins are waking,” SUNDAY announces into the chaos.

Your babies. Thank God it’s you and not them.

Everyone is suddenly silent and still at the mention of Artie and Jimmy, but it’s the catalyst that pushes Bucky into action. He squeezes you tightly for just a moment and kisses your forehead before he starts giving orders. “Alright, Barton – I need you to watch the kids. They can stay in their pajamas, just get them downstairs and make sure they eat breakfast. Keep them occupied and away from here; I do NOT want them exposed to this. Make sure you have weapons within easy access.” Bucky turns to Nat as Clint nods at his instructions and leaves. “I need you get Steve and Wilson up to speed. Run surveillance with him until Wilson gets here, and then send Steve up to sleep. He’s been awake for 24 hours and we’re going to need him rested. This might be the last chance he gets.”

“Two on surveillance at all times?” Nat confirms as she walks toward the door.

“Yes. I’ll set up sniper positioning shortly. They clearly know where at least one of the drop locations is, and they might have followed the drone here; our position could be compromised.” He turns toward Bruce and Tony, “You two need to keep working on this, so what do you need from me?”

“We need you to oversee everything until Cap is ready to take charge – you’re right to make him take a nap. He level of pigheaded stupidity goes up exponentially when he’s overtired,” Tony mutters as he eyeballs the blobby visuals in front of him.

“Yes,” Bucky replies flatly. “I know.”

“We also need you to keep her as calm and as comfortable as possible,” Bruce directs as he nods toward you, “Make sure she eats, keep her hydrated, and keep time for the morphine. We need to stay on top of her pain, and I think the best way to do that is to set up an IV port. She’s uncomfortable enough; we don’t need to turn her into a pincushion. We’ll give her another full dose now, and then give her smaller, hourly boosts. I’ll show you the dosing so you can administer it.”

Bucky nods. “Anything else?”

“Keep her close,” Tony breaks in as he rapidly switches between screens, “she needs to be either with you or with us; we need eyes on her at all times. We don’t fully know the extent of what this…substance… is doing to her yet, we can only guess, so we need to know right away if anything changes. Oh, and there’s a crawlspace with a window above the front-facing bedrooms – will that work for the sniper positioning?”

“I’ll check it out, but it should. I’ll go do that now if –“ he cuts himself off and looks to you.

You swallow your terror and put on a brave front; he’s got better things to do then babysit you, and as far as you’re concerned, the safety of your kids takes priority over you. Besides, there’s no need to panic yet, right? You’ve got some of the smartest men in the world in the same room working on a fix. “I’ll be okay, Buck. Tony and Bruce can play mother hen for a while so you can take care of what you need to do,” you say softly as Bruce walks toward you with a prepared syringe and the supplies necessary for inserting an IV. “I’m probably going to try to take a nap anyway. Oh, Bruce, put the IV in my hand, please.”

Bruce nods and focuses on his task as Bucky kneels in front of you. “You sure, Doll?” he asks softly, eyes focused solely on you.

You nod before continuing, “It’s either sleep or I’m gonna get a massive case of the munchies. So bring me some breakfast when you come back, pretty please.” You give him the brightest smile you can muster.

“Anything for my best girl,” he murmurs as he tucks a renegade curl behind your ear.

“Are you ready for the morphine?” Bruce asks softly.

You glance down to see the IV port already in the back of your right hand. “Holy shit, Bruce, I didn’t even feel you put that in! You’re good.” He smiles just a little at your praise.

Seriously, this guy is fantastic; it brings you a small measure of comfort..and just the tiniest bit of hope.

Bucky watches closely as Bruce administers the morphine, holding your hand like before to get you through the rush while he carefully listens to Bruce’s instructions. You close your eyes and exhale when it hits you. “Tell me a story, Buck?” you ask through the nausea; suddenly breakfast doesn’t sound so good.

He laughs softly, “I’ve got the perfect one; it’s about the girl Stevie loved.”

“Peggy?” Bucky had told you about Peggy Carter; he spoke very highly of her.

“Yeah. Pegs had the dirtiest mouth of any of the Howlies. Doll, she was one of the most graceful women to ever walk the planet; you’d never guess that she could out-cuss a battalion of marines. We were all on leave in some town in the middle of nowhere, and we all got well and truly drunk at one of the local bars; Pegs included. Some idiot from the Navy grabbed her, so she spun around like a ballerina, rattled off the filthiest insult any of us had ever heard, and laid him out flat with a gorgeous haymaker. It was fantastic,” he chuckles, “Half the bar fell in love on the spot. The other half was not so enamored. Hands down the best barfight I’ve ever been in.”

You laugh a little at his words. “I wish I could have met her; she sounds amazing.”

“Almost as amazing as you,” he hums softly. You almost roll your eyes at his cheesiness, but the room is already spinning from the morphine. It’s impeccable restraint on your end, really. “You would have liked her,” he adds as he turns his head towards Steve, who had just entered the area.

“Peggy would have loved you,” Steve nods to you as he walks up, and then turns to Bucky. “Nat went over everything with me.”

“Good,” Bucky nods, “then you know you need to get some sleep.”

“Buck, I –“

“Steve, I need you at your best for this. You need at least a few hours of sleep to give me that. Please.”

There’s a pretty intense stare down between the two men before Steve finally gives in. “Fine. Come and get me if you need anything.”

Bucky nods, and turns to you as Steve leaves. “You good here, Doll? Do you need anything before I go? I won’t be gone long…”

“Actually, I think I’d like to go downstairs.” The need to be close to Artie and Jimmy has suddenly overwhelmed you.

“Kiddo, you should probably stay up here – I’d like for you to be with us or with Barnes,” Tony calls from his nest of visuals.

“I really want to be with my boys right now,” your voice starts to crack, and you have to swallow before speaking again. “Clint’s down there, so he can babysit me while Bucky is busy.” You try to sound nonchalant, but it’s getting hard.

Bucky nods and starts helping you up even as Tony continues to protest, “But it would really be better –“

“Stark, it’ll only take me 20 minutes, 30 tops to do what I need to do. I’ll be with her after that.” Once you’re standing, he turns towards Tony and softly adds, “She needs to be with them.” There’s a sadness in his voice that he isn’t quite able to conceal.

“Make sure Barton knows to have SUNDAY get us if anything changes.” He sounds reluctant, but Tony finally concedes.

***

True to his word, it only took Bucky about 20 minutes before he was back by your side. Despite the circumstances, it’s a nice morning. The boys noticed your IV port immediately, and upon explaining to them that it was a way for you to get medicine since you were sick, they went automatically into cuddle mode.

“Momma feel better,” Jimmy says in a serious voice as he climbs into your lap.

“Snuggles help?” Artie asks innocently as he curls up next to you.

“Yes, my little loves, snuggles definitely make me feel better,” you murmur as you kiss the tops of their heads. It’s hard to keep the tears out of your voice, but you manage. You’re battling an inner war; struggling to not give up hope yet so, so incredibly scared. Bucky knows it – you see the same feelings written on his face when he doesn’t know you’re looking – but you’re trying your hardest not to let your kids see it.

They’d insisted on putting in a movie, since it’s what you do for them when they’re sick, but it’s impossible to focus on what’s on the screen. You have eyes only for the kids cuddled up with you and the man that’s watching you intently for any changes in your condition.

Two Disney movies later, Bucky leans over the edge of the couch and puts his lips near your ear, “Sweetheart, Banner wants to check up on you.

You nod as you glance at the clock, thankful that they’ve given you this much time. “Clint, would you mind putting lunch together for Artie and Jimmy in about a half hour if I’m not back down by then?”

“Sure thing,” he winks at you, taking your seat after Bucky helps you up. The kids aren’t having it, though – Momma might need their cuddles today, but Clint is still a mobile playground. The sounds of their giggles accompany you up the stairs, and it does wonders to bolster your courage.

***

“Alright,” Bruce gives the newest blood sample to Tony for analysis, “that should do it for now. Any changes that you can feel?”

You swing your legs listlessly from your spot on the workbench-turned-exam-table. “Not really, the morphine helps to keep the pain down. I don’t feel cold anymore, so that’s good, right?” Just trying to find the silver lining…

“Well,” he begins slowly, “you’re still running a high temp at 104.0, so technically I would expect that you would feel either hot or cold. The fact that you don’t is actually a little unusual.”

Your legs stop swinging and Bucky immediately looks concerned.

Bruce continues at the unasked question, “It’s…it’s possible that whatever is infecting you is starting to attack your central nervous system. I was thinking that earlier when your reflexes weren’t responding, but there weren’t any other indications at the time.”

Well, fuck.

Bucky runs his hands through his hair before looking at you with red-rimmed eyes. “We’re going to figure this out, Sweetheart,” he murmurs as he takes your face in his hands and brings his forehead to yours. “We’re going to figure this out.”

“Uh,” you can hear Tony approaching hesitantly, “Hematocrit levels have decreased significantly.”

Everyone nods; no one expected anything different.

“It’s a risk, but should we bring her to the tower?” Bucky offers. “Are there additional tools there that might help? Anything in your lab?”

“Possibly, but I don’t know that it’s worth the risk of moving her. We’d be extremely vulnerable while traveling.” Tony rubs a hand over his tired eyes, “All the tools in the world won’t help us if we can’t safely get her there.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, he just nods.

Tony and Bruce silently retreat to their makeshift workstations, leaving you seated on the workbench with Bucky still standing in front of you.

“You’re doing great, Sweetheart,” he murmurs as he brushes his lips over yours, “You’re being so damn brave. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You pull him close for a hug, and he immediately wraps his arms around you.

You hear the door to the workshop open and close, but you don’t bother looking up until you hear Steve speak.

“Alright, I’m as rested as I’m gonna get. Let’s start strategizing, Buck.”

He doesn’t argue, but you can almost hear Bucky roll his eyes.

“This place is fairly secure, but I was thinking –“ Steve is interrupted by his chirping phone. As he pulls it out and checks the display, his eyebrows draw together before he puts the phone to his ear. “Rogers.”

As he listens to the caller, his countenance darkens. After a few more moments, he speaks tightly, “SUNDAY, please enable video conferencing for this call.”

You don’t have to be able to read minds to know that whatever this is about, it isn’t good.

A virtual screen materializes in front of you, Bucky, and Steve, showing two men sitting in a dimly lit room. Your first observation is that the man on the left is rather unfortunate looking; after taking a second look, you amend your assessment. This guy fell out of the ugly tree and hit every damn branch on the way down. Then he rolled downhill and fell into the neighboring swamp. Yikes. He’s maybe in his mid 30s and balding, with a pinched face, a thin, cruel mouth, and he’s sporting thick glasses that make his eyes look like pinpricks.

The other man, however, automatically terrifies you. You can see that he’s tall and powerfully built, even from his seated position. He’s probably in his late 40s or early 50s; he’s got a neatly trimmed beard, dark hair that is swept back from his forehead, and high cheekbones. The man would actually be quite handsome if it weren’t for his eyes – you can’t tell what color they are, and you pray that you’re never close enough to find out, because these eyes radiate malice and brutality. There isn’t a shred of kindness to be found in this man.

“Visuals have been enabled. Speak,” Steve barks.

“You must be struggling to figure out what is wrong with your darling girl, yes?” The man on the left is doing the talking in a thick German accent, and you hate his seedy voice immediately.

“Who the fuck are you?” Bucky demands, completely ignoring the look Steve shoots him in warning.

“Oh, please excuse my rudeness; allow me to introduce myself. My name is Alric Metzger, and this is my benefactor, Nicolai Krakken.”

Your blood runs cold when you comprehend the names, and upon hearing them Tony and Bruce both rush over to take part in the call.

“Tsk tsk Mr. Stark, I really would have expected you to be more careful,” Metzger taunts when Tony comes into his view. “How does it feel to have another soul added to your already heavy responsibility?”

“What –“

“Evelyn Sharpe. It was really quite careless of you to ask her to purchase the Advil on your behalf, considering that she is – well, was – allergic to it. Or perhaps it was careless of her to purchase the drug at her pharmacy, where they are aware of her allergy?” Metzger shrugs. “We were already watching her due to her previous association with your mother, but you made it fairly obvious.”

“You have an in at her pharmacy,” Tony intones emotionlessly, staring at the face in front of him. He looks as if he’s seen a ghost.

“We have ins everywhere,” Metzger sneers. “How long did you really think you could hide her from us?”

Krakken abruptly clears his throat and shifts in his seat, causing Metzger to flinch. Looking slightly chastised, he steals a glance at Krakken before continuing, “I’m sure you’ve already started to investigate my little creation, but let me save us both some time and explain to you what is currently happening within her body. The sooner you know, the sooner you’ll realize you can’t help her…the sooner we get what we want.” Metzger begins. “Her red blood cells are systematically being destroyed, and her bone marrow, organs, tissues, and brain are being attacked. By now I would expect her to have fatigue, a high fever, and significant amounts of pain. Within the next day or so she will be vomiting and unable to keep anything down. Following that is confusion and delirium. She has roughly four days from the time of ingestion until the damage is irreversible and permanent, and another four to six days after that until death.”

“Are you offering to help us? Why are you telling us this?” Steve breaks in.

“Because I want you to fully understand what you’re dealing with. You will not be able to create a cure for her in time; of that I have no doubt. But,” he allows a threatening smile, “as it so happens, I have a little something that will take care of her not so little problem.”

“You have a cure?” The breathless desperation in Bucky’s voice is so thick you can almost see it.

Krakken has remained silent throughout the entire conversation, but you see his merciless eyes narrow a bit when Bucky speaks.

Metzger speaks in a condescending tone when he answers, “Yes, Soldat, I have a cure.” Bucky visibly flinches at the name. “But it comes at a price.”

“How much do you want?” Tony asks simply. “It’s yours – I’ll have it wired immediately.” You swallow hard – you just know it’s not going to be that easy.

Krakken laughs, and it is the creepiest sound you’ve ever heard, before he finally speaks, “I don’t want your money. The price is her; I want her.”

“You can’t have her,” Bucky growls.

He laughs again. “Soldat, it appears you have developed a soft spot for her. I am very pleased to see it.” His ominous tone chills your heart. “It is a better outcome than I had planned.” Even through video feed you can feel it when he turns his icy gaze your way. “Hello there, milaya moya.”

|Milaya moya – my sweet

Bucky’s jaw clenches before he speaks. “Do not call her that.”

“I am sorry, have you already claimed that endearment, Soldat? My apologies; perhaps I will think of a different nickname for her when she is with me,” Krakken’s smile is edged with poisoned honey.

“You can’t have her,” Bucky repeats, speaking every bit as menacingly as Krakken.

“Then neither can you. She will be dead in six to eight days; you should start saying your goodbyes while she is still coherent enough to understand them. You have my number; call me if you change your mind. Just keep in mind that you only have until this afternoon if you want her to get help before she is permanently damaged. Her cure is in Russia, at my estate, and it will take at least sixteen hours to transport her here, and roughly 24 hours for the cure to take full effect and reverse course after administration. The times are, of course, estimations – she may have more time. Or significantly less. You need to make your decision quickly if you want her to recover.” You feel his predatory gaze on you once again, “I have a feeling I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you soon, milaya moya.” And with that, the call is disconnected.

Tagging: @rogersxbarnesx @hellomissmabel @beccaanne814-blog @howdoesoneadult @laurenwhitehouse-blog @musichowler @nykitass @danimuhle @iwillbeinmynest @4theluvofall @shifutheshihtzu @iamtal @passiononfire @jade-cheshire @flowercrownsandmetallicarms @lostinspace33 @gingerrootknits @callmebucky-doll @learisa @sammedrano @hardcorehippos @knittingknerdy @vaisabu @widowvinter @amrita31199 @bellenuit45 @agentraven007 @sarahjeaniejean @canumoveyourseatup-no @unpredictable-firecracker @omalleysgirl22 @crazyliraz @shamvictoria11 @kaaatniss @lillian-paige @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @sexyseabass1231 @the-hidden-seeker @denialanderror @nea90sweetie @candyrogers @ijustwanttobepartofyourworld @k-nighttt @almightyunnie @srgtjamesbarnes107 @kimistry27 @maryvmassakre @mghtiestheroes @givemethatgold @manders2487 @fvckingbuckyandsteve

***If your name is in bold I couldn’t get your tag to work***

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #my work #when everything's made to be broken (I just want you to know who i am)#WEMtbB

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